


bell, book, and candle

by skittidyne



Series: bbacverse [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi, also gratuitous abuse of explicit language, every mythology under the sun, gratuitous abuse of foreign languages, it's not as dark as the tags make it seem, past present and future character death, sad necromancy, so many subplots your head will spin, the really long supernatural hunter fic, witches and ghosts and psychics oh my
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 677,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skittidyne/pseuds/skittidyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugawara Koushi, perpetually tired exorcist extraordinaire, spends most of his time now caring for his cat and doing banishment jobs for Kiyoko, and he's happy like that, he swears. Kozume Kenma, witch, law intern, and illegal summoner, has a plan; too bad it involves demons and angels and he's convinced he can only do it alone. Yamaguchi Tadashi, ex-normal high school student with a newfound lucky streak, discovers he has a ghost haunting him and the rest of his life is soon turned upside down as a result, but maybe he's not complaining. </p><p><strike>Together, they stop an apocalypse.</strike> Oops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sugawara Koushi Is A Very Tired Man

**Author's Note:**

> " _Bell, book, and candle; candle, book and bell, / Forward and backward, to curse Faustus to hell_." 
> 
>  
> 
> (( oh gosh;;; this work is vaguely inspired by the phenomenal fic [ghost story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1124478/chapters/2266515) by avoidingavoidance! the fandoms/casts/plots are different, but supernatural hunters AU! (and i just want to tell everyone to read that story)
> 
> as a full/complete warning, this story will contain: blood, swearing, violence, minor body horror, death, anxiety/anxiety attacks/panic attacks, a lot of given names, lgbtq things (beyond the tagged pairings; they mostly pertain to gender identities), and a _lot_ of vaguely defined magic and mythological creatures. the reason why some of these do not appear in the tag list above is because they're not central to the main plot(s) and let's be real, that list above is long enough as it is. curse you, ensemble casts ))

“ _Please_ let me take the night off. I’m _so tired_ , you have no idea, I can’t do another damned job tonight—”

“It’s easy,” Kiyoko reassures him. Suga groans against the tabletop; he’s sprawled across it horizontally, as if that will make him seem more pathetic. Well, it probably does, but Kiyoko famously is the most unyielding person he knows. Others could call her a cold bitch, and maybe she could be one, if she weren’t so horrifically (and quietly) devoted to people and causes. Just, like, two of them. Suga may be one of the two.

She walks around his outstretched arms, ignoring his whine, and rummages around in a cabinet. She pulls out a mason jar of something greenish and opaque. Suga narrows his eyes in suspicion when she opens it and offers it to him.

“What,” he says. He wrinkles his nose because wow, that is _foul_. His stomach churns.

“It will help replenish some of your magic. You won’t be so tired,” she tells him tonelessly and Suga wants, so badly, to go back to thinking she’s a cold-hearted tyrant. But god, Kiyoko is giving him one of her homemade concoctions, free, just so he’ll feel better.

He wants to cry. Partially because he’s touched, mostly because he’s still so goddamn _tired_. Magic isn’t a cure-all, especially for him.

But Suga drinks it. It somehow tastes even worse than it smells and he wants to immediately throw it back up, but he’s gotten good at fighting his gag reflex through the years of doing supernatural clean-up jobs. He has to, when everything smells like blood or shit or rot or puke or if he’s especially lucky, all of them.

“Don’t drink all of it,” Kiyoko advises, and Suga jumps because he had been about to do just that. The jar’s about halfway empty already. His throat feels coated in something thick and unpleasant, and whatever the green stuff was, it sits like lead in his stomach.

“I’m going to throw this back up,” he says, half-hoping it’s true, so he can go back to whining and rolling around on her countertop. But the potion’s already forcing feeling back into his fingers and toes, and while he still feels like it’s half a bottle of cheap vodka in his stomach, Suga _does_ feel better. Which should say a lot for his condition.

“It’s a very easy job tonight,” Kiyoko says. He hates how he can hear the sympathy in her tone. “There is a spirit haunting someone. It wasn’t a call-in.”

“How malevolent are we talking?”

“That’s why it’s easy. It isn’t.”

Suga rolls over onto his back so he can look up at her. He’s about boob-height, however, and immediately regrets his decision. Kiyoko stares impassively down at his red cheeks. “Why is this spirit haunting someone if it’s not malevolent?” he asks, averting his eyes from the rather magnificent bosom in front of him.

“It’s a human spirit, but it doesn’t behave like one. Investigate that. I know the person will be at this address tonight, since he’ll be going for a walk, and it’s the best chance you have at figuring out what’s going on and guiding the spirit toward peace.”

Ah, yes, Peace. Fucking Peace. Peace is the other cause Kiyoko is hopelessly devoted towards, and Suga knows arguing with her is a lost cause. So he pushes himself off the table, tries not to puke, and grabs his bag from the post by the door. Spirits are easy. Usually. At least, he trusts Kiyoko to be a good judge of them. She’s the best psychic he knows, which, admittedly, is all of three people, but she’s very thorough and has good intuition.

The night is foggy, the horror movie kind of fog, and Suga pulls his coat tighter around himself while he waits for the poor sap to walk by. The streetlights are hazy overhead, blotches of softened light, and really, he shouldn’t be out in such fog. No one should. He wants to go home, curl up with Sunshine, and sleep for twenty hours.

It’s getting late and he’s worried about missing this guy in the thick fog when he hears someone approaching from behind. Suga whirls around, narrowly avoiding hitting himself in the face with his own scarf, and finds two figures in the fog.

He really shouldn’t have been worried about missing them.

The normal figure seems to be a teenage boy, pathetically dressed considering the chill and damp weather, messy-haired and freckled. The figure behind him looks like one of the streetlights in human form; it’s glowing, gold, light diffused by the fog and making it seem actually very pretty. Suga would have thought _angel_ if he couldn’t smell the gross ghost smell from there.

“Ah—hey, excuse me!” Suga calls with a wave. The teenager jumps like a startled cat. Suga instantly feels the spirit’s attention on him. He steps over to them, eyes raking over the spirit, which certainly doesn’t _look_ like a human spirit.

“C-Can I help you?” the freckled boy asks, sounding half-afraid. The spirit behind him bristles at Suga.

“Um, actually, yes? My phone’s dead, and with all of this fog, I’ve gotten turned around, and I’m a little lost,” he says with a cheery smile plastered on his face, but his eyes are on the spirit. Its glow dampens a little when it seems to realize that Suga can see it.

“Oh, uh… I think we’re on Cherry Street?” They are not. The spirit touches the boy’s shoulder and Suga lurches toward him on reflex. The boy doesn’t notice, doesn’t react at all, except for digging around in his pocket. “Oh, thank god, my phone still has a charge. Let me boot up my GPS…”

Suga drops his hand at the same time the spirit does. They regard each other over the boy’s shoulder. He begins to think he’s figured out what’s going on, but he doesn’t like it. A regular haunting would be easier. And safer.

“What are you doing,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl.

“Huh?” the boy squeaks, jumping, clutching his phone like a lifeline.

Suga reaches over and grabs the spirit. The gold glow falls away like water, revealing a far more human-looking spirit underneath. It’s a boy, too, looking like a teenager—Suga’s heart clenches—but with blond hair and glasses and the most affronted expression he’s ever seen on a ghost.

The blond spirit glares at him and starts up its—his—gold glow again. Suga reaches for him again, to dispel it, but he jerks back with a silent snarl.

“Are you okay?” the freckled boy asks, backing away from him.

Shit. Suga is _so tired_ , ugh. He groans and gropes around in his beat-up messenger bag, until he finds a paper envelope. He knew he was forgetting something, but the boy is quiet and he’s so shocked to see such a young spirit acting like that, but this was a dumb mistake. He rips the paper open and blows the powder inside at the freckled boy. His eyelids flutter. Kiyoko’s own sleep soot powder, ninety-eight percent effective.

The boy crumples, but the spirit catches him—actually keeps him upright, and the messy-haired boy manages to shake himself awake again. “Wh-What the… hell…?” he mumbles and it’s hard to miss the anger rolling off of the spirit in waves.

“You’re trying to turn into a _luck_ spirit!” Suga accuses, jabbing his finger at the gold glow. Before the freckled teen (poor soul, having to put up with all of this) can fully wake up again, Suga draws a ward on the space between them and commands, “ _Sleep_.”

The drain is instantaneous. His knees wobble and he stumbles forward, _shit_ , but the boy is unconscious and he’s free to confront the spirit openly.

Except the world tilts, already out of focus because of the fog, and Suga’s last thought before he passes out is _oh god I fucked up Kiyoko’s going to kill me for wasting her magic potion_. He glimpses the would-be luck spirit leaning over him before his eyes slide shut.

 

\--

 

“I’ve told you not to use magic anymore,” Tooru sings. God, he sounds so pleased with himself. Suga himself feels like he has the world’s worst hangover. Tooru knows that, too, which is why he’s making a racket in his kitchen, banging pots and clinking glasses together. “I told you, I _told_ you!”

“Yes, you did,” Suga wearily agrees and wonders if this is hell. Maybe he’s finally fucking died.

“You shouldn’t be using magic,” Kiyoko says and sips at her tea. She doesn’t sound particularly disappointed or angry, but Suga pulls the blanket up over his head and hides from her anyway. He’s definitely in hell. It’s one thing to deal with Tooru and his noise, and another to deal with Kiyoko after he’s messed up a job, but _together_?

“Can I go back to sleep,” Suga begs. His hands are numb, he can’t feel anything below his knees, he’s terrifyingly cold all over, and frankly, he’s not sure his heart is still beating. He wants to sleep for a week straight.

“You need to drink something,” Kiyoko says lightly.

He hopes she means tea. Hell, he’d take that disgusting green concoction again over what he knows is coming.

“Please,” he whimpers.

“It’s your own fault!” Tooru announces and flounces back out into his living room. He has a teapot that Suga knows doesn’t house tea inside. He definitely wants to cry. He regrets ever giving either of them access to his research. “Please, tell me how you managed to do this,” Tooru says with inappropriate cheer and Suga groans. That’s his I Know You Fucked Up And I Want You To Admit It voice. He has a lot of very useful, very specific voices and facial expressions.

“It was just a sleep spell, a very basic one,” Suga guiltily mumbles through the blanket. “The ghost haunting him is trying to become a luck spirit. He’s doing a pretty good job so far, because the kid was still awake after Kiyoko’s sleep soot.”

“Oooh,” Tooru coos, chin in his hands. “So you tried to knock the kid out and end up knocking yourself out. What a rookie mistake.”

“Yes,” he says miserably.

“Drink up,” Kiyoko tells him and pours him a drink in one of Tooru’s silly teacups. The drink steams, and it’s not from the heat. Suga can practically _taste_ the magic in the air, and it’s not the pleasant kind that she normally works with.

“The ingredients are very hard to get hold of, especially on such short notice, you know,” Tooru says with a sharp smile. Kiyoko nods seriously and takes another sip of her own tea. Suga watches the movement, jealous. “No, you can’t chase it with tea,” Tooru adds.

Suga fixes him with his best glare. At least he doesn’t laugh at him for it. “Use that clairvoyance of yours to look for the luck spirit, not read me.”

“I want you to drink the whole teapot,” Kiyoko says simply, interrupting any chances for a spat.

“Hell would be better than this,” Suga moans.

He recites formulas and spells in his mind as he picks up the cup with trembling fingers. Anything to distract himself. It barely works. The liquid is hot over his tongue, coppery and sweet, vibrating with energy. It moves down his throat as if it has a mind of its own, and he nearly chokes on it, but he doesn’t want to have to drink this twice. He throws the rest of it back like the world’s worst shot, ignoring the burning in his throat and nose. It’s too much to gulp down in one go and he splutters, coughing, and is pretty sure he manages to snort some out his nose.

Kiyoko hands him a napkin.

Suga sneezes and if it hadn’t been in his nose before, it definitely is now. He can feel a nosebleed start, which is great, because the thing he needs right now is _more_ blood dribbling down his chin.

“I added mint. Did it help at all?” Tooru asks. He has that fake smile of his on, but there is something sincere in his tone, so Suga doesn’t throw his teacup at his face.

“Don’t—eugh—mess with the recipe,” he chokes out. “You have—urp—no magical talent.”

“Ready for another cup?” Kiyoko asks, already taking his cup from him to refill. She slides it back over to him and he struggles with the prospect of having another. “It’s a small teapot. There’s probably just this and one more cup. You can do it.”

This is what he means by horrifically devoted. She could be the author of How To Care For Your Very Own Sugawara Koushi: Second Edition. Suga’s head pounds, thrumming right behind his eyes, and his sinuses burn like he’d been snorting purifying salt. _No, stop thinking that, don’t give them any ideas_.

Suga actually does feel a couple tears leak out during the second cup. He puts on a bit of a show, gagging and coughing, and they pretend to buy it. Suga wheezes and presses the back of his hand to his mouth. His leans back against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. His body feels overly hot, and sort of pin-prickly, like he’s been sleeping weirdly. Wow, he wishes he had been sleeping instead.

He avoids looking at the fourth figure in the room.

He manages to not look at it through all of his final cup. He’s probably fully crying by that point, but neither psychic remarks upon that, and they let him pass out on the couch again. Suga squeezes his eyes shut against the black silhouette leaning over him.

 

\--

 

A full week later, and they still can’t find the kid with the luck spirit wannabe. Spirits trying to change their forms are bad news, even if this seems like a positive case on the surface, but they simply _can’t_ track him down. He’s too lucky. Whenever Kiyoko manages to get a lock on him, he misses Suga when he arrives there. When Tooru points out where he is, Kiyoko’s clueless, and Suga doesn’t have time to get there.

They enlist help from another pair of hunters, but more hands don’t make for easier work. It doesn’t help that Suga _still_ feels like death warmed over. He’d really thought he could handle a simple sleep spell, too, even if he’d been exhausted. It’s embarrassing in hindsight.

And there’s still other work to do in the meantime. Mostly easy escorts for lost spirits (and an aggressive (and also lost) kelpie). Suga’s not the fighter Kiyoko or Tooru hire; he’s there for finding and herding dead things. If they want brute strength, they can ask the Tanaka siblings or Nishinoya.

Suga stops at a bookstore on the way home from dealing with a particularly stubborn kikimora, intent on finding a mythology book to give to Tooru. Because _someone_ needs to learn how to better warn others when sending them off to banish house spirits. Especially house spirits that can abuse sleep magic. Is Suga ever _not_ going to feel exhausted? The answer looks to be a resounding _no_.

“Uh, excuse me. Is there anything I can help you find?”

Suga hardly looks up at the new voice, but when he does, he does a double-take. Smooth. The man standing across the aisle from him is _something_. Tall and built and handsome and Suga feels his mouth go dry at his warm, dark brown eyes. He’s normally pretty easily impressed when it comes to attractive people, okay, he’ll be the first to admit that. You’d think years of hanging out with Shimizu Kiyoko and Oikawa Tooru would build up his immunity, but if anything, they’ve weakened him.

So he stands there, staring, mouth agape, at an incredibly handsome man, probably looking like a severely exhausted hobo himself. The man looks _unfairly_ nice in a maroon button-down, sleeves rolled up, and his gaze dips down to find _very_ nice legs in black slacks. He wants to circle around him to see if his ass is as nice as his thighs. Suga is _so weak_ , he knows, but he’s (still) only human despite all of the supernatural bullshit he’s involved in, and he’s not particularly known for his resistance to temptation, either.

And yet when he manages to bring his eyes back up to the other’s face again—tired Sugawara Koushi is not subtle Sugawara Koushi—all thoughts of the hot guy in front of him fly out of his head.

The freckled boy, gold glow trailing behind him, is walking down another aisle, arms full of a stack of books. Suga has enough time to process _same shirt, must be uniform, must work here_ before the teenager catches sight of him and lets out a squawk of alarm.

“It’s almost our closing time,” the man in front of Suga prompts, tone patient but firm.

Suga jumps back to attention. The freckled boy is fleeing toward the back of the store, but Suga is exactly awake enough to think of a plan that’s a far sight better than Run After Terrified Minor. “Yes, sorry! I, uh, I’m just looking for a book on mythology, and I was wondering if you’d like to go out for coffee after you close up here?” He gives him his most winning smile, one that he knows not even Tooru can say no to.

He has managed to find out where the boy works. Even if he gets spooked tonight, they have a way of finding him, and maybe Kiyoko can focus her searching on the store somehow to figure out his schedule. And if Suga gets cozy with the rest of the staff, they’ll have no reason to kick him out when he starts hanging around the store a lot.

And he gets a hot date for coffee. Score.

“Um,” the dark-haired man says, forcing a smile, “I’m flattered, but how about I just help you find a book tonight? Is there anything more specific you’re looking for?”

Wait, what?

Suga, stunned, tries to process that he’s been rejected. “Slavic mythology,” he replies on autopilot. _Did I just get turned down?_ “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come on strongly—”

“It’s not really an issue. Slavic mythology, huh?” he replies and turns and leads Suga down another aisle. Suga’s eyes drift immediately downward. That ass is the most unfair thing about the situation, which is saying a lot, considering his (amazing) plan is crashing down around his ears.

He tries to rein in his embarrassment as he buys whatever book the guy hands him. Okay, so maybe he had come on a little strong, but Suga is a firm believer in optimism and a nice smile, and he had _really_ hoped for two good things that evening to outweigh the bad kikimora. But one good thing—finding out where the kid works—is probably good enough.

He texts the information to Kiyoko when he gets home. Sunshine meows at him, demanding food, and he absently pets him as he drops his stuff on his tiny, lumpy couch. His apartment itself is sort of tiny and lumpy. But he’s lived here for a long time, and there are plenty of wards and spells carved into the doorways that are still useful. He turned down Kiyoko’s offer to move in with her. Her several offers. Suga sometimes wonders what he’s done to deserve such a loyal friend. (Sometimes, he's pretty sure it's nothing  _he's_ done.)

He feeds his insistent cat and leafs through the book he bought, reclining on the couch. The information it has on kikimora (at least it has it) is sparse at best, but at the very least it mentions that they can abuse basic sleep magic.

He sighs and grabs the receipt to use as a bookmark. The top catches his eye, particularly the ‘ _Cashier: Daichi, S._ ’ at the top, and Suga feels fresh shame wash over him. He still has a plan; he can still cozy up to the bookstore and wait the kid out. “Sunny,” he groans before shoving a pillow over his face, “papa made a fool of himself again today. Papa needs to relearn how to socialize with normal people.”

Sunshine meows at him, black tail flicking.

“No, Noya and Asahi don’t count. Definitely not.”

He can’t even remember if he has normal friends. Sure, some are definitely human, but all of them are aware of things like magic and psychics and monsters, and some are really only _technically_ human, anyway. Suga glares at the pillow on his face. Did he need new friends? It seems equal parts good and bad idea.

He’s not exactly lonely, not when he sees Kiyoko every other day and Nishinoya and Asahi on about a weekly basis, but it would be nice to hang out sometimes with someone who isn’t a cat. Or a monster hunter. Or a witch.

“Sunny, I think papa misses normal people life. Do you?” Suga asks, and Sunshine pads over and jumps onto his stomach. Sunshine is a damn big cat, too, and Suga _oofs_ at the sudden weight. He scratches him behind the ears, earning a grudging purr, and sighs into the pillow. “At least we have each other, huh?”

 

\--

 

Tadashi has absolutely no idea why the man with the fluffy grey hair and mole under his eye is stalking him. He doesn’t _look_ like a stalker, all easy smiles and big, honest eyes, but isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? It’s always the people you least expect.

He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. The man hasn’t done much more other than creepily ask him for directions one time, although Tadashi’s memory of the event is a little fuzzy. He wonders if he passed out—actually, he’s pretty sure that part happened—but he woke up with his money, phone, everything still on him. Completely unhurt.

And in his room.

Things have been weird lately.

But then the man shows back up at his work, and then _won’t leave_. Tadashi sees him every shift, normally reading in a chair and drinking a smoothie, and so far, he’s made no move to approach him directly. He’s waved, a couple times, when he sees that Tadashi’s looking at him. He doesn’t really want to wave back.

It’s been two weeks since that foggy night. He’s been dreading going to work, but he needs the money, and he needs to not make his managers pissed at him. Granted, lately he’s been the golden boy because of how well his shifts seem to be going—without him expending any particular effort—but still. It could happen! At least school seems to be safe, or as safe as it can be.

Although, come to think of it, the bullies have been leaving him alone lately, too.

Things have been _so weird_ lately.

“I should start making your shifts the big hours to earn, huh?” Daichi says and claps him—firmly—on the back. Tadashi chuckles nervously and tries not to stumble. “You’ve been doing excellent work lately, Yamaguchi.”

“Oh, um, thank you, s-sir,” he mumbles, quailing under the attention, although he’s a little taller than his manager.

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Oh—yes! S—uh. Right.”

A customer pushing a stroller accidentally tips over a display at the registers, but Tadashi manages to catch it before it falls over and breaks something. Tadashi didn’t know he had reflexes that sharp. Daichi laughs in a relieved sort of way and slaps him on the back again.

It’s still early in the day, so there aren’t many customers, but the stalker is already there, curled up in one of the chairs in the Horror section. He’s thumbing through a Lovecraftian encyclopedia and occasionally sipping at something purplish.

“Have you greeted that customer yet?” Daichi asks with a nod over to him.

“Uh. Yes,” Tadashi lies.

Luckily, his boss doesn’t call him on it. And then, curiously, he realizes that he’s never seen Daichi himself greet him after that first night.

 _So half the staff is ignoring him and he still shows up. He’s totally a stalker, isn’t he?_ Tadashi thinks with no small amount of despair. It’s not like he’s rich or attractive or famous or anything. He’s never met the guy before. Aren’t stalkers supposed to be someone you know? Exes, fans you’ve met once, really creepy redneck second cousins?

Tadashi feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he suddenly thinks it’s a good idea to check on the woman with the stroller. He ducks away from the registers just as another customer enters, an unfairly attractive man who _oozes_ confidence. Tadashi scurries away as Daichi greets him with a somewhat forced smile.

He gets to spend a fun few minutes discussing Dr. Seuss with the lady, helping her pick out a couple of his favorites for her kids, but when he goes back to the registers to ring her up, he catches sight of the confident man, sitting next to the stalker, legs crossed and surveying the small store like he owns it. _Uh-oh_.

With the woman and her stroller gone, they’re the only customers in the store. It’s early on a weekday, so Tadashi doesn’t think there’s much of a chance for many interruptions. Daichi leans on the counter, frowning thoughtfully, and doesn’t say anything about approaching the pair.

“Are they…” Tadashi begins, but he’s not sure how to finish that.

Daichi cocks his head to the side, still regarding them, and mumbles, “Don’t think they’re shoplifters. But I’ve seen that light-haired guy in here an awful lot lately.”

“Yeah,” he says with an uncomfortable fidget.

The fidget turns into a full-on squirm when it feels like someone _breathes_ on the back of his neck. He slaps a hand against his neck and whirls around, but of course there’s no one there. Daichi chuckles at his jumpiness.

“Hey, it’s pretty quiet here, so why don’t you go grab us drinks? My treat,” he offers as he’s pulling out his wallet.

“Oh, um, are you sure?” It’s very hard to not tack on the ‘sir’. Tadashi has submission beaten into him.

“Sure. Just get me anything lemonade and get yourself whatever. No rush.”

That should have tipped him off, but he’s so glad to be getting out of there and away from the stalker that he doesn’t give it a second thought. He tosses his lanyard onto the counter and ducks out the door without a look back.

 

\--

 

Tooru is normally a pretty good wingman. Not that Suga exactly has need of wingmen often, but he’s seen him in action and he can respect his skills. Being psychic helps quite a bit. But when, a week after his disastrous attempt at hitting on the hot manager, said hot manager approaches him directly for the first time, his first instinct is to shut Tooru up by any means necessary.

He all but throws his smoothie at his face. Tooru gives him a look that tells him he _definitely_ knows what’s going on but politely sips at it as hot manager Daichi walks up to them with a frankly terrifying smile. But Suga can handle that. “Can I help you two find anything today?” he asks.

Tooru sips noisily from the smoothie. Since he’s not saying anything, Suga can only assume that they’re not about to be in catastrophic trouble. “Oh, no thank you. I was just brushing up on some—” he glances down at the book in his hands, “—Lovecraft.” Ugh. It’s a tiny, charming bookstore, possibly family-owned, so their mythology section is understandably also tiny. Suga’s been having to branch out from actually useful books.

“A fan of horror?” Daichi asks, still smiling.

Suga wonders why he’s bothering to engage in conversation at all. He wishes he knew a way to subtly set down the book and wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. “I suppose I am. A lot of today’s stuff is a little repetitive and too reliant on gore, though,” he replies, gaze flickering between the manager’s scary smile and the smoothie that Tooru seems content to just chug in one go. That had been a perfectly good smoothie, too.

“Are you much of a reader of other genres? I could recommend some things we have that you may like.”

 _Is he mad that I’ve only bought the one book?_ Suga wonders, squinting up at him. Granted, he feels awkward just sort of lazing about while figuring out what to do about the freckled kid, but he’s not afraid to act like a spoiled customer if it gets him out of throwing his pitiful amount of cash at books every other day.

Tooru finishes the smoothie. He hands the empty cup back to Suga (who doesn’t miss the way Daichi looks at the single straw) and airily asks, “Do you have any Goethe? I think I need a new copy of _Ars Goetia_.”

Suga facepalms.

And he knows for a fact that he has an ancient copy of the _Lesser Key of Solomon_ on his bookshelf in his study.

“Goethe didn’t write that,” he hisses at him, unable to believe that _this_ is his plan. It’s childish.

“Then who’s Goethe?” Tooru asks, perfectly innocently.

“He wrote the _Faust_  one,” Daichi supplies. He’s lost his scary smile and is instead looking amused, which is a far better look on him. “I think that might be the only work we have of his in stock, if that’s who you’re looking for, but we could order any others for you.”

“ _Faust_ is bullshit.” That part, Suga can believe is genuine. Tooru flaps a hand dismissively and nudges him with his shoe. “Suga, get me the one I need. Translate for me.” He really hates the imperious tone he gets when—well, most of the time when he wasn’t actively manipulating the situation.

Had he recently pissed him off? The last job Suga had done for him had gone rather well. Suga smiles up at Daichi, trying to look apologetic, and tells him, “I think he wants _De Praestigiis Daemonum_.”

Daichi grins again, and this time it’s completely natural. Suga wants to stare at it all day. “I have no idea what that is,” he easily confesses. Tooru snorts into his fist. Daichi beckons, and adds, “But I’ll see about ordering it for you, if you can tell me how to spell it.”

Suga happily follows him, two steps behind, eyes on his ass again. So maybe this has worked out a tiny bit. Daichi is talking to him, willingly, and Tooru got to see the situation with the haunted teenager for himself. Granted, it isn’t like he can see spirits, but he’s familiar with the kid’s aura now. They just need to figure out a way to corner him safely.

“So, Italian?”

“Huh?” Suga brings his eyes up and Daichi _may_ have caught him staring. He can’t even blame it on fatigue this time around.

“That book of yours. Was that Italian?”

“Oh, no. I think it’s Latin?”

Daichi leads him to a tiny, old computer tucked away in the corner near the registers, and Suga leans on the counter while he boots it up. He’s about to apologize (again) for his behavior when they met when Mr. Hot Manager cuts him off. “So, you’re interested in the occult, too, or is this more horror stuff?”

“My friend is definitely very interested in the occult,” he replies, dryly, and shoots a look back over his shoulder. Tooru waves with a beam.

“But you’re always in here reading _Mythology for Dummies_ and half the Stephen King.”

“That’s not true, yesterday I was reading through that big teal one on Welsh mythology!” he exclaims, a little defensively.

“So,” Daichi says, looking up at Suga with one eyebrow raised, “why _are_ you in here all the time, if I may ask? We don’t really have to worry about conversion here, but it’s not a library.”

 _Shit_. Suga had planned on using _him_ as the excuse to hang around the haunted teen, and if he admits that now he just comes off as being rather desperate. But it doesn’t seem as if Daichi has noticed that the kid looks nervous around him, and Suga would really like to avoid that. “Um, well,” he hedges, and he can feel his face heating up. He’s going to have to bite the bullet here, for the sake of the job and that kid’s safety, and he rarely hates being so mature. “The atmosphere here is pretty nice, there’s a nice smoothie shop about a block over, and the view’s pretty nice?” _Why did it come out sounding like a question?!_

The bell over the front door dings, and the messy-haired kid with his glowy pet walk in, a drink in each hand. He freezes when he sees Suga by his manager, and Suga stares back at him, wondering how this is going to play out.

“Hey! Could I get some help real quick?” Tooru calls in a singsong voice.

“Y-Yes!” the boy squeaks. He sets both drinks behind the registers and darts away with obvious relief.

“Your friend is, uh, kind of…” Daichi begins, mouth pulled into a grimace.

“Yeah, I know. He’s harmless, though, I promise,” Suga says. As glad as he is to be talking mostly-normally with Daichi, he really wishes he could have been the one to speak with their target. Or at least the spirit. _Wait, we’ve been approaching this wrong_ , he realizes, but doesn’t like the thought as quickly as he has it. They now know where the boy works, but they don’t necessarily need to involve him. Not if the spirit stubbornly sticks to him like that.

“Can you spell that title of yours for me?” Daichi asks, fingers poised over the keyboard. He even has nice hands, Suga laments. He’s nearly forgotten what it’s like to have something like a sex drive, and Tooru’s probably having a field day poking around in his brain during all of this, but Daichi’s just so aesthetically pleasing. Every bit of him is.

Suga leans his head on his folded arms on the counter and spells the title, watching Daichi type. He knows he has a problem when he wonders if he would get along with Sunshine.

“Almost done here?” Suga doesn’t hear Tooru come up behind him and jumps when he throws his arms over his shoulders. “Okay, good!” he says without waiting for an answer.

Daichi frowns at the computer, and normally Suga would be annoyed, too, but he he can see the alarm in his expression. “Is it possible to get this ordered and we’ll pay for it then?” Suga asks as Tooru begins trying to drag him away. Daichi nods, brow knit in confusion. “I’ll be back—definitely! You’ll see me around, but we—”

“I left the oven on! Probably!” Tooru calls and shoves Suga out the door.

He knows it’s bad if he couldn’t have even been assed to give a decent excuse. “Is the kid in that much trouble?” he asks, worried about leaving him in the store with Daichi.

“What? No—the kid’s fine. Yamaguchi Tadashi, seventeen, and he has no idea what’s following him around, by the way. We have time on that. This, no, this is new.”

“And what is _this_?”

“There’s a witch nearby,” Tooru tells him darkly. He’s a bit of a control freak, Suga knows; he tends to feel as if he _has_ to know all of the major players in the city. But he’s going to be very irritated if he dragged him away just for that.

But as they round a corner, Suga smells the magic in the air, and it makes him nauseous. That’s not nice magic. “Oh my god, what the hell is that smell,” he says and clamps his sleeve over his nose. “What _is_ that? Why didn’t Kiyoko warn us about this if it’s so close by?”

“Whatever this is, it’s bad, and this guy’s been under the radar. Ugh—that building!” He points across the street to what appears to be an office building of some sort. As they near, Suga sees it’s a law firm, which only concerns him further. Tooru drags him across the lobby, pushes him into the elevator, presses a button, and ducks back out.

“Don’t you _dare_ —!” Suga starts.

Tooru points up, grimacing behind the hand covering his nose. Suga can see the blood dripping down onto the collar of his shirt. “I’ll call—” The doors shut, cutting him off.

Suga is the noncombatant for a reason. He does _not_ want to go up and track down a witch who has been strong enough to avoid Kiyoko and Tooru for this long, and who is doing _something_ that is giving him a headache the further up he goes. He has his bag with him, but that’s just the basics: sleep soot, a couple basic purifying spells, a silver knife, a vial of holy water. Granted, he’s feeling alright (for once) so _maybe_ if the stars are aligned he _could_ handle a spell or two himself, and he does have the blood.

It’s generally enough to keep him out of trouble, but he is still the noncombatant for a reason.

The elevator lets him out on the twenty-third floor. The magic is practically shimmering in the air above the cubicles and glass-walled offices. Suga feels severely out of place in his sweater and jeans—he wasn’t sure he brushed his hair that morning, and his mouth is probably dark red from his smoothie—and more than one head turns to watch him as he nervously shuffles down the hall. What was he even supposed to be looking for? He’s not a witch himself, he has no idea how to track them or identify magic. It smells heavy and _bad_ , but that doesn’t exactly narrow it down. It’s nothing he’s familiar with.

Suga ducks into what appears to be a break room— _mercifully_ empty—when his phone rings. It nearly scares him out of his skin. It’s Kiyoko, and he answers with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Ryuunosuke and Saeko are on their way, but they’re across town,” she says at once, voice firm and reassuring and he sags against the wall with relief. “Do you have any idea what’s going on there? I haven’t seen anything for that part of town in weeks.”

“A witch, probably? I have no idea what it is, and I haven’t found them yet. The place just reeks of magic. It’s a law firm.” What could a witch lawyer possibly want to accomplish? And at their office, no less?

“Whatever it is, Oikawa’s worried. I am, too.” That small confession is enough to set him on edge all over again. “Could you try to figure anything out?”

“I don’t know where to start,” Suga says, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, he spots something on the door frame. He stands on the tips of his toes to look at it, but he identifies it as a ward. A protective one. He circles around the frame and finds another, etched into it near a hinge. “Wait, I…”

“Did you find something?” Kiyoko asks worriedly.

“There’s wards. I think they’re—”

The lights go out. Suga hears a _pop_ from his phone and drops it, shaking out the stinging in his hand. There are concerned voices floating over from the cubicles, and he picks up his fried phone with a sigh. He buys cheap phones for a reason, but there had been some really cute pictures of Sunshine on that one.

So the Tanaka siblings are on their way, but whatever is happening, it’s happening right now, and Suga can’t stand by and do nothing. There are still people in the building, innocent (as far as lawyers go) people. It takes some circling around the floor, but he manages to find a fire alarm. He has to sneak past a particularly judgmental-looking secretary to get to it.

The alarms start ringing and he sprints for the nearest proper room, ducking inside while people in suits bustle around. It takes a _very_ long time for most of them to leave, and Suga hopes the building doesn’t face any actual fires in the near future. He jogs around the floor again, noting people still at their desks, looking irritated at the blaring alarms. “Shouldn’t you be going? There could be a fire,” he shouts over the noise.

“What’re _you_ doing here?” comes the responding challenge.

Suga leaves them to their devices. He tried. More worryingly, he still hasn’t been able to find where the witch could be. There’s definitely some sort of large ritual or spell being set up, which means there has to be a _place_ for it.

He finally goes up to the next floor, and is rewarded (or punished, probably punished) by an increased amount of magic in the air. The alarm shuts off and his ears are ringing, and maybe not just from the noise. Tooru probably would have keeled over at that point, Suga supposes, and he wipes at his eyes. It’s not hard to find the place now; there’s only one shut and locked door on the floor.

He listens at the door, but all he can hear is footsteps and a faint crackling sound. There are wards and runes lining the entire door frame, and not subtly at that. With his silver knife, he ruins the ones preventing opening—whoever’s in there was certainly doing _something_ important, and he’s probably about to jump headfirst into something really terrible—and then sets about picking the lock itself. It’s not hard, and in fact the door surprises him when it pops open almost immediately.

Although, it’s hard to tell who’s more surprised, Suga or the person standing inside.

It’s a guy, Suga realizes, younger and smaller than he is and a little round-faced so he looks even younger. He’s in an ill-fitted suit, minus the jacket, barefoot with his pant legs rolled up. His hair, badly dyed, is tied back in a messy ponytail with a sprig of sage stuck in it.

“Oh,” he says tonelessly, expression shifting back into something impassive. Suga’s eyes find the drawings on the floor.

_Holy shit he’s trying to summon a demon._

“Um, can you leave?” the witch asks, averting his eyes, as if shy.

Suga crawls forward, head craning around as he tries to read the symbols on the summoning circle. “Those are— _what_ are you trying to do with this demon?!” It isn’t the normal summoning circle, that was for sure, but that makes the situation _even worse_. Which is an impressive thing to do since he’s about to face literal demons. He recognizes several runes from necromantic spells and a couple from protection wards, both of them very out of place.

“Don’t touch that,” the witch says, stepping between Suga and the circle. His shirt is so big his sleeves almost cover his fingertips. “Please, just go.”

“You’re about to summon a demon. I’m not going to go,” he replies, sounding _far_ more calm than what he’s feeling. His thoughts have pretty much ground down into _demondemondemonaaaaaaaa_ but his body is still moving, running on This Is A Bad Idea I Should Stop autopilot. Which isn’t a mode Suga was aware he had, since it’s not like he’s cut out for this sort of thing.

He’s a noncombatant.

But he’s not about to let a demon get summoned downtown, by a witch who’s strong enough to hide from both Kiyoko and Tooru.

Suga stands and shakily raises the silver knife. It wouldn’t do much to a witch outside of the whole stabbing thing, but at least he has size on the boy in front of him. Said boy seems to realize that and shrinks away, looking shy again, although his expression remains rather neutral. He seems shockingly composed for someone about to _summon a demon_.

“Just leave,” he murmurs, stepping backward.

“Stop the ritual or I’ll stop it for you.”

“Um, you can’t. You’re not really magical, and you can’t break my runes before I’m done, unless you want to die. Don’t die in my circle.”

And then, he turns his back on Suga, dismissing him entirely.

Suga scowls at his back. He doesn’t _have_ to die to ruin the ritual; he’s not stupid or particularly suicidal. But the only ways he know of to stop it aren’t particularly safe. “Last chance, I’m warning you.”

“Hm.”

Alright, this is all going to go horribly and Suga is going to blame one hundred percent of it on the intern with the dye job. The witch raises his arms, eliciting a red glow from the circle, and Suga slices open his hand with the silver knife. The witch whirls around on him immediately at the smell of blood, amplified by the raw magic in the room, and his eyes are wide with panic.

“What are you _doing_?! You can’t add blood to this!” he exclaims and grabs for the knife. Suga yanks it back out of his reach, but his hand closes on the blade. He draws back at once with a hiss, but then seems to realize that they’re both bleeding in a room with runes that should definitely _not_ be touched by blood.

To be fair, Suga didn’t mean to do that.

“Give me the knife,” the witch threatens, voice low, and the red glow climbs up the walls behind him.

“I’ll drop it into the summoning circle if you don’t stop it right now,” Suga blatantly lies. But he has little other choice, short of stabbing the kid and hoping that stops it. Blood would definitely do _something_ to the summoning, but he didn’t want to see what a living witch’s blood would do.

“I _can’t_ stop it this late,” he replies with an edge of desperation in his voice. Suga’s not sure whether or not to believe him, and in that pause, the witch lunges at him. Suga quickly switches the knife to his other hand, ignoring the stinging in his palm, and starts to worry about both of them toppling over.

The summoning circle suddenly lets out a loud _crack_.

Both of them jump at the sound. Suga’s grip, already slick from the blood, relaxes just enough for the witch to bat it out of his hands like an overly large cat. Suga kicks it before it lands (a moment after, he realizes that sticking his foot out to kick a falling knife was _dumb_ ) and it skates across the floor, coming to a halt before a desk.

They both dive for it. The summoning circle crackles again and the red glow begins to darken again.

Suga grabs onto the knife by the blade and shoves the witch down and away, and he responds with a jab to the stomach. Suga doubles over, wheezing, but manages to grab him by the two-toned hair before he could triumphantly get away with the knife. It’s two seconds from devolving into a catfight full of hair pulling and scratching, but Suga’s starting to panic, because that light is turning into something terrifying.

The witch headbutts him in the chin. Suga loses his grasp on the knife and it’s flung out of his hand.

It lands neatly in the middle of the summoning circle. They both stare at it for a long, silent moment while the circle seems to contemplate this new addition.

Its light dies. Suga blinks in the sudden darkness and the witch scrambles away from him. He can see something in the circle in the gloom, and most of the magic has left the air. Suga feels the bottom of his stomach fall out when he catches sight of a wide smirk glinting in the darkness. _Fuck that is a demon_.

And he’s normally so much better with jobs. This is why he’s supposed to stay out of fights.


	2. Kozume Kenma Is Not Happy With His Life

Ryuu and Saeko must find it an odd sight, Suga figures. He and the witch are braced in front of the open door, stock-still, locked into a staring contest from hell. They’d both managed to throw up protections before the demon could move; a line of ash and a smear of blood (courtesy of Suga) and a complicated charm drawn in blood punctuated with candles (courtesy of the witch). The demon hasn’t moved from the completed summoning circle.

“That is a fucking demon,” Saeko says with a whistle. She puts a hand on her hip and scratches the back of her head with the pistol held in her other.

“Please help us,” Suga whines.

“Just reinforce our wards,” the witch grumbles, eyeing the two newcomers with blatant suspicion. “Don’t touch anything else.”

“Uh, I’m gonna shoot that thing in the head, we can discuss this shit later,” Ryuu tells him and pulls his own gun out of the back of his jeans. Suga wants to lecture them both on gun safety, but he’s not really in a position to, since he just failed a course on demon safety.

“You might not want to do that,” the demon says. It’s the first time it’s spoken and both Suga and the witch jump. There goes Suga’s tiny hope that it hadn’t been _fully_ summoned. “I have a pact. If I go down, I’m taking someone else with me.”

The witch drops his arms—one of his candles goes out—and whirls around on Suga with a surprisingly ferocious expression. “ _You_! You ruined my ritual! I needed an _uncontracted_ demon and I worked forever on that circle.”

“Why the shit would you need an unleashed demon?!” Saeko demands.

“I was going to sacrifice it,” he mumbles, ducking his head. Inside, the demon breaks into a wide, toothy smirk.

It explains the strange symbols on the circle. Some of them. Suga sighs heavily when he realizes what’s just happened. “I think we should all calmly talk this over with Kiyoko and get out of here. And you two, stop waving those guns around.”

Ryuu and Saeko, in unison, shove their guns into their jeans.

Someone’s gonna get shot in the ass eventually, he knows it. (He doesn’t even know how Saeko has room.)

“We need to figure out who the demon’s pacted to and what the terms are,” the witch mutters. Suga gives him a pitying look, which he doesn’t seem to notice. “I can find out what the defaults should be when I… Why are you looking at me like that?” Ah, there he notices. He narrows his eyes up at Suga, bottom lip pushed out in an unmistakable, if unconscious, pout. “Both of our blood went into that circle. Anything could have happened.”

“Hate to break it to you,” the demon says, sounding the exact opposite, “but you and I both know what happened here.”

“It’s right,” Suga agrees, softly and sympathetically.

“It could have chosen you!” the witch insists.

“His blood didn’t count,” the demon replies, still smirking. Suga shakes his head in agreement. “Might’ve made things interesting, but your blood is the one that created the contract.”

“I didn’t _want_ a contracted demon,” he snaps and with a gesture, the doors to the office slam shut, smearing the ash and blood and charms across the floor.

The demon oozes out of the guy’s shadow, standing and reforming behind him, looming with an even shittier grin than before. Suga leaps away from them on reflex and Ryuu whips his gun out and trains on the approximate head of the demon. It grows even taller, towering over him, too, grin widening impossibly further.

“Stop that,” the witch snaps and the demon shrinks back down into something a little more human sized. He sighs, long and tired, when he realizes that it listened to him. “For the record, I didn’t want any of this.”

They make it down to the lobby when something very tall and very loud pounces on the witch. “ _There_ you are, Kenma! I thought I’d lost you! You didn’t tell me where you were going or what you were doing and then the fire alarm went off and—” The very tall man grinds to a halt when he notices the confused (and wary) escorts around the witch. Kenma. “…You have other friends?”

“We’re about to be your friends, too!” Saeko says and jumps up to sling an arm around his shoulders. He has to bend over pretty far to allow the movement. “C’mon, big guy, we’re all going to have a nice talk about Kenma’s _latest_ friend.”

Kenma lets out a long, defeated groan.

 

\--

 

Everyone seems to hold their breath—demon included—when the two witches come face-to-face for the first time. They’re about the same height, but Kiyoko always stands tall, and Kenma ducks his head like he wants to sink into the floor. She breaks the tense silence by reaching over to a rack of jars. She plucks the sage from Kenma’s ponytail and replaces it with a bundle of dried pine needles, tied with a bow. “The demonic magic smells,” she says simply.

“You don’t smell too sweet yourself, princess,” the demon replies and stretches to try to intimidate her. Kenma yanks it back down and it goes willingly (though with a dismayed expression). Or as much expression as a black silhouette with empty eyes and a permanent grin can manage. It’s Suga’s first time seeing a live demon in-person, and he’s not sure if it’s more or less unsettling than he’d imagined.

“Kenma, who’s the pretty lady and why is your shadow talking,” the tall friend stage-whispers.

“That’s a demon, dude,” Saeko grumbles.

“And you’re not allowed to talk that way about Kiyoko!” Ryuu snaps, gun out again. Suga sighs at him and yanks it out of his grasp. He hands it off to his sister.

“Are you part of the police?” the tall guy asks brightly. He doesn’t seem to be easily put down. That’s probably a good thing in this situation.

“Let’s start with some introductions,” Kiyoko says and gestures. Suga and Ryuu retrieve chairs for her and she and Kenma both sit at her counter. The demon sinks back into his shadow. Suga’s fine hovering nearby, and Saeko’s already perched on another cluttered table, but the tall friend pouts. Ryuu just flops down onto the floor, making sure to keep Kiyoko in his line of sight, and after a beat, the other guy sits down next to him. He looks even ganglier sitting like that. “My name is Shimizu Kiyoko, and I’m a psychic and a witch. These three are under my employ—Ryuu, Saeko, and Suga.”

The younger Tanaka shivers with a silly grin at the sound of her using his first name.

“Kenma,” the other witch says flatly. “I’m a witch, I guess.”

“ _Ehh_?!” the tall guy squawks, long limbs flailing. “Kenma, is this some sort of cult? Why’re you in a cult and _didn’t tell me_? I would totally join a cult with you! Is the koolaid red or purple?”

Four people in the room become uncomfortably aware of the fact that someone _may not_ have known about certain details.

“That’s an acquaintance of mine. His name’s Lev. He’s completely unaware of things like magic,” Kenma continues in the same flat voice, but from where he’s standing, Suga thinks he _might_ see something a little vindictive in his eyes.

“Hey, that’s rude! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Lev whines.

Kiyoko turns and gives Saeko a look, who shrugs back at her. “Don’t look at me! He came bounding up and knew Mr. Demon Summoner here.”

“Is that supposed to be Kenma?” Lev asks, craning his neck back to look at the blonde, and Kenma lets out a long, _long_ sigh.

Even Kiyoko looks a little uncertain as to what to do about accidentally dragging someone into the realm of the occult. “At least he’s taking it pretty well?” Suga murmurs, eyeing Lev from over her shoulder. “He thought we’re in a cult and didn’t freak out.”

“He won’t freak out. He’ll just become even more annoying,” Kenma deadpans.

“Eh?! That’s rude, too! I’m not annoying, we’re just friends, and _someone’s_ gotta do all the talking when we hang out, because it’s usually not you—”

“Yeesh, are we really going to have to put up with that regularly?” the demon asks. It’s not even humanoid this time, instead curling up around Kenma’s leg and waist and perching itself on his shoulder like a very terrifying snake.

“Please just tell me how to get rid of a contracted demon. I don’t really want much else to do with you,” Kenma says, and there’s something faintly pleading in his tone.

“Don’t talk that way to Kiyoko!” Ryuu snaps and Saeko kicks him. Suga casts a worried look over to Lev, but he just has his chin in his hand in a thoughtful pose. That’s actually more concerning than almost anything else in the room. Suga’s not good with newbies, and the Tanaka siblings are about the last people on the list to be good in a welcome party.

“Why were you trying so hard to avoid detection?” Kiyoko asks.

Kenma meets her impassive expression with one of his own. Suga’s sort of glad there are others in the room, too. “I didn’t want anyone interfering with my ritual.”

“For good measure,” Suga can’t help but remark, “since demons aren’t exactly something you _want_ running around in a city. And you wanted an uncontracted one.”

“Why?” Kiyoko asks. She takes off her glasses and polishes them on her apron, but her eyes remain on Kenma.

Kenma looks very harassed. “I wasn’t going to unleash it anywhere. I just… wanted a sacrifice.”

It clicks in Suga’s mind. He quickly leans down and whispers, “There were necromantic runes from what I could see in the circle. And protective ones. He’s telling the truth.”

“Who’d wanna sacrifice a _demon_?” Ryuu asks, nose wrinkled and arms crossed. “Wait, first, who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to try to summon a demon and risk one jumping down your throat? Can’t you just, like, sacrifice a goat or something?”

Kiyoko gives him a withering look. He shrinks back, severely wounded. The demon’s swaying from side to side on Kenma’s shoulder, humming lightly, and grins wider when it notices Suga staring at it. “There are resources for witches. Even if you’re new here—” Kenma looks away, and Kiyoko puts her glasses back on, “—someone could have helped you with your ritual, somehow, should it have been deemed appropriate. You didn’t have to risk the peace and sneak under our radar to do this.”

Ah, Peace again. Suga knows she’s pissed now, even if she doesn’t look it. He eases out of her personal space like he’s backing away from a hungry tiger and pulls out his phone—oh, right, it’s dead. Kiyoko wordlessly hands him hers over her shoulder. He doesn’t really want to listen to her tear into the young witch, even if she’s completely justified, because he’s been on the tail end of that lecture before.

He ducks out of the room, ignoring Ryuu’s curious look, and calls Tooru. He picks up on the second ring with a long, pained moan. “So I take it you’re still feeling pretty bad?” Suga asks. He receives another groan in reply. “We’re all at Kiyoko’s now. We’ve accidentally outed this kid as a witch to one of his friends, the summoned demon hasn’t settled yet, and the newbie witch just managed to piss off Kiyoko. You’re missing a hell of a lot of fun, you know.”

“The only _fun_ I want to see is the back of my eyelids,” Tooru grumbles.

“You want to know what would make you feel better?” Suga asks with a cheer he hasn’t felt this strongly in some time.

“Don’t.”

“It was demonic magic that gave you this migraine, but I know how to—”

“ _Don’t_ , Sugawara,” Tooru growls. “I’d rather suffer.”

“Can I get that in writing? Next time you try to force that red shit down me?” he hums happily.

“That’s different,” he says, and he can hear the pout. Suga knows it is different, though. A little. But it’s so rare that he gets to freely torment him, he _has_ to take advantage. “Sorry I interrupted your flirting with Freckles’ boss.”

Well fuck, he _must_ be feeling terrible if he’s trying to appeal to Suga’s sense of sympathy like _that_. It’s such a low, pathetic blow, but he doesn’t want to back off. “You got some information on the kid, right? You mentioned a name—Yamagata?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi. I got a fair bit on him, but the kid’s just an unlucky target of a haunting.”

“Not so unlucky.”

“Meh,” Tooru grunts. There’s some movement on the other line and then another miserable groan.

“Want me to come over?” Suga eagerly asks. “I can—”

“I will douse you with holy water.”

“That wouldn’t do anything to me.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not the demon?” Tooru whines.

“I’m just trying to offer to make a drink to make you feel better,” he coos, grinning against the phone. Tooru blows a raspberry into the receiver and it mostly comes across as static. “I’ll stop by later tonight if this doesn’t end in the demon killing us all, okay? I won’t make anything for you, but maybe I’ll bring you a muffin.”

“I loooove you,” Tooru sings, weakly, and hangs up.

Suga looks down at the phone. He should’ve tormented him more. He’s too nice sometimes.

“You’re an interesting sort of guy, aren’t you?” a voice asks and Suga jumps, nearly dropping Kiyoko’s phone. He turns—and finds himself face-to-face with the demon. Kenma is still in the other room.

 _Shit_ —the demon clamps its hand over Suga’s mouth and shoves him up against the wall. He bites against its grip but his mouth floods with the sour, rotted tang of demonic magic. And the demon doesn’t seem to notice, either.

“Shhhhh. I’ll behave, promise, I just wanted to see you. You’re, like, one of my parents, right? A very estranged father. Don’t give me daddy issues now.”

Suga talks against the hand over his mouth, but not a sound escapes. The demon is still largely formless, so it shouldn’t be able to be this tangible to him. He breaks out into a sweat and slides open the phone again.

The demon grows another hand and plucks it from his grip. It dangles the pink phone in front of Suga’s eyes, and he tracks the movement, ignoring the hollow eyes in front of him. “I should thank you. Sounds like if you hadn’t thrown some blood into the circle, I’d be some kid’s sacrifice right now. No one wants to get sacrificed.”

Suga shakes his head, as much as the hand on his face will allow. The smell is beginning to get to him.

“So, thank you,” the demon says, sounding oddly earnest. The effect is ruined by its smirk. “I’m still in the dark on a lot of things, like you guys, but _I_ know what you tried to do. I’m not sure _what_ it would’ve done at that point, but things probably would’ve exploded. So it’s pretty lucky for me—unlucky for you—that you managed to dump some of Kenma’s blood in there, too.”

Unlucky for Suga.

He narrows his eyes.

No fucking way.

“You okay?” the demon asks, relaxing its grip just enough for Suga to gasp in a breath.

It keeps him pinned up against the wall, but his mouth is free, and he snaps, “No, I’m not, because I’m pretty sure a luck spirit is _stealing_ luck! And now we have a demon to take care of!”

“You don’t need to take care of me,” it replies easily. “I have a pact. If you kill me, Kenma’s dead, too, and you all look like the nice kind of people who don’t want innocent blood on your hands.” It looks down at Suga’s hands. “You have enough blood on your hand there.”

Right, the cut. Experimentally, he brings his hand up and places his palm against the demon’s chest. It curls away from the contact with a whine.

“Hey now, that’s not fair. I was kind enough to tell you about that, you shouldn’t immediately use it against me.”

“Why did you want to talk to me?” Suga demands, hand hovering over the arm holding him. A threat.

“I wanted to test something,” it replies vaguely. “And look! Look at how far I can go from Kenma already!”

“Why are you still formless? You should have settled by now if you’re contracted.”

“I think we all broke quite a few rules today. It’ll probably be awhile before any of us fully figure out what’s going on. All I know is that I—hmm. Well, I’m with Kenma, and _you_ are interesting, and the princess inside is sort of terrifying. But it sounds like she wants to make nice.”

“Probably more than you two deserve, considering he _raised a demon_ under everyone’s noses,” Suga grumbles and swats the demon’s hand off of him. He drops back to the floor.

“I’m not that bad, am I? I haven’t even eaten anything! But speaking of—I could totally help you with that spirit, huh? Huuuuh?” it volunteers like an eager puppy.

Suga thinks back to how _young_ the spirit had looked. “That’s not your business. Whatever Kiyoko decides to do with you two, I’ll respect, but I don’t really want to deal much with you from now on.”

“That’s a pity, because I’m pretty sure she just hired us in the other room.”

 

\--

 

“Wow, you weren’t even burned at the stake,” the demon hums from beneath him.

“Shut up,” Kenma mutters. Everything about yesterday sucked, still sucks, and will forever continue to suck. Point A: he has never, not once in his life, wanted to become contracted to a demon. Point B: Lev now knows about magic and witches and demons. Point C: that Kiyoko woman is a terrifying menace and now his new boss.

It’s not like he _liked_ his internship at the firm, but it had been a means to an end. An end which is now passed, since he has a second shadow.

“You should settle,” he says after a long silence. “They seem worried that you haven’t. I don’t want any more suspicion or trouble.”

He rolls over, to face the demon in his bed, and instead comes face-to-face with something definitely human-looking. The sharp grin is exactly the same, but it’s now on a human face, with actual skin (darker than Kenma’s) and eyes (gold and weirdly intense) and something like hair (what the actual hell is that mess). Kenma looks downward, tracing wide shoulders and a masculine chest. By the time he raises his eyes to meet the demon’s again, it—he?—looks even _more_ smug.

“Why did you choose to look like that?” Kenma asks evenly, even surprising himself at how calm he sounds.

“Don’t you like it?” The demon frowns, a good approximation of genuine concern. He dodges the question, Kenma notes.

“None of my clothes will fit you.”

“I know you borrow clothes from that tall friend. C’mon, Kenma, I can’t lie to you, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t lie to me. Or, wait, do you just want an excuse for me to pose nude for you?” The demon rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one arm, and walks his free hand’s fingers down his hip, leering all the while.

“Stop doing that.” He’s going to have to get used to the fact that the demon is bound to listen to his orders, he supposes. Any time he tells Lev to do something he’s usually ignored.

“I can still change how I look before I’m stuck like this,” the demon tells him, voice inappropriately gentle. He doesn’t like it. “Tell me what to change.”

“That’s fine,” Kenma grumbles. He doesn’t want to deal with it. He doesn’t want to deal with a demon, _at all_ , but life sucks. All his research and progress, gone in a single moment. He shoves that thought away. “I just don’t want you running around, getting me into trouble. I don’t really have a use for you since I’ll just die if I kill you.”

“That’s so cruel! Okay, sure, neither of us really signed up for this, but it doesn’t mean we can’t be friends while we ride out this contract.”

“How long will it last?”

The demon doesn’t answer him. Kenma has already figured out that that means he knows the answer but doesn’t want to share it.

“You have a lot more freedom than a normal pact, don’t you?” Kenma asks.

After a pause, he admits, “I do.”

“But we’re still life-bound and you can’t lie to me, right?”

“That’s right.”

“If you could lie to me, you could right now.”

“Hm, I suppose I could. Good thing I can’t.”

“You know why the ritual ended up the way it did, don’t you?” Kenma asks and catches him before the demon can guiltily roll away to avoid him.

The demon surprises him by sinking down into his shadow instead. He pops back out on Kenma’s other side, appearing human again, and hooks his chin over Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma glares at him out of the corner of his eye. “Look what I can still do,” he croons, not sounding all that surprised himself.

“Answer my question,” he commands.

“Blood is necessary for creating any sort of supernatural contract.”

“But my circle was built to avoid contracts entirely. It was there to isolate you in our realm.”

“But a certain someone else’s blood was added to the mix, too,” the demon purrs, “and that negated a lot of your careful precautions. Then, I found _your_ blood, which was totally useable, and I _may_ have figured out what was going on and wanted to avoid the unraveling spell. I sort of threw together enough magic to make a contract and now here we are, soon to be the best of friends.”

Kenma doesn’t know how upset he should be at the prospect of the demon manipulating his magic. He probably should be. Instead, he finds himself asking, “Why did Sugawara’s blood break my magic like that? I had plenty of wards.” To be fair, most of them were geared toward angry witches and Lev.

“Hmm, well, that would be because he threw the blood of a dead man into the summoning circle. That acts as a pretty big reset button, especially when it comes to demonic and necromantic magic. Speaking of, what were you planning to do with all of the necromancy runes? I didn’t have much time to read your circle, but it seemed pretty interesting. We should go back there tomorrow.”

Kenma doesn’t answer him, so the demon jostles him. He huffs and ignores him—Lev is great practice for learning to ignore someone who wants your attention—but the demon runs his hands down from his shoulders, to his hips, and presses up flush against his back. Kenma twists in his grasp, glare at the ready, but the demon isn’t grinning. He looks perfectly serious.

“What were you planning on doing with me, Kenma?” he asks.

“Do you have a name?” Kenma asks in return.

“Nope! You get to name me. Keep in mind that we’re both stuck with whatever you pick.”

“Hm,” he hums and rolls back over. The demon has the good sense not to keep repeating the same question, at the very least. Kenma closes his eyes and resolves to sleep off his worries. Despite the demon staying quiet, he finds it hard to ignore the weight dipping the mattress behind him. Life sucks.

 

\--

 

“Scrub harder,” Kenma commands. Only one of his workers listens to him; Lev whines and wipes his brow, smearing green across his forehead. Kenma feels his eye twitch. “I want this unreadable before the sun rises.”

It’s luck—and not his, he knows—that prevented anyone else from reading the circle. Sugawara hadn’t been able to read all of it, but the last thing he needs is Kiyoko coming by herself to investigate. Kenma is resigned to working with her, but he doesn’t want her snooping any further for that exact reason. If he has to stick around, he’d rather everyone not hate him from the get-go.

“Aunt Masha is wondering why you quit so suddenly. What am I supposed to tell her?” Lev asks. Kenma doesn’t reply. “Is this why you wanted to study contract writing?”

“Aw, is Kenma a lawyer?” the demon asks, pulling his attention away from reading the faded, burnt runes long enough to give them both an eager look.

“I was an intern.”

“We both are! Were,” Lev corrects with another sulk. Shoulders hunched, he dumps more of Kenma’s cleaning concoction onto the carpet and scrubs. The demon frowns at him, disappointed, and goes back to his inappropriate attention on the writing. The image makes Kenma’s skin crawl. “You said you didn’t _want_ a contracted demon, but all you ever did at work was read over anything you could get your hands on. I don’t get it.”

“It’s a moot point now,” he mutters and scuffs his bare foot in the sudsy carpet.

“What do all these symbols mean, anyway?”

“Well, this one here is a mark for confinement,” the demon says and happily points to a rune on the inner circle. Kenma isn’t sure if Sugawara even noticed the different levels to the circle, let alone if he identified them as separate circles. He’s not sure he likes how easily the demon can read it. That had been a _lot_ of work put into it.

“Is this a witch language? Я не знал, что ты знаешь еще один язык,” Lev remarks, looking up at Kenma expectantly. Kenma, actually, is rather pleased by his idea and doesn’t bother fighting his smile. [1]

“Это не язык. Просто другой алфавит,” he tells him. The resulting brightness of Lev’s smile should be illegal. Kenma looks away and hopes his cheeks aren’t pink.[2]

“И демоны знают его?”[3]

“Demons also can understand your human languages pretty easily,” the demon chimes in and Kenma’s smile falls flat. So much for hoping for some privacy. He has yet to come to terms with the fact that he has a demon bound to him; he’ll technically never be alone again. Until the contract is up. And if said demon doesn’t tell him _when_ , it means he’s a meal waiting to happen.

But no more privacy up until that point. And no easy way to get around that.

“Stop reading and start cleaning,” Kenma commands.

“If you’re a demon,” Lev asks, impressively rebounding from his failed plan, “why do you look human?”

“Because I’ve settled. When we’re summoned, we’re supposed to settle into one form to show that we’re fully present in this realm. Normally, in this day and age, that’s a human form to help blend in.”

“Then why do you still sit in Kenma’s shadow?” he asks suspiciously.

“Lev, let’s keep that between us for now,” Kenma says, a finger against his lips. Lev nods, looking happy to be trusted enough for that particular secret. Kenma is _very_ glad that Lev doesn’t realize just how many secrets he’s privy to just by being in that room with them. The demon chuckles. “Can you read my mind?” he demands.

“No, but I’m getting better at reading your body language.”

“No fair! I’ve been training forever and Kenma’s still like staring at a brick wall.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so oblivious,” Kenma dryly retorts. The day when Haiba Lev can accurately read him is the day he _lets_ the demon eat him.

“When are you going to name him?” Lev asks, letting that slide. Strange. The demon looks up at that, too, eyes hopeful. Kenma only shrugs back at them both. “I have some suggestions—”

“ _No_. We’re— _I_ am not naming him after a manga series.” Maybe a video game. But definitely not manga. And certainly not Lev’s suggestion.

“Ugh, but you have such an opportunity here! Man, if I had a demon—”

Kenma has to cut that short, and he ignores the feeling that’s strangely like _panic_ that rises in him. “Lev, you have to promise me that you will _never_ try to do anything like this. It’s dangerous and you’re not a witch.” He doesn’t like how his heart is suddenly pounding in his chest.

Lev fixes him with a fiercely pointed look, the kind that Kenma sometimes forget he’s capable of. “Then why did _you_ do it?” he asks coolly.

“I. Uh.” He ducks his head on instinct; he has to look away from those piercing eyes. He can’t stand such attention on himself. He misses the way the demon watches this exchange intently. “I’ve studied for years, and I knew how to minimize the risks, so…”

“What did you think was so important that you had to do this alone? Okay, so you say I’m not magic, but I can read contracts and I could probably learn to read these, too. Wait, how do you _know_ I’m not magic? I could be the best witch out there!”

Lev, thankfully, distracts himself from his own line of questioning. Until he accidentally stumbles upon an even worse one.

“Hey, Kenma, demon, what’s this symbol mean? It’s the only one that’s crossed out.”

The demon shuffles over in the foamy green mess and cranes his neck curiously. Kenma panics, he can’t help it, and barely writes the rune in the space before him before the demon’s eyes widen. “ _Burn_ ,” he commands, and both Lev and the demon scramble back from the sudden fire that springs up on the carpet with matching yelps.

“You said I could read your circle,” the demon says petulantly, but there’s a look in his eyes—he already knows.

 _That was before you started getting friendly with Lev, before you started teaching him_ , he wants to reply, but not in front of the person in question. Kenma’s mind is on the right track for damage control, but he’s still grasping at _what_. He can’t handle everything. He feels overwhelmed; he’s not used to such rapid compartmentalization.

He wanted to keep his magic and his normal lives separate. He didn’t want Lev to find out any of this, not like this, and he didn’t want to involve himself in the affairs of this city. He didn’t want a contract with a demon, especially a contract he doesn’t know the full terms of, and he suddenly realizes that his plan actually _failed_. Two years of work down the drain, and he’s not sure if he has that much time left.

Kenma definitely doesn’t want to have a panic attack in front of Lev and a demon.

He turns from them, chest already heaving, and walks stiffly out of the room. With a flick of his wrist, the doors slam shut behind him, locks clicking into place. He sinks down against the closed doors and tries to concentrate on breathing.

_I’m out of time. That was my last chance._

He can dimly hear Lev pounding on the doors, but he sounds a million miles away.

 _The demon knows and he knows Lev knows too much._ He can use that against him. Kenma is facing the very real possibility that he could be dragging Lev down with him in this mistake when all he’d wanted was the opposite.

“Hey,” the demon says, in front of him, and Kenma squeezes his eyes shut. “Breathe. I’m not going to hurt you.”

No, of course he’s not, they’re still fucking _pacted_ —

“Are you that worried about the gangly kid in there? I won’t hurt him, either.”

“Promise me,” he chokes out.

“I promise I won’t harm you or Lev,” the demon tells him. The demon can’t lie to him. Somehow, it still doesn’t reassure Kenma. “Can I ask why you had that rune in your outer circle?”

Kenma shakes his head.

“Do you…” Kenma cracks open an eye and peers through his bangs at the demon, who looks uncharacteristically uneasy. “Hm. You’re a clever human, aren’t you? Where did you even _get_ that idea?”

“…You’ll laugh at me.”

“I’m not laughing about something like this.”

“A video game,” Kenma honestly tells him.

And the demon fucking laughs at him.

“Go back in there and keep Lev company. Keep washing that off,” he orders with a scowl. The messy-haired demon sinks back into his shadow, still snickering, and he hears Lev’s shouts die down behind him.

Kenma waits until his breathing has evened out again before he bothers moving. When he reopens the doors, he finds Lev reclining in the suds, laughingly asking the demon to repeat phrases from that manga. The demon, at least, is still scrubbing, although there are bubbles in his black hair and his skin is more green than tan at that point.

“Kuro,” Kenma announces, drawing their attention.

“…What am I, a pet? That’s not a human name,” he says, frowning when he realizes what it means.

“I’ll figure out a human cover for you later. But your name is Kuro.”

“You’re clever, but you’re not very creative, hm?” the demon asks pityingly.

“I used up all my creativity in this failed summoning circle,” Kenma grouses and falls to his knees beside them. He pulls over a sponge and starts scouring the runes from the carpet. Both the newly-named Kuro and Lev are staring at him, shocked. “Get back to work! We have maybe half an hour before people will be back in the office.”

“Yes, my lord,” Kuro says, and Lev breaks out into fresh peals of laughter.

 

\--

 

Suga thumbs through a Stephen King novel without reading a word. He’s tired (again/still/is he ever _not_ ) and neither Tadashi nor Daichi are in the store. Statistically, _one_ of them should be in soon, but his luck’s been growing worse. They’ll have to act soon, before he becomes even _more_ of a walking disaster. Today he’d already tripped twice and spilled his smoothie on his hoodie.

They have a backup plan for the luck spirit, at least: let the demon eat him.

 _But he’s so young_ , Suga laments, and wonders, not for the first time, what caused this imminent disaster. _Doesn’t he know what happens to changing spirits?_ Spirits are supposed to remain static. Granted, a human spirit wandering around haunting things isn’t a good idea, either, but at least it’s just a haunting. Suga’s good at hauntings. They’re the one job he has yet to mess up with his brand-new luck.

He must doze off, because the next thing he knows is someone’s gently shaking his shoulder. He starts and looks up into the concerned-yet-amused eyes of Daichi. Of course. “Are you going to start sleeping here, too?” he asks. Suga hopes it’s a joke.

“No, it’s just—this is why I don’t read Stephen King,” he says and sets the book down on the little side table by his rather comfy chair.

“Haven’t seen you in here for a couple days,” Daichi says, open-ended, and his eyes land on Suga’s bandaged hand. He feels his face heat up as he quickly shoves the hand under his stained hoodie.

“Something came up with work, but I beat the book back here, right?” Suga asks with a weak smile.

“Ah, yes. That Latin thing of yours should be here next week, though.” Daichi leans back out of his personal space and Suga does _not_ stare at him for once, instead scanning the store for any sign of a gold glow. Nothing.

“I guess I’m not used to seeing you this late in the afternoon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to use your store as a place to nap.” He definitely does not yawn in front of the man, Suga lies to himself.

But Daichi smiles in a sort of understanding way. “I usually take the morning shifts. Late shifts don’t really agree with me. You don’t look too awake there yourself.”

“I hope I don’t look half as tired as I feel.”

“You look pretty tired.”

“Perfect. I swear I’m conscious at least _sometimes_. Give me some coffee or an actually _good_ book and—well, wanna go out for coffee after this? We could discuss _your_ tastes in literature instead of mine?” he asks brightly.

“Does your filter just crash and burn whenever you need to sleep?” Daichi asks and raises an eyebrow. Suga nods. “The answer’s still no. I’m usually a crabby mess by the time we close for the night and I wouldn’t want to expose you to that.”

Suga blinks up at him, processing. “Then what about—”

“And I don’t drink coffee,” he finishes, firmly.

Suga hangs his head. That was just cruel, letting him hope like that.

“But maybe after a morning shift sometime, you can treat me to a late lunch. I have to admit, I’m pretty curious why you keep hanging around. I can’t wait to see how you’ll explain it without staring at my ass,” Daichi says, tone dry, and Suga looks away with heat in his cheeks but a grin pulling at his mouth.

“You walk by pretty often when I’m sitting here. I had figured it was an invitation,” he shoots back.

“No, just a test. I’m not sure if I should count it as a pass or fail.”

“I should get a gold star and an A for effort.”

“Yeah, you should get the Olympic gold for ass-staring. And the one for being a regular customer despite only ever buying a single book. And a silver in managing to look halfway decent despite _also_ looking perpetually like a zombie.”

Suga fights a cringe at the z-word. He’s not sure if his smile falters. Zombies aren’t a funny subject for him. “I’m halfway to buying another book. And here, I’ll buy another tonight.”

Daichi seems taken aback at that. “You don’t really _need_ to, it was mostly a joke—”

“Not even I can abuse someone’s hospitality for that long without feeling a little guilty.” _Maybe Tooru’s._

“It’s not really someone’s. It’s just a store.”

“Look, I’m giving you the chance to keep talking to me at the register,” Suga tells him, taking an authoritative tone, “and then you can write your number on the receipt, okay?”

“Wow, I just want to talk to you while you’re tired all the time. Pushy is your default state?” Daichi asks, astonished, but grinning.

Suga stands up and re-shelves the Stephen King he’d been almost-reading. “Don’t I at least get the benefit of the doubt? You could’ve called it confident.” He already has half an idea of what book to buy, though he’ll have to track it down. He catches Daichi staring at his bandaged hand again, however, when he stoops to pick up his hoodie.

He doesn’t ask if he’s okay or what happened, thank the stars. But he does prompt, “You know, you already know quite a bit about me. Where I work, that I don’t know anything about Latin, that I’m not a night owl. I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out my name is on the receipt you got, too.”

“Mmhmm,” Suga responds warily.

“And all I really know about you is that you’re pushy, an ass man, and are fond of horror and smoothies.”

“It’s more the legs, not to sell you short.”

“Oh, excuse me, I’m sorry,” Daichi says, mock serious. But there may be a hint of red on his cheeks and that sends a thrill through Suga. “The point is, I don’t know much about you. Like where you work—” Suga winces and hastily looks away, “—or even what your name is.”

“…Oh.” He turns back to him, a little embarrassed himself, and mumbles, “Sugawara. Suga for short. As for anything else about me—you can ask when I take you out for lunch next week!”

“Fine, fine. And just so we’re even, I’m Sawamura Daichi. This introduction’s a far sight better than when I snapped at you that one night.” He rubs the back of his head, cheeks thoroughly red, and Suga finds the image oddly _adorable_. He also makes note of how they seem to remember that conversation differently, but hey, if he doesn’t want to remember Suga as being a massive embarrassment to himself and everyone around him, he’s totally fine with that.

Daichi helps him find the book he wants— _Doctor Faustus_ , especially for Tooru—and stifling more yawns, Suga pays and departs. Freckles and the Friendly Ghost haven’t come in, which is likely a blessing in itself, since it means Suga gets to walk out the door with a phone number scribbled on his receipt.

He’s sort of doing his plan backwards, but he’s long since come to terms that he’s fine knowing Daichi in a Not Related To My Cover Story way. Maybe his luck is bouncing back.

Suga is so happy to stare at Daichi’s phone number that he walks into a streetlight on the way home.

 

\--

 

“I don’t see why you insist on teaching me these things,” Kenma says, as close to outright rebellion as he can manage against someone like Kiyoko. She makes a sound to acknowledge she heard him, but she doesn’t look up from where she’s grinding a crow wing bones into very fine powder. “I’m just not good at potion-making…” he tries again, already shrinking back from the silence.

“Some basic recipes should be known by all witches,” she tells him.

Kuro thinks Kenma’s fear of Kiyoko is hilarious and snickers against his ear. Kenma thinks Kuro can go choke on a dick.

Kenma shrinks down until he’s completely out of her sight. There are no customers in her homey little shop, nor any of her friends. He thinks they’re friends. He’s pretty sure they’re all friends with each other and he’s just been corralled forcibly into their group as punishment.

 _I didn’t want this_ , he thinks for the nth time.

One good thing about Kiyoko’s taciturn nature: she doesn’t remark on minor issues. Kenma is halfway through the next level before she walks around the counter to give him a disappointed frown. He looks up at her, really _looks_ , and she’s one of the hardest-to-read people he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting. It’s troubling.

“I’m employing you. I’m allowing you access to my books on demons. You can play video games on your own time,” she says.

“All of my time was my own time before you forced me into this,” he mumbles, eyes flicking downward. “I don’t need this punishment. Or this charity. Whatever you think it is.”

“I’m giving you a chance,” Kiyoko says curtly and leaves him sitting on the floor. She probably intends to guilt him into going back to work. He returns his attention to his game and unpauses it. He gets into a battle, and his character summons a demon to protect herself.

Kuro laughs in his ear again.

“Could you ask your demon to come back in here please?” Kiyoko asks, tone polite but cool.

“Kuro,” Kenma calls like he wasn’t already skulking around in his shadow. The demon saunters in through the door from the hallway, hands in his pockets, grinning so obnoxiously it’s a minor miracle Kiyoko hasn’t suspected them of more.

“Did you finish moving those boxes for me?” she asks, more civil with the demon than with Kenma, he worries.

“Just about. It’s not a very clever way of seeing how strong I am, by the by. Any more tests for me?” Kuro asks and flops onto her counter, narrowly avoiding spilling something bright purple and fizzy. “I can get a little further from Kenma than your shop allows, if you want to see if I can run any errands outside for you?”

“I don’t need anything right now,” she tells him, not bothering to dispute his challenge. Though they’ve been working—term used loosely—for her for almost a week now, most of what they’ve been doing are small tasks around the shop and then dealing with her tests for both of them. Slowly and maybe-subtly (maybe subtly to an outsider, but not to Kuro, and certainly not to Kenma), Kiyoko is figuring out Kuro’s limits, and likewise figuring out that Kenma is shit at brewing potions.

Kenma makes it to the boss of the level before Kiyoko hauls him back to his feet and points him back at a pile of dried ivy he’s supposed to be grinding. She doesn’t take his handheld, but she gives him a look that threatens it. He will probably use magic to protect his video games, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to get into a magic fight. Not with her, not with anyone, and he (still) doesn’t want to be there, trying to put together a halfway decent dreamless sleep potion.

“C’mon, Kenma, cheer up,” Kuro says traitorously. He seems content to lean on the counter beside him, utterly unhelpful. “Isn’t this better than being burned at the stake?”

“They don’t still do that,” he mutters.

Kiyoko watches them from across the tabletop, gaze evaluating. Kenma doesn’t like that. But over the past few days, she’s seemed to realize that he’s not comfortable with a lot of attention. He’s not yet sure if she’s using it as some sort of passive-aggressive form of punishment. He’s also not sure if he’s overthinking it, but everything lately has got him paranoid.

“How were you able to avoid detection for so long?” Kiyoko mildly asks. Kenma wants to sink into the floor. Even Kuro looks curious at that, looking back and forth between them with undisguised interest. (Kenma pauses to wonder if he _ever_ bothers masking his expressions. That could be a problem in the future.)

“…I’m good with charms,” he replies in a small voice. “Writing them. I made one and committed it to an amulet that let me avoid precognition from a distance.”

“Had you heard of me when you moved here?”

“No. I didn’t really know anyone.” That’s why he picked this town. “It was just a general precaution.”

“Why have you never learned the basics of plant and herb magic?” Kiyoko asks, smoothly changing tack.

Kenma shrugs a little. Although she’s no longer looking at him, he doesn’t like this conversation or as much of her presence as she’s making him suffer through. “I don’t see the use. Spells and charms can do a lot of this.”

“Potions can be used by anyone,” she says. It sounds oddly final.

She’s capable of mercy because she never makes him deal with customers. Whenever the chimes on her door tinkle, Kenma’s usually hauling ass to the back room with uncharacteristic haste, with or without his demon. She doesn’t say anything about his behavior and he’s free to squeeze in more gaming.

“Not a people person?” Kuro asks during the third customer of the day. He hooks his chin over Kenma’s shoulder, wraps his arms around his waist, and Kenma wriggles in his grasp.

“Not a demon person, either. Get off of me.”

With a sad sound, the demon detaches and stands as close as physically possible without touching him. “Is this the game that gave you your idea?”

Kenma’s eyes snap up to make sure Kiyoko’s still in the main room. He can still hear faint voices—her and her customer. “Don’t talk about that here. …And no, it isn’t. This is the sequel.” That idea was rather old, after all.

“She’s pretty lenient, but I can’t help but wonder why she won’t let us happily fuck off. Not as if you’re a threat to her,” Kuro says, and there’s something rough about the way he says it, too, as if he were forcing it.

“…Were you trying to _lie_ to me?” Kenma asks, slowly tilting his head back, staring up at the demon with growing disbelief. He knew their contract rules were loose, but _shit_.

“It wasn’t exactly a lie,” he hedges and shrugs.

Kiyoko isn’t the only one testing Kuro, and that worries him.

“That means you think I’m a threat to her,” Kenma grumbles. He manages to smooth his voice into something even and calm.

“No, I have faith in your apathy,” Kuro replies with a bright grin. His teeth are still a little too sharp to be human; that reminds Kenma that he still needs to figure out more human things for Kuro. (Since he’s stuck with him.) His own, non-Lev clothes, figure out what he can eat that isn’t spirits, teach him what a hair brush is, test a couple things on his own.

 _And he still needs a name_ , Kenma thinks sourly. He didn’t sign up for a demon, but he also didn’t sign up for Nintendogs: Demon Edition. “What were you trying to say, then?” he asks, eyeing Kuro appraisingly.

Kuro doesn’t answer him, whistling innocently. Kenma grumpily goes back to his game; too much effort for too little gain. Apathy is a good word for how little he cares lately about the demonic escort and new job prospect. (But, he’s since realized, that’s because he’s still prone to crippling bouts of anxiety whenever he thinks about what his future may hold. He's forced into apathy as one of his last defense mechanisms.)

“Kenma? They’re gone,” Kiyoko’s voice floats in to them.

Dragging his feet, he goes out to have the uses of marigold and ivy beaten into his skull. Kuro silently trails after him, hands still in his pockets.

“Tomorrow night,” Kiyoko says instead of resuming their forced lesson, “I’d like it if you stayed late here at the shop. We have a job, and I’d prefer to keep you out of any trouble that may arise.” She gives him a hard look over the rims of her glasses. ‘ _I want to keep an eye on you_ ’ hangs unspoken between them.

It’s not like he has much choice in the matter. He doesn’t want to be bullied into doing these sorts of things, but what choice does he really have? “Fine.”

“What kind of job?” Kuro asks, because Kenma sure isn’t.

Kenma might see something flicker in her eyes when she regards the demon. “It’s just something that’s gotten out of hand.”

“It’s the fake luck spirit, right?” he presses. Kenma definitely sees a brief flash of surprise in her expression that time. Kuro leans on the counter with a triumphant smirk, and Kenma can’t help but notice that he’s practically between Kenma and Kiyoko. “You don’t want me eating it, huh? It’s a real pity, because—”

“How do you know about it?” Kiyoko asks, brow drawn low over her eyes. Not quite a glare, but it’s the closest he’s seen from her.

“Aren’t we all friends here? Secrets don’t keep friends. And I could help you real fast with this one, pro bono.”

“Kenma, tell him to tell me who told him that,” she says and there’s a definite edge of unease in her voice.

And Kuro leans further over, a definite barrier between them. Kenma blinks at his back, processing the behavior as _protective_ but unable to figure out _why_. “Kuro, who told you about the… fake luck thing.”

“Boo. It was Sugawara.”

Kiyoko doesn’t say anything else, but instead looks down at the mortar bowl in front of her. Kenma’s about to slink away to play more when she finally breaks the silence and quietly tells them, “We’re taking care of the luck spirit. I’m not paying you to go on jobs like the others, but to help out around this shop. Yes, I want to keep you out of trouble. But I don’t distrust you, Kenma. I want to help you.”

“Why?” Kenma can’t help but ask.

“You seem scared,” she answers. Kenma recoils at her words. “I want to know what causes a talented witch to transplant himself into a new town with a very unorthodox and dangerous plan. I want to know what you were going to do with a demon sacrifice. I want to know that you’re not my enemy, and I want _you_ to know that I’m not yours. I want to make sure you and Kuro are alright while you adjust to this new lifestyle, and I want the opportunity to earn your trust.”

It’s a heavy speech to make, and Kenma isn’t sure he likes it. But the demon breaks the tension it creates with a snort of laughter. Kenma feels his shoulders sag in relief.

Kiyoko doesn’t seem offended by that. “I can be patient,” she says with her own little shrug. “But I’m not naive. Tomorrow night, I’d prefer to have you and Kuro both here at the shop.”

“Alright,” Kenma agrees as if he has an actual choice in the matter.

Although he can’t help but wonder how far he’d make it if he were to just run.

 _But Lev_ , his mind pipes up, and he hates that. He's not sure when his worries changed from  _me_ to  _me plus a friend_.

The next evening, Kenma curls up in the back room with a couple blankets, candles, a pillow, a charger, and his game. Kuro sprawls on the concrete floor, head buried in another pillow. Kiyoko bustles around the main part of the shop, and he can hear glasses clinking and her fast footsteps over his game’s music. He hears other voices, too, and about an hour after the shop closes for the day Tanaka Saeko, dressed in old combat fatigues, peeks into the back room. Kenma gives her a listless look and she raises an eyebrow at Kuro. But she didn’t say anything to either of them.

“Aren’t you a _little_ curious?” Kuro asks, voice muffled, as they hear new voices.

“Not really.”

“I can’t even say you’re no fun. Are you going to forbid me from spying?”

“You’ll get us in trouble,” Kenma says, but doesn’t expressly order him not to. Kuro pulls his face out of the pillow, waggling his eyebrows at him. Kenma still doesn’t tell him no. But he’s not going to actively encourage him. “Don’t let anyone know about the shadow thing.”

“I remember, I remember.” Kuro, on all fours, slides out the door like the world’s weirdest cat. But he’s completely silent, and Kenma idly wonders how far he’ll make it.

Kenma makes it to the last level of his game, barring surprise post-boss plot. It’s a little bittersweet, but at the same time, the second game had been much better. He may be biased. Probably. Outside the small, dim room, he can hear quiet conversations, and he thinks about casting hearing charms, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Not with Kuro causing trouble, too.

 _Should I try to restrain him more?_ Kenma wonders. It seems like a lot of effort when the demon, while having a terrible personality, hasn’t precisely done anything _bad_ yet.

“Kenmaaaaa,” Kuro sings, bubbling up out of his shadow without further warning, and he does _not_ jump. Kenma glares, but all Kuro does is shift into his human form and happily wrap his arms around one of Kenma’s. “I figured out why they want to keep an eye on us. Curious yet?”

He won’t rise to the bait. “Not really.”

“Are you _ever_ curious?”

“Not if it’s unrelated to unlocking new character classes.”

“I want to see you write a spell around a video game. Hell, I want to see you write a new spell, period.” Kuro tightens his grip on him and Kenma irritably shakes him off. Kuro lets go and flops back to the hard, cold floor. “They’re going spirit hunting tonight. These softies want to save it, even though it’s gonna be hard as hell for them, from what I figure.”

Kenma makes a noncommittal sound. He’s not surprised.

“But,” Kuro continues, raising one hand and drawing idly in the air, “they’re creative, I’ll give them that. Maybe almost as creative as you.”

Kenma wants to point out the name thing again, but he has a feeling Kuro’s going somewhere with this, so he remains silent.

“Ever seen an astral projection?” he asks, smug, since he’s figured out that Kenma’s actually listening. Kenma’s eyes go wide. Without replying, he pauses his game, blows out the candles in the room, and pads out into the main room.

There’s a new face and Kenma wants to shy from the stranger, but he can’t help the academic interest in what Kuro claims is going on. Kiyoko glances up at him, her hair tied back in a ponytail, leaning over Sugawara, who’s lying flat on one of her wooden tables. Sugawara looks at Kuro, standing behind Kenma, and makes a pained expression.

“So this is the demon?” the stranger asks. He’s short, but loud, and sounds confrontational. He has a streak of dyed hair, several piercings in each ear, and Kenma's pretty sure he can see some sort of tattoo near the collar of his shirt. The dyed hair is one thing (Kenma can't judge), but he's not exactly fond of noisy punks in general. Ryuu nods in answer to his question and the short man charges over toward them. Kenma gives a start and begins to backpedal—absolutely no amount of exposure to new magic would make this worth it—but Kuro gets between them so fast it’s like he flowed there like water. He towers over the stranger so far that Kenma’s worried he’s stretching himself again.

“How about you and your friend just sit quietly over there, and we’ll sit quietly over here?” Kuro suggests lightly.

Kenma doesn’t see anyone else new in the room, but his words make the stranger back off. Kiyoko looks between them with a frown. “Yuu, this is Kenma. And Kuro. They work for me, now, too,” she says with a hint of disappointment in her tone. She narrows her eyes at Kuro and adds, “Kenma, Kuro, this is Nishinoya Yuu and Azumane Asahi.”

“Also known as: why you don’t want us skulking around out of your sight tonight, right?” Kuro asks with a leer at a seemingly empty corner.

Sugawara, on the table, huffs something under his breath. Kiyoko smooths her hands over his bangs and pulls his head gently back towards her. “Suga, I need you to stay focused.”

“Right,” he mutters but with a reproachful look toward the demon.

She makes him drink two different potions—Kenma recognizes only one, a strong sleep draught. He’s never seen anyone perform an astral projection before, nor spoken with anyone who had successfully managed a full one, either. But, despite Sugawara’s paleness, none of them are acting like this will be particularly difficult or dangerous. Odd.

After drinking the second jar, it isn’t long before his eyes are fluttering, and he slumps bonelessly onto the table after just a moment. Kiyoko lights a pair of candles near his hands, and another at the foot of the table. Kenma watches, rapt. He can see a couple of runes painted onto the insides of his wrists, but can’t read them from there. He wants to, though.

He nearly jumps when he sees the tiniest sliver of a shadow worm its way onto the table, curling up in the shadow cast by Sugawara’s leg. It inches its way toward his wrist and Kenma, with agonizing slowness, turns to look at Kuro. The demon is staring straight ahead with a truly impressive poker face.

 _If you give yourself away_ , Kenma mentally threatens, but he has no idea how to finish the thought. He just doesn’t want to show his hand yet.

“Alright,” Yuu says, fists on his hips. He looks toward that empty corner of the room, head cocked, and then breaks into a loud laugh. “I’ll catch up! Besides, my job’s just to be a decoy, right? Don’t worry about me!” He waves and Saeko rolls her eyes.

Kenma frowns. He feels like he's missing a chunk of that conversation. Ryuu grins at him, chin in his hands, posture screaming _boredom_. “You can’t see ghosts either, huh, kid?” he asks.

Kenma shakes his head. Yuu whispers something in Kiyoko’s ear, and then darts out of the shop. As it turns out, astral projection is really boring to an outsider. Kenma regrets coming out of his blanket nest. He watches, mood soured, as the tiny shadow finally withdraws and sinks back into the deeper shadows beneath the table.

“We’re in for a _long_ night,” Saeko groans. “Anyone up for poker?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( HUGE thanks to [interstellar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar/pseuds/interstellar) & [dragonslayer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonslayer/pseuds/Dragonslayer) for the russian fixin'! (i just couldn't leave russian!lev alone gomen) and it's not really vital to know but here's what they were saying: 
> 
> 1Я не знал, что ты знаешь еще один язык. = "I didn't know you knew another language."  [ return ]  
> 2Это не язык. Просто другой алфавит. = "It's not a language. It's just another alphabet."  [ return ]  
> 3И демоны знают его? = "And demons can read (it)?"  [ return ]
> 
> i have a [tumblr too](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/) ))


	3. Yamaguchi Tadashi Isn't As Lucky As Others Believe

“It’s just not fair,” Suga laments, landing lightly on a streetlamp, “I _know_ this is important, I do, but I _hate_ projecting! They just don’t have to act like it’s a foregone conclusion that _I’m_ the one who does this sort of thing.”

“You have the best chances of surviving,” Asahi replies mildly. He’s on the other side of the street, hopping from light to light, just a little behind Suga. Both of them ignore the dark figure they’re quickly trying to leave behind.

“No, I’m just the most used to being _dead_ ,” Suga spits. He can feel Asahi recoil from there, though, so he sighs and adds, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t,” he says. He can’t tell if he’s sincere or not. Suga feels guilt roll around heavily in his stomach.

They land in front of the bookstore and Suga, as a habit, adjusts sash around his waist. Ghost clothing is bullshit. He’s still technically a fresh spirit, too, (well, even more technically not a true spirit at all); he can’t change his appearance as easily as Asahi can. So he gets to look like some ghostly newbie, wandering around barefoot in (mostly) white robes, and Asahi looks like he walked out of a Ralph Lauren ad.

Sensing his distress, Asahi’s hair tumbles out of his bun and a pristine, white robe falls over his shoulders. It’s a far sight better than the first time Suga had seen him as a spirit, but he doesn’t like looking at it now, either. “Better?” Asahi asks with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” Suga sighs, rubbing his temples. “I’m sorry, Asahi. Go back to what you were wearing.” He shouldn’t be so upset just because he has better control of himself. And he _definitely_ shouldn’t take that out on Asahi himself.

Projecting just gets him so wound up.

Asahi settles on what appears to be a compromise: a sweater over a button-up and slacks, almost all of it white or cream. He manually gathers up his hair and ties it back again. Suga grins (just a little forced) and asks, “Noya still trying to get you in band shirts and ratty jeans?”

“Yes, and he _still_ throws out that bad ‘boogeoisie’ joke whenever I mention wanting to look nice,” Asahi sheepishly replies.

“I really regret telling him that joke.”

“Ah, I think I regret that, too.”

Suga casts one last look behind him as they stand in front of the shop; the black figure hasn’t caught up with them yet. They enter the bookstore (Suga pretending like he wasn’t about to raise his arms to push on the door) and look around. Asahi seems to settle right in to the homey atmosphere with a pleased sound, but Suga finds his attention drawn to Daichi, rearranging cookbooks. So endearingly domestic. Suga has to wonder if he can cook.

“How are you and Noya doing?” Suga asks, eyes still on Daichi’s back. Asahi floats over and looks between them, but Suga stubbornly doesn’t look away. At least Asahi won’t tease him.

“Silly jokes aside?”

“Yeah.”

“I think we’re doing okay. The same as ever. Yuu is a bundle of energy and I just try to keep up,” Asahi says with obvious fondness. Suga tries to smile for him, he really does. He really wishes he could see Asahi and Yuu without the bitter taste in his mouth. It’s been three years. He should be able to.

Neither of them speak of the impending deadline. They’ll have to, eventually, but Suga selfishly wants to put it off for as long as possible.

“It’s payday, so I’m pretty sure our target will be in sometime this evening. Kiyoko managed to pin that much down,” Suga says and finally pulls his eyes from Hot Manager Daichi. He hops from shelf to shelf until he lands on his usual chair and pretends to settle in.

“How long have you been scoping this place out?” Asahi asks with a pointed look in Daichi’s direction.

“A couple weeks. Think anyone would notice if we floated some books over to read?” The downside of ghosting: utter boredom.

“What if they ended up calling Shimizu to help with the haunting?” Asahi jokes.

“Then you and Noya get to handle that job, because as much as I’d love to be that man’s knight in shining armor, I don’t think he needs to know that I’m a ghost hunter for a living.”

Asahi lowered his voice (as if they stood a chance of being overheard) and asked, “So… you like him? I, um, noticed you staring a little—” Suga snorts, “—and Oikawa mentioned someone when we did that poltergeist job for him.”

“I have his phone number, and he’s turned me down twice already.” He doesn’t mention the possibility of a third date. Suga crosses his arms and fixes the other spirit with a _look_. “Don’t you dare tell Noya yet. I’d have to deal with you two haunting this place yourselves, and that’s what I’ve been doing lately.”

“I-I wouldn’t do that,” he murmurs, but they both know he can’t speak for Yuu.

“And if Ryuunosuke finds out about this and decides to _help_ —”

“We just have very enthusiastic friends, don’t we?” Asahi breaks in with a nervous smile and a fidget. He glances over in Daichi’s direction again. “I hope you end up happy.”

It sounds oddly off, like a goodbye instead of well wishes, but as Suga opens his mouth to say _something_ , anything—they can’t talk about that, and it’s not as dire as Asahi thinks—Yuu bursts into the store with his usual amount of presence.

Suga gives Asahi a fast, hard look, warning him off of anything to do with Daichi, and they both wave at Yuu. He doesn’t wave back but offers them a quick bob of his head. He’s there to play living decoy for them, distract Daichi or Tadashi or other workers while they take care of the luck-stealing vagrant. There shouldn’t be any trouble, but Suga has been on more than one job where hauntees are suddenly dragged into things, and they can’t risk a teenager freaking out at his workplace. The point is to save him from undue stress.

Tadashi still isn’t there, though. Suga prays Yuu doesn’t get too bored while waiting, since he can’t goof off with them, but surprisingly, he makes his way straight over to Daichi. Suga floats closer, curiosity compelling him, paying no mind to the way Asahi squeaks behind him when someone sits on the chair he’s still using.

“Hey, do I know you?” Yuu asks, confident but confused, brows drawn together.

Suga, floating behind Daichi, shakes his head wildly and tries to warn Yuu away from him. “Don’t do this! He’s not the target, he’s the boss!” Noya’s eyes flicker over to him, briefly, and then dismiss him. Rude.

“…I’m sorry?” Daichi asks. It’s getting to be later in the evening, about an hour before closing, and Suga can tell it’s taking a moment for Daichi to process the sudden appearance of Yuu. It’s sort of endearing to see Daichi a little tired, too, and before he can stop himself, he’s floating on his stomach in midair, chin in his hands, enjoying staring unabashedly at him.

“You look sort of familiar,” Yuu continues. It seems like he’s having issues not watching Suga, but with all the practice he’s had with Asahi, it’s not too hard for him to keep his attention on the living soul in front of him. “Have we met before? That’s all I was wondering. Oh, and I might need some help finding a book. Probably. Haven’t decided yet.”

Daichi takes even longer to process that long string. “I… Uh. I’ve worked here for about a year and a half, so maybe you’ve seen me around here? And what kind of book can I help you find?”

“He’s not a night person,” Suga explains dryly, “and _what_ are you even talking about, Noya? This guy got checked out by Tooru, he’s clean.”

Yuu glances at Suga again out of the corner of his eye. Asahi frets beside him, wringing his hands. He casts regretful looks at the child bouncing in the seat he’d vacated. “Huh. I’m not really a regular in this part of town. But you look really familiar.” At Daichi’s continued blank look, he gives up and laces his fingers behind his head. “Oh well! It’ll come to me later, probably. Do you have any joke books about ghosts?”

Asahi groans. “No, please, Yuu. No more.”

“Or pun books,” he adds, smirking.

“We are going to haunt the shit out of you tonight if you actually find one,” Suga threatens, but if anything, Yuu’s smile grows larger. Asahi looks ready to cry in the face of more terrible jokes. “Have mercy on Asahi! Daichi, don’t give him any joke books. You know not what you are doing!” he cries dramatically, although he knows the man can’t hear him.

Suga wonders if it’s his bad luck again when Yamaguchi Tadashi ducks into the store at that point, stepping aside to hold the door open for the exiting father and child. The freckled teenager clearly didn’t work today, since he’s in a rumpled hoodie and jeans, but he steps back behind the registers and gives Daichi a wave.

It takes a moment for Suga to understand what happens next: the second figure that follows him isn’t the faintly humanoid gold glow he’s used to seeing. No, it’s the blond young spirit, dressed in his own white robe, looking _normal_ , if not for the faint glow of his hair and the brown _collar_ around his neck. There’s something on the front of it, but Suga doesn’t realize what it is until he perches on the counter by Tadashi; the sudden movement makes it _ding_.

Suga tears over there, only to end up tripping and skidding through the registers. The blond spirit arches an eyebrow when he pops back up, standing in the counter, and Suga can see that his eyes are _blazing_ yellow. He’s definitely wearing a worn leather collar with a bell attached. His white robe is clean aside from a splash of scarlet across his stomach. “Where did you get that?” Suga demands, voice shaky, and points at the collar.

“Are you a _spirit_?” the fake luck spirit replies, sounding equal parts puzzled and annoyed. “What, did you die since the last time I saw you?”

“Um, e-excuse me, but are you the one who’s trying to become a luck spirit…?” Asahi interrupts, gently, still fretting with his fingers. He can’t make eye contact, but his presence is enough to help defuse the situation.

The yellow-eyed ghost turns to him, momentarily annoyed, but then smooths his expression into something more neutral. “Yes, I suppose I’m a luck spirit. Can I help you two, or are you here to panic the boy again?”

“He can’t see us right now,” Asahi timidly points out.

“You’re not supposed to actually become a luck spirit!” Suga exclaims shrilly. He gestures up and down at the blond spirit, looking desperately to Asahi, hoping he’ll understand his alarm. Because it’s an understandable alarm. He should not have been able to change this fast, or at all, and _where did he get that collar_.

“He’s not fully changed yet,” Asahi says as he rubs beard, tone soft and thoughtful. And not nearly as panicked as Suga feels. What a twist. “He’s still definitely a human spirit, a little. That’s not so bad.”

“I am not,” he replies, affronted.

“You are not supposed to be anywhere _close_ to that! Do you know how dangerous that is?!” Suga screeches.

At that, Asahi begins to sweat again, looking between them nervously. “That _is_ true, a-although doesn’t this mean the worst is over? But you shouldn’t be changing, spirits are static beings…”

“It’s over with now. I’ll be a luck spirit from now on, so you don’t have to worry about any other supposed trouble.”

“It’s not supposed! And you are _not_ done changing—urgh—you.” He takes a breath and unclenches his fists. “You are not supposed to be changing at all, much less this far. Where did you get that collar.” Suga flies at him, jabbing his finger at the bell on the collar, making it _ding_ again.

None of them notice, but Tadashi looks up at the sound.

“Not everyone immediately believes the worst of me,” he replies thinly, lip curled.

“It’s not about believing you to be bad—it’s trying to prevent you from turning into a demon!”

The young spirit blinks down at him, momentarily shocked. Shock transforms into anger, and he bares his teeth at Suga, leaning down so they’re eye-to-eye. Suga jerks his head back but otherwise stands his ground. “I am _never_ going to become a demon. I know what I’m doing, unlike some bumbling, incompetent, pathetic excuses for exorcists.” His voice is rising as he goes, gold glow intensifying again, but it doesn’t obscure his form like before. It falls over his shoulders like a cloak, dripping motes of light near his bare feet, and his eyes are definitely glowing.

Yuu shuffles closer to the registers, staring hard at the second on-shift worker that’s come in from the back, and radiating tension. Daichi raises an eyebrow at his behavior. Asahi is hiding behind Suga, trembling and trying to appear shorter than he is.

Tadashi just rubs the back of his neck and looks around with a perplexed tilt of his head.

Suga isn’t sure how this is going to play out—it’s going to be a fucking mess, however it ends up, because his luck is already a fucking mess and Asahi’s hopelessly intimidated—but he absolutely, not in a million years, _would never_ expect what happens next.

A bakeneko pops out of the air beside them and lands on the counter with an audible _thump_.

“What the—?!” Daichi starts, jumping, and Yuu leaps away from the newcomer like a startled cat. Asahi’s already halfway across the store with a panicked shriek.

“Hey, what do you two think you’re doing, huh?” the bakeneko demands, ears pinned flat against his short, tan hair.

“Noya!” Suga squeaks. Yuu scrambles for Daichi, digging around in his bag. He blows a fistful of sleep soot at him, probably more than strictly necessary, and is tearing down the next aisle before the man fully crumples. The other worker, frozen in his shock, doesn’t have time to try to avoid Yuu.

But that, unfortunately, leaves the only tangible member of the team across the store. Suga, on reflex, tries to tug Tadashi away from the creature, but his hand phases through the boy’s arm. Tadashi scrambles away from the bakeneko with a squawk, tripping over himself in his alarm, and the gold-cloaked spirit crouches down beside him with a dirty look up at the cat-like spirit.

“What are you doing here,” Suga asks as evenly as he can, standing uselessly between the bakeneko and Tadashi. “Humans can _see you_.”

“I was fine just watching before, but you’re tormenting this luck spirit,” the bakeneko says, scowling, and points with his long tail at the blond behind him.

“That’s a human spirit. He shouldn’t be a luck spirit.”

“Well, no, but he is now. I couldn’t very well let him turn into a demon, since no one else seemed to be doing anything.”

Yuu finally makes it back to them and all but dumps the rest of his sleep soot on Tadashi. The blond spirit glowers at him and bats most of it away; the freckled boy’s eyes droop but he stays conscious. “Ugh! Would you rather he freak out?” Yuu snaps at him.

“Oh, you’re with them?” the bakeneko asks, tone curious but tail swishing in agitation. For being a cat spirit, he looks a little taller than Yuu, which has Suga worrying for different reasons. It’s not impossible for bakeneko to eat things larger than them; for one to get so large means he’s very old, very powerful, or has already eaten quite a few people. “Don’t give me that look,” he says flatly, as if reading his mind. “Humans taste disgusting these days. I’m not a nekomata.”

“Okay, but why are you here, then?” Suga asks, arm out to prevent Yuu from doing anything else just yet. He wonders how they can call Ryuu or Saeko without tipping off the spirit.

“Stop bullying this kid,” he replies and points at the blond again.

“I—We’re not bullying him,” Suga replies, trying very hard not to sound offended, “I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t get any worse and hurt himself or others. He needs to pass on, not stick around to haunt some poor boy.”

“Oh, like you and the scaredy spirit?” the bakeneko deadpans.

“I’m still alive!” Suga retorts.

“Where did Asahi go?” Yuu asks uneasily. He remains facing the bakeneko, but his eyes are darting around, looking for him.

“Hopefully to go get help?” Suga replies and he knows that’s a very slim chance. Asahi is even more of a pacifist than Suga is, but acts like a frightened gazelle whenever anything larger or scarier than a poltergeist shows up. He doesn’t necessarily blame him, and it’s not like he can do anything to a tangible spirit, but it would’ve been nice to have a little more moral support.

“Go, find your friend. We’re good here.” The bakeneko looks around with disinterest. “I won’t even burn this place down. It’s nice. Smells like luck and stories.”

“That’s because of him,” Suga says, gesturing with both hands to the blond spirit, still crouched beside the hyperventilating teenager. “He’s stealing others’ luck—he’s _not_ a luck spirit, he’s just stealing it, not generating it.”

With a smile, the bakeneko makes a beckoning gesture with one hand, curled like a paw.

Suga looks down in newfound horror at the bell collar on the ghost. The blond spirit has mimicked the bakeneko’s gesture with some confusion. “You tried to turn him into a maneki-neko? He’s _not_ a cat! _Or_ a luck spirit!” Suga cries in dismay.

“I am,” the bakeneko says airily, “and I helped the kid along. He’s out of immediate danger of turning into a demon, he can make his own luck instead of taking yours, and you can kindly leave him alone.”

“Why did _you_ interfere with him? Normally higher spirits don’t mess with human ghosts,” Yuu demands, eyes narrowed, fingers slowly inching towards his bag.

“I don’t want anyone snatching up an unleashed demon. There’s enough going on lately as it is.”

“…Going on?” Suga echoes cautiously.

The bakeneko circles around him in a fluid motion, long tail curling around his waist as he moves, and he crouches down on Tadashi’s other side. Tadashi squeaks and tries to scramble away, inadvertently moving _through_ the blond beside him, and the ghost winces. “It’s okay,” the bakeneko softly tells him, and goes as far as to pat his head reassuringly. Suga wants to tear them apart, get the boy away from the spirit by any means necessary, but he’s all but useless without his body. “You’ll be fine through this. Probably.”

Just as soon as Yuu manages to dip into his bag, the nightgaunt staggers through the doors, having finally caught up with them.

 

\--

 

Tadashi’s pretty sure he’s dreaming. This has crossed the line from weird into _oh my god I’m in the Twilight Zone_. One minute he’s feeling a little dizzy while waiting to pick up his paycheck, the next, there’s a cat guy talking nonsense and a short punkish man has knocked out his coworkers. Something about the dust he used rang familiar, but that’s easy to push away when there’s a man with cat ears and a cat tail and _oh my god he has claws_.

Then, everyone freaks out at once at some sort of unseen catastrophe. Before he can react, Tadashi is scooped up by Mr. Cat Monster and next thing he knows, they’re out in the alleyway behind the store. He’s frozen for a moment, mostly from shock, but when he hears the faint sound of a bell he fights his way out of his grasp.

“O-Oh my fucking god,” Tadashi croaks as he flops onto the wet pavement next to him. His heart is suddenly in his throat and he feels like he wants to puke it up. “What’s going on?! What the hell are you?!”

“My human name is Yaku Morisuke,” Mr. Cat Monster replies with a thoughtful swish of his tail. “I guess this is the first time we’ve formally met. It’s a pleasure to finally—”

“You have cat ears!” Tadashi squeaks and backs up until he’s up against the brick wall behind him. Everything’s wet and dirty and it’s started to rain, and normally he loathes getting caught in the rain, but he’s okay saving that for another time.

“I do,” Morisuke allows.

“A-And you—”

They’re interrupted by another figure barrelling out of the emergency exit, nearly tripping over Tadashi’s legs. It’s the punk guy, eyes wide with panic, and he immediately demands, “Have any of you seen Asahi?! The tall, bearded guy who was with us!”

Tadashi shakes his head, mostly on reflex, but the man isn’t even looking at him.

“Are you leading that thing out here, too?” Morisuke growls, ears pressed back against his hair.

“No, it’s after Suga—my friend is leading it away, it’s just—you three, stay right here. I’ll be back,” the man says distractedly and pushes past them. At the mouth of the alley, he shouts again, “ _Asahi_! Where are you?!” He runs off into the rain without a backward glance.

There’s a pause, and the cat guy inclines his head towards a spot near Tadashi. “I suppose he is,” he says, and again, he feels like he’s missing part of the conversation.

“…Three?” Tadashi repeats blankly.

Morisuke squats down beside him. “I guess it won’t hurt for you to know a bit more. Can I?” He doesn’t say what he’s doing or wait for permission before grabbing either side of Tadashi’s head. His claws press in, lightly, and he squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for more pain.

Instead, he feels a rough tongue lick across the tops of his eyelids. Tadashi rears back as soon as he’s released, wiping at his eyes—that stung, not to mention felt weird as hell—but when he blinks up at him, he’s suddenly seeing _another_ person there.

The good news is that he looks human. No animal ears or tail in sight. The bad news is that _holy shit a person just appeared out of nowhere_. Tadashi whines and tries to scuttle away from him, too, but he’s cornered by the dumpsters.

The boy looks faintly concerned at Tadashi’s behavior, mouth pulled into a frown, squinting a bit behind his glasses. “…He can see me now?” he asks in a calm voice that Tadashi has to admit he likes. And, okay, maybe he likes the prospect of someone nearer his age, human looking, and, well, _normal_.

“Are you a ghost?” he pipes up.

The blond boy nods.

“Why does a ghost need glasses?”

Morisuke hides a laugh behind his hand as the ghost scowls at him. “I don’t _need_ them. I just want to wear them,” he huffs.

“I-I’m sorry,” Tadashi says sincerely, trying very hard not to laugh, too. It’s reassuring to see normal reactions from a very not normal situation. And maybe, if he just goes with all of the weirdness, it’ll be happy and leave him alone without inviting further trouble into his life.

Further troubles comes anyway when they all hear a triumphant crow of “ _Asahi_!” echoing down the alley. Tadashi shakily gets to his feet, ignoring another wave of dizziness, as a new pair jog down the narrow alleyway.

“We should have run when we had the chance,” the blond ghost mutters, turning an impressive glare on the two.

Tadashi recognizes the short man with the dyed streak from before, but he doesn’t recognize Asahi, a veritable giant with an intimidating aura. He shrinks away, agreeing with the ghost in this instance.

Said ghost shifts so he’s standing protectively between them. “Good! You guys didn’t run away!” the short man chirps from where he’s clinging to the scary guy. Morisuke gives them a very dirty look. The short guy hops out of the other’s arms, driving home their height difference, and after a beat, Tadashi realizes that Asahi’s actually floating a bit off the ground.

 _I am surrounded by ghosts and monsters_ , he realizes and surprises himself at how calm he feels. Maybe he’s going into shock. He really, really doesn’t want to see them all now, though. He doesn’t want to know what else is lurking around in his normal life.

“Don’t you have a spirit friend to rescue?” Morisuke asks archly.

“W-We really should—” Asahi starts but the short one cuts him off with his flapping hand.

“Suga can take care of it! He’s been dodging that thing for how long, he’s good at it, and it’s all a waste if we don’t do the job that caused all this in the first place.”

“Well, I did your job for you,” the cat monster points out with a pleased smile. “I’ll accept your payment now.” He holds out his hand, honestly looking expectant.

“Like hell!”

“I stopped a demon from sprouting up in the middle of this human city. I saved these poor boys. And now there will be another luck spirit running around for a bit, so really, everyone wins. If your friend keeps hanging around that store, maybe he’ll eventually get his luck back.”

Tadashi sees the blond ghost raise a hand to touch the thick leather collar around his neck. From this angle, however, he can’t figure out his expression.

“That’s not a, uh, permanent fix, is it?” Asahi asks weakly.

“Better than nothing,” Morisuke replies and finally takes his empty hand back. He crosses his arms, nose in the air, tail lashing in annoyance behind him. With a little _pop_ , a small flame bursts into life near his shoulder. “I’m not going to let you undo my work here. Kindly leave, and take your nightgaunt with you.”

With a dark look, the short man turns and leaves. The nervous ghost floats after him with several glances back over his shoulder.

The cat monster waits until they’re out of sight again before turning back to the boys with a smile. He looks a little like a tiny, proud (cat) parent. “There! Another favor I’ve done for you, just to prove how lucky you are. All I want in return is for you to stay out of trouble and stop _stealing_ luck. Just make your own. It’s unprofessional otherwise.”

“Uh, right,” the blond says, ducking his head. Tadashi’s pretty sure his cheeks are pinkish.

“That spell on your eyes won’t last very long, maybe a day at the most. But they should stay away for awhile if they’re busy with that thing. I’ll see you two around, I’m sure, but _stay out_ of trouble!”

With a cheery wave, he pops out of existence.

Thunder rumbles overhead and the rain immediately starts coming down harder on them. Tadashi can’t help but shiver.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks, though he can feel the cold of his wet hoodie sticking to his arms. The ghost beside him shakes his head, looking rather wet himself, but not at all bothered by the temperature.

“Where are you going?” he asks when Tadashi starts walking (dragging himself) out of the alley.

“Back inside? To check on my coworkers?” He doesn’t remember seeing any customers inside, since it was so late and the weather was foul. He can’t help but pause, however, looking in through the window at the store. The ghost follows him out; he’s walking, not floating. “…It’s safe in there, right?” He doesn’t _see_ any more horrible monsters or ghosts. But an hour ago he couldn’t see any of this, so.

“It should be. They’re just asleep, though. They’ll wake up in a little while with fuzzy memories.”

“There was some sort of monster, right? It scared everyone? S-So what if it got one of them…?”

“Most spirits won’t attack living souls with bodies,” the ghost mumbles, scuffling his toes in the gutter water. He raises his eyes to Tadashi’s, expression hard, but he can see something a little sulky beneath it. Weird. “You should leave them there. If anyone else comes back and Yaku isn’t here—”

“They’re after you, not me, right?” He doesn’t really mean it as a question. Tadashi pulls open the door to the store and finds it eerily quiet inside. He’s not sure about just _leaving_ people there, unconscious, regardless of what the ghost says. “You can, uh, go. You don’t have to babysit me if all the other ghost things left already.”

The blond mutely follows him anyway. His footsteps don’t make any sound, which is creepy, too, and his presence isn’t something that’s easily ignored. Tadashi tries not to annoy him, though. The (admittedly nice) cat monster is gone, and so are the others, but he doesn’t want to go toe to toe with the remaining ghost.

Tadashi checks to make sure his coworkers are breathing (they are, thank fuck) but he finds he can’t do much else. He can pick up Akira and he sets him in one of the plush chairs along one of the walls, but Daichi’s bigger and the most Tadashi can do is awkwardly drag him. He’s _not_ about to drag one of his bosses. He frets over calling an ambulance—how would he explain _that_ , could he say they just fainted?

And the tall ghost looming behind him isn’t exactly soothing his nerves. “U-Um, really, you can go, I can probably handle this here… Somehow… I-I mean, I work here, so I’ll just lock the doors and wait for them? Or call an ambulance, or maybe the police?” No, the police wouldn’t help. He’s still not entirely sure about an ambulance. What if they can identify some sort of drugs in their system? He doesn’t want to get anyone fired, but he doesn’t know _what_ that stuff the punk guy threw at them was, or what it did—

With a long-suffering sigh, the spirit beside him leans down over Daichi and places his hand over his forehead. Not a moment later, the man murmurs and twitches, then blinks blearily up at Tadashi.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Tadashi says and sags against the nearest shelf. It rocks a little with his weight. The manager stirs, slowly bringing his hand to his head, and Tadashi turns to try to tug the ghost toward Akira.

His hand passes through the ghost’s arm. Of course.

He feels a little embarrassed, both for trying to initiate contact and for forgetting _duh, ghost_ , so he chuckles and beckons, walking backwards. “Uh, I think they’re the only two here, I don’t see any customers, so if you could…”

“I suppose,” the ghost replies with a definite sulk that time. Tadashi hopes he’s not asking for too large of a favor. Is waking people up something difficult for spirits to do? They had talked about luck, so was it that? Magic?

“Yamaguchi…?” Daichi calls, already sounding lost.

“Just a moment, sir!”

“I told you not to call me that.” Okay, he can’t be feeling that bad, then.

The spirit wakes up the other associate and Tadashi’s feeling significantly better about the weirdness in his life now that it’s shown itself to be useful. Tadashi makes up a fast lie about coming in for his paycheck and finding them both unconscious, which they thankfully ( _luckily?_ ) buy, and then Daichi’s announcing that they’re closing up early.

“Matsukawa can bite me if he’s angry about this. Employees come first, and with this weather, no one else is going to be coming in. Executive decision, so you two go grab your stuff,” Daichi orders, using his authoritative voice. Tadashi doesn’t even have anything to get, but he still scampers off to the back room on reflex.

Akira’s giving him suspicious looks, but he’s also not asking about anything. He probably figures it’s not worth the effort (which he figures about most things, Tadashi knows), and Tadashi is absolutely okay not lying any further to them. “…Did you walk here?” Akira finally asks, his voice making Tadashi jump from where he’s aimlessly poking through the candy jar.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You didn’t bring an umbrella.” He glances sideways at the bin they use for miscellaneous things. An umbrella handle is hooked over the side. “I think that’s Inuoka’s. Write him a note about borrowing it and he probably won’t be mad.”

“What if he needs it?”

He shrugs. “He already forgot it here. I don’t care either way, but don’t give us a cold if you catch one walking home in the rain.”

Tadashi ends up taking the umbrella (scribbling out an apologetic note and leaving it on the back table), because Akira sounding disappointed is something to be avoided at all costs. For someone regularly so detached, he’s really good at guilt trips. And Tadashi’s maybe a little susceptible to them.

The ghost is still trailing silently after him. Tadashi tries not to look particularly nervous about that as he and Akira meet Daichi back at the registers. He hands them both their paychecks, Tadashi shoves his in his hoodie pocket, and the manager shoos him out first. He waves goodbye, even managing a smile, and leaves with the polka-dotted umbrella.

And the ghost comes with him.

“Um… Are you really going to follow me home?” Tadashi asks him.

“Oh. Yes.”

“Do you… _have_ to?” he asks in a smaller voice.

The ghost purses his lips and looks away, seeming irritated. “I’m not here to disrupt your daily life.” Tadashi doesn’t ask what he thinks he _is_ there for. “You can go back to ignoring me.”

He also doesn’t point out that it wasn’t exactly ignoring when he had _no idea_ that ghosts actually existed. But that leads him down another uneasy train of thought, so, shifting the umbrella to his other hand so there’s space underneath it for him, he asks, “How long have you been, uh, following me around?”

The ghost ducks underneath the umbrella but maintains his sour look. “What day is it today?”

“The twenty-fourth?”

“About a month and a half,” he admits frankly. Tadashi feels a shiver that’s completely unrelated to the chill of the rain.

“A-Are you _haunting_ me? Did I do something to piss you off? I-I’m so sorry, but I’ve never seen you before, and I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m a luck spirit,” he interrupts. “I’m not a bogeyman. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

That’s a nice sentiment, but he’s still _being haunted_. Tadashi tightens his grip on the umbrella to stop his hands from shaking. “Why? Why _me_?”

“Can we save the questions for when you’re inside? I’m not sure you’re lucky enough to avoid pneumonia if you continue to drag your feet.”

“U-Um, okay,” he meekly replies, because what else can he do? He’s being haunted. Not like there’s a choice in the matter.

 

\--

 

 _How many times have I showered in the past month and a half_ , Tadashi wonders, horrified. The warm water on his skin now does nothing to soothe him. _Oh, shit, how many times have I—?!_ He can’t even complete the thought. He sinks down into a crouch with a small, pathetic whine. Okay, so he doesn’t have a girlfriend (or boyfriend) right now, but he’s still a teenage boy, and it’s not like he has a particularly _low_ sex drive, and he has a lot of time on his hands between school and his job—

“Are you alright in there? You sound distressed,” the ghost asks, tone polite, but Tadashi had _locked_ that fucking door.

Right. Ghost.

A head ducks through the shower door and on reflex, Tadashi throws his shampoo bottle at him. It bounces off of the glass and narrowly avoids hitting Tadashi in the face. “Get _out_!” he practically shrieks.

The ghost floats back out of the bathroom, taking his weird gold dust with him.

Tadashi presses his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall. He’s so horrifically fucked. He wasn’t just being stalked by the smiley guy, but an actual ghost now, too. Why was he a target for stalking? That doesn’t seem particularly lucky.

He finds the ghost perched on his couch in the living room, looking severely uncomfortable, expression pinched and cheeks pink. Tadashi wonders why he blushes if he doesn’t have any blood in his body, but his eyes find the streaks of red across the middle of his white robe.

He sits on the floor, looking up at the ghost through wet bangs and the towel on his head, eyes narrowed. “Did you regularly spy on me in the shower?”

“I didn’t _spy_.”

Tadashi musters up an actual glare for him. He's never going to be okay showering or changing or looking at porn—oh  _no_ , had he looked at his search history?!—or anything ever again.

“…Only when you seemed distressed,” the ghost confesses, cheeks growing redder. “I never thought much of it because I spent most of my time figuring out how to minimize your troubles.”

“Why? And—and no more spying on me!”

“Tomorrow, you’re not going to be able to see me again,” he tells him.

“I’m going to banish you. That’s what those guys wanted to do to you, right? I-I can find some phone number, and I’ll call them, and I’ll bring those ghostbusters right back over here.”

“I _don’t_ spy, but I’ll avoid going near the bathroom from now on,” he snaps, a little hurriedly. He crosses his arms, sleeves barely covering the red on his robe, and Tadashi finds his gaze drawn to the bright color again. “…Don’t you have any better questions about this situation?”

“Oh, hell yes I do. But what’s that red on your outfit?”

The ghost visibly tenses at the question.

Tadashi would normally feel bad, but he feels he’s owed for inadvertently becoming a ghost’s personal peep show for the past several weeks. _Fuck, don’t think about jacking off_ —too late. He quickly pulls the towel down over his face, pretending to dry his hair to avoid looking at him. It’s so much worse because the ghost is sort of handsome, in a really annoyed sort of way. Thank god he didn’t have someone, he can’t fathom having to explain _oh yeah, so it turns out a ghost’s haunting me and was totally watching while we banged_ , but then again, Tadashi could use someone else to talk to.

He has no idea how much time passed while he went down that horrible rabbit hole again. But the ghost finally breaks the silence with an answer. “Human spirits—ghosts—wear whatever reflects their death.”

Tadashi moves the towel just enough to peek up at him with one eye. “So you are actually… y’know…?”

“I know what?” he asks, voice hardening again.

“You were alive?” Tadashi squeaks.

The ghost turns away, sneering at the far wall. “Yes. I was. And now I’m not.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Tadashi doesn’t know. He hides beneath the towel again, scrubbing harder at his hair. “Can I ask what your name was? Is? D-Do you still have a name? I mean, the cat guy had a name, but—”

“Tsukishima.” The name sounds oddly familiar, but he can’t place it right away. There’s a long pause, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s _expectant_.

He pulls the towel from his head and demands, “You have been haunting me and you don’t even know my name?”

The ghost snorts back a laugh at his disheveled hair. One of his hands twitches forward, like he’s about to fix it, and Tadashi notices the halted movement. On impulse, he reaches forward. His hand slides through Tsukishima’s knee. He doesn’t notice any difference in temperature or anything amiss, aside from the fact that his hand is barely visible through the white robe.

“C-Could you not do that,” Tsukishima asks, pleading, and shifts away from his not-touch.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I’m just still—processing. Sorry.”

“Do I get to know your name?”

“I’m also still processing why you chose me if you don’t know who I am.”

“I know who you are,” he says flatly. “I know plenty about you. And your surname is Yamaguchi. But I was giving you the opportunity to tell me yourself.”

“Well, it’s Yamaguchi Tadashi.” Weren’t you supposed to be polite to spirits? Tadashi liked being polite in general, but most of his fear of the situation has long since melted away, replaced by confusion, curiosity, and latent annoyance. “Can I ask more questions?”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Tsukishima explains a great deal to Tadashi. He confirms that yes, there’s an entire world of spirits and magic and even monsters that most people are unaware of. He says being dead is a lot like going to sleep and waking up again, but that he hasn’t passed on yet, so he’s not sure what the actual afterlife is like. Most spirits apparently pass on pretty soon after death, not bothering to stick around to do much. He also is very vague about how long ago he died.

He seems happier to talk about the world in general rather than himself, and for awhile, Tadashi’s content to let him. Yaku Morisuke is a bakeneko, a higher type of spirit, and helped Tsukishima figure out a way to become a luck spirit himself (which in turn explains the weird pet collar thing). There are other types of spirits and monsters—most myths turn out to have some kernel of truth within them—and almost all of them willingly leave living humans alone.

“Why were those guys so worried about you becoming a luck spirit?”

“…Spirits aren’t meant to be changing, not like living people are.”

“So you were breaking the rules,” Tadashi says, eyebrows raised. Tsukishima nods with another sour expression. It seems like his default is either impassive or irritated and he see-saws between them. “Are you still in trouble?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know who they are or what they want, aside from banishing spirits and getting easily offended when they’re wrong.”

“ _Were_ they wrong?” he presses.

“…Probably. I’m not fully a human spirit anymore, so they’re at least a little wrong. I knew what I was doing,” Tsukishima replies.

Tadashi accidentally breaks the mood with a yawn.

“It’s getting late. You should sleep.”

“So you’ve been following me around for a month and a half, acting like a worried parent?” Tadashi smiles at him, and he’s rewarded with another embarrassed flush of his cheeks.

Tsukishima looks uneasily around the small living room. He looks ready to ask the question—he must know the answer, if he’s been with Tadashi that long—but instead closes his mouth and stands. He raises his arms and looks expectantly down his nose at the boy sitting by his feet. “Up. You need to sleep.”

“…This will wear off by tomorrow. We won’t be able to talk like this, will we?”

“No, we won’t. Did you, er, have any other questions?” Tsukishima asks as though it pains him.

Tadashi stands up and throws his towel over one of his shoulders. “One more, I guess.” He tries to look as if he’s not gearing himself up to ask, and Tsukishima looks unfairly unprepared. With a deep breath, Tadashi asks, “You’re Akiteru’s brother, aren’t you?”

Tsukishima’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. He’s genuinely caught off guard, face open and honest, before his expression shutters again. “Yes. I was,” he replies tersely.

It explains quite a few things, primarily how Tsukishima knew of him without knowing his name. Tadashi turns from him, feeling guilty for asking like that. “I just wanted to know, sorry. Uhh, while I’m shoving my foot down my throat, though, c-can I ask why you’re haunting me and not him? It sounds like you’re sort of helping me, so why wouldn’t you—”

“He’s dead,” Tsukishima says, voice utterly flat.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t really want to talk about it. Go to sleep, Yamaguchi.”

“…Come to bed with me,” he says instinctively, once again turning to tug on hands he can’t grasp. Tsukishima’s lip curls, so he hastily continues, “I want to ask you more things. About anything! If this is the last time we talk, I don’t want it to be me being an ass to you.”

Looking uncomfortable and still faintly closed-off, Tsukishima follows Tadashi into his bedroom. Where he’s probably been a lot already, he supposes, but it’s different _knowing_ he’s there. He quickly kicks some dirty laundry under his bed and tries to straighten his blankets before realizing that it's useless.

“Why did you want to become a luck spirit? Is that an okay question to ask?” Tadashi tries, awkward, but Tsukishima gives him a curt nod.

“They’re benevolent spirits. And they don’t require action to affect someone.”

 _Why me_ , he wants to ask again, but not after that landmine he stepped on earlier. “How come that short guy earlier could touch that other ghost guy? He was carrying him, but he was a real—uh, alive person.”

“That’s what I want to know,” Tsukishima mutters, the jealousy clear in his voice.

Tadashi jumps into bed, bouncing once, and scoots over towards the wall to make room. He makes puppy eyes at Tsukishima until, with a sigh, he sits on the bed next to him. It’s like a slumber party, except with less video games and snacks and significantly more ghost stories. “So you really don’t need those glasses, huh? Or do they still correct your vision?”

“I _like_ wearing them. Why do you like wearing fuzzy paw print pants to bed?”

Tadashi squeaks and feels his face heat up. “These are _warm_ , okay? And lately the weather’s been—”

“Yamaguchi, I’ve been here for awhile,” he interrupts wryly. “I know those are your favorites.”

“My mother got these for me,” he confesses into his pillow, then yawns. He can still feel his ears burning. “The cat guy gave you that collar, right? You look like a pet dog.”

“Cat,” Tsukishima corrects. His fingers drift over the oversized bell on the front of it. “Maneki-neko—lucky cats.”

“So you’re a _cat_ luck spirit?”

“No.” A pause, and then, “…Maybe a little. I’m not sure of the details myself.”

Tadashi can’t help but laugh, but at least he muffles it with his pillow. “Are you gonna grow cat ears and a tail, too?”

“I better not.”

“What happens if you take it off?”

“I need this to stay on,” Tsukishima says quickly. “This is what’s making me a luck spirit, instead of a human one. It was very gracious of Yaku to give it to me.”

“And you trust him?”

“I have little other choice. I trust that he was telling the truth about not wanting trouble in the city.”

“Why would you cause trouble? Breaking the rules isn’t _that_ bad,” Tadashi says with another yawn. His bed feels surprisingly comfortable for once. Maybe he’s just managed to find the one spot that isn’t too hard or lumpy— _right, lucky_. That’s going to take some getting used to, and he has a feeling he’ll soon become paranoid that _everything’s_ due to luck.

“…There’s a superstition that rogue spirits can turn into demons,” Tsukishima replies, disgust clear, with another pout. It scrunches up his nose. Tadashi is _really_ glad he’s stuck with a spirit about his age, although that only serves to remind him that Tsukishima is _dead_. And, apparently, so is his brother. “What’s that look for?” Tsukishima demands.

“Nothing,” Tadashi lies and buries his face in the pillow again. “Just thinking that with you around, I’ll never have to worry about eggs or milk going bad again.”

“I can’t perform miracles. It wouldn’t kill you to clean out your fridge every now and then.”

 

\--

 

“Suga’s still not back yet?”

“No.” Kiyoko sounds worried, even over the phone. “You and Asahi haven’t had any luck finding him?”

“No—him or the black thing.” Yuu sighs and runs his hand back through his wet hair. He’s soaked, and shivering, but he pays that no mind. “I’ll track him down, though! Just give me another half hour and I’ll deliver him, safe and sound.”

“You be careful out there, too.”

His heart warms at her concern for him. He hangs up and shoves his phone into his messenger bag before ducking out from under the awning he’d taken cover under. “Yo, Asahi!” he calls, hands cupped around his mouth to carry his voice over the pouring rain. “Any luck yet?”

Asahi comes floating back through the storm, gnawing on his lip. He shakes his head. “I can’t see in this weather any better than you can, sorry.” He frowns down at him, looking him up and down, and adds, “And you should go back to Kiyoko and the others, too. You’re going to get sick. I-I can—”

“Don’t spout that horseshit at me,” Yuu scolds, smacking him in the arm. “First, you know I’m invincible. Second, you’re scared shitless by that thing. Third, you can’t even do anything against it!”

“I-I could still help Koushi,” he mumbles.

“Let’s just help him by finding him or that thing that’s following him. What did the cat dude call it?”

“A nightgaunt,” Asahi says, voice faint, eyes anywhere but on Yuu. He squints suspiciously up at him.

“And you seem to know what that is. I thought Suga kept quiet about that! Spill!”

“I think I should go look over here—”

“I can’t believe he told you and not me,” Yuu growls and stomps off into the rain. He’d known for awhile that there had been _something_ mad at Suga, but he had never seen it before, and he’d never been able to figure out what it was. And there he was thinking it was a banshee or something—a fucking nightgaunt.

Okay, he doesn’t even know what that is. But it sounds pretty bad.

And Suga had told Asahi and not him.

Okay, so he can understand that, too. They’re ghosty buddies whenever Suga has to project, and Suga’s the one who helped them back then, too. _Ugh, that’s probably going to need to be fixed soon, too_ , he remembers and groans aloud. Yuu doesn’t really understand magic and spirits and witches. He’s okay just putting things to rest or cleaning out stupid house spirits. He and Asahi get paid, the city is safer, and it feels a little awesome.

He tenses at Asahi’s tentative hand on his shoulder. “You know he didn’t want you to worry or try to do anything rash.”

“Yeah, _I’m_ the one who shouldn’t worry. That’s why he told you,” he says before he can stop himself. Asahi pulls away but Yuu turns and grabs his hand, holding it in both of his. “I’m sorry, shit. I just wish you two wouldn’t tiptoe around these things with me, y’know?”

“W-We don’t—” Asahi begins, guilt thick in his voice. Yuu shakes his head and presses the back of Asahi’s hand against his wet bangs.

“I’m included in this. Don’t forget that, that’s all I want,” he mumbles, then straights with a bright, sharp grin. “Now then, is there anything _else_ haunting Suga?”

“No,” Asahi says.

“Great! So we just have to find this one thing, kick its ass, and then rescue our damsel in distress. And carry him back to that guy in the bookstore, since you can’t even _try_ to tell me Suga wasn’t crushing hard on him. Go on, try and tell that to my face.”

“I-I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” Asahi frets, and Yuu laughs, triumphantly. His laugh dies away at his next words, however. “And you can’t kill the nightgaunt. That’s why he didn’t want to tell you.”

“Then how does he put up with it all the fucking time? There has to be _some_ way of stopping it.”

“It can only, uh, find him when he’s near death, I think? Th-That’s how he explained it to me, anyway.”

“Then my plan still mostly works!” Yuu exclaims. “We find him and rescue our damsel in distress! Is this nightgaunt thing something I can punch? I’m down for _trying_ to put a dent in it.”

“I have no idea. Koushi said not to go near it.”

Yuu shoves down further annoyance that they’ve discussed this before. Well, he knew, too, on some level; he knew Asahi shouldn’t go near any other spirits if he can help it. Human spirits are soft, fragile things and are prone to getting eaten by other things.

They finally, _finally_ find Suga perched precariously on a streetlight, the black figure shuffling around in a circle beneath him. It has wings, but they only flap in agitation, not in any actual use. Yuu almost charges out into the middle of the street before Asahi tugs him back. The light beneath Suga turns green, and an old pickup lurches past, passing harmlessly through the nightgaunt.

“There you two are,” Suga calls down. From even there, they can see he’s shivering, robe clinging wetly to him. “Noya, do you have purifying salt you haven’t used?”

“Yeah!”

“Okay, take that and—don’t _throw_ it!” Suga wobbles dangerously on the light. The nightgaunt turns to Yuu without any sense of urgency, not at all bothered by the salt, and he’s not sure if it’s the distance, the haze from the rain, or just his eyes, but he’s pretty sure the thing doesn’t have a _face_. No eyes or mouth or anything other than horns curling forward over where its face should be. “Asahi, you stay back! Noya, I need you to find a dry spot to mix the salt, any sleep soot you have, and _please_ tell me you have rowan dust.”

“I have whatever you and Kiyoko shoved at me,” Yuu calls back, already digging around in the bag. He has his own usual grab bag, and he _did_ make sure to shove a couple of his go-to items in there, but this job isn’t his usual type. And he still has no real idea what the fuck a nightgaunt is. Whatever it is, it returns its attention to Suga and pathetically tries to jump for him.

Asahi tugs Yuu back under the nearest overhang, and he all but dumps his bag’s contents onto the wet sidewalk trying to find the grocery list Suga needs. Magic so isn’t his thing. Asahi hands him a little vial of sawdust and Yuu scrapes the remains of the salt sticking to his palm onto the opened packet of sleep soot. “Now what?” Asahi asks, voice raised to be heard over the rain. The nightgaunt doesn’t even look in their direction anymore.

“There should be some blood in there, too! Add four drops and mix it into a paste, and then I’m going to need you to _very carefully_ approach the—actually, no, just mix it together and toss it up here! I’ll do it myself.”

“No fucking way, dude! That thing has a hard-on for you, and only you, so just tell me what I need to do and you stay up there!” Yuu commands.

Suga’s flat look is visible even through the rain. “It’s drawing seals, Noya.”

“I can do that,” he replies defensively, hands cupped around his reddish concoction. “I can finger paint, anyway, so how hard can drawing something be?” He looks both ways down the street before jogging out; Suga makes a shooing motion from the light to keep Asahi on the sidewalk and well away from the black figure.

The nightgaunt’s tail curls in Yuu’s direction as he approaches, but it doesn’t turn to face him. He’s pretty sure it can hear, but it doesn’t seem to _care_ that he’s there. Well, he’s about to be its problem, but he’s fine with an easier job.

“The second I see a wrong rune, I’m jumping down there,” Suga threatens, and the nightgaunt flaps its wings, as if in excitement. He scowls down at it. “Get as close as you can, but don’t touch it. You don’t have to get too cozy, we just need a circle. You’re going to be alternating three runes, okay?”

“Got it, got it, and if it freaks out I shank it with a silver knife and see how it likes it, right?” Yuu sings and pats the sheath on his thigh.

“Holy water might work,” Suga mumbles, but Yuu can still hear him from there. Plan B then. “You know the symbols for _confine_ and _dark_ , right?”

“I’m not completely illiterate,” Yuu retorts. He’s only slightly magically illiterate. Suga smiles—it’s forced—and Yuu edges a little closer to the nightgaunt. “Okay, so I’m shit at the witchy stuff you and Yui got up to. What’s the third symbol I’m supposed to be painting around this thing?”

“Another protection one, looks like this?” Suga draws a very complicated, wiggly _thing_ in the air. Yuu squints up at him. Suga tries it again, and nope, he doesn’t recognize that at all. “Well, shit. Try copying it?”

“Won’t that blow up or something?”

“This isn’t magic, just runes. It’s like a circle, but with a slash through it, and then on the top of the slash there’s a little crook off of it, see—”

“Whatever, I’m going for it!” Yuu declares confidently and sticks his finger in the red mixture. It’s strangely warm to the touch. He makes the marks a little large, hoping that he’ll have to draw less of them, and Suga’s practically hanging upside-down off of the light, trying to check his handwriting. Drawing? Painting? It doesn’t blow up in his face, and the nightgaunt sluggishly bats up at Suga. Yuu ducks under one of its wings, halfway done with a sort of oval around it.

He finishes the lopsided circle and the nightgaunt hardly seems to notice. Suga drops down beside him, however, and with something that sounds like Simlish to Yuu’s ears, he puts his hands on the marks nearest him. The circle glows briefly and the nightgaunt snaps to attention, wings and tail held rigid, and then lets out a long, pained howl.

Suga grins and wipes the paste off on his robe. Yuu looks away from the sight of red-on-white. “Okay, so that went pretty well! I’m even still conscious!”

“You’re both going to have pneumonia,” Asahi cries and comes over to hover worriedly over both of them. “Koushi, you shouldn’t have gone so far from us! And Yuu, you should really know basic runes by now…”

“That last one wasn’t that basic, I guess. But are _you_ trying to scold us?” Suga returns loftily, head cocked to the side as he regards Asahi with clear suspicion.

Asahi quails, but Yuu jumps up to bat in his stead. “He won’t, but I sure as hell will! Why the fuck were you keeping this thing from me?!”

The nightgaunt bangs against its new jail. Both spirits jump—at Yuu. He manages to catch Asahi on reflex, but Suga falls through him with a squawk of dismay, unable to even balance himself on Asahi.

“Can we talk about this later? That won’t hold it for very long,” Suga groans, face in a puddle on the street.

“You owe me a talk. A huge fucking talk.”

“Sure. And _you_ get to tell Kiyoko we failed the job.”


	4. Haiba Lev Is More Shrewd Than Others Expect

Suga wakes up with Yuu’s heel in the small of his back. His elbow is worryingly near his head, too. He grunts and wiggles away, only to end up falling off the bed. “I’m sorry, I tried to keep him mostly in one place,” Asahi apologizes from somewhere above him.

Suga kicks, managing to nudge Yuu’s other foot. For someone so small, the guy takes up the most space out of anyone Suga has ever known. And he has a cat.

Said cat traitorously jumps up onto the bed and curls up on the pillow he’d just vacated.

“Sunny, I’m putting you on a diet,” Suga groans. And then sneezes. The Tanaka siblings had been apparently making bets the night before over how sick everyone would end up, but Suga finds it incredibly unfair that he’s stuck with whatever’s going on in his sinuses when he didn’t even have a true corporeal form at the time.

His body’s slowly waking up—he’s not a morning person by any stretch of the imagination—and slowly becoming aware of just how much everything sucks. His throat is as dry as a desert, there’s a pounding behind his eyes, his entire body feels weak in a way that can’t be blamed on sleep, and there’s whatever the hell is going on in his nose.

“I-I think Yuu feels warm,” Asahi says worriedly. “I’m sorry—could you feel him for me? I’m not good with temperatures, really, and I’m sorry I can’t help you up—I can’t play nurse for you two, oh no, I’ll try to get Kiyoko—”

Somehow (really, Suga should be getting an award for this) he makes it into a kneeling position, half-flopped over his bed. He puts his hand on Yuu’s forehead, and it’s burning hot.

Saeko wins the bet; they’re both horrendously sick.

“Can you… just move him over a bit?” Suga asks tiredly and inches his way up over the edge of his bed like the world’s most pathetic worm. “Sunny, fucking move or I’m never feeding you again.”

Asahi somehow corrals Yuu’s limbs into something that might only be taking up two-thirds of the bed instead of all of it. Okay, so Suga doesn’t have the biggest bed, but it _should_ be more than enough for two people. He regrets telling him he could spend the night.

 _But you wanted to make sure he was okay_ , he scolds himself. He’s not. Neither of them are.

Sunshine settles onto Suga’s stomach, too heavy and too hot, but he’s purring. And Suga is a sap. He flops his hand into his long fur, trying to pet, but just ends up sneezing on him. The cat stops purring and glares at him.

Beside them, Yuu sucks in a wheezing breath and then manages to cough himself awake. The tissue box from the bathroom drops down onto the bed between them, Asahi looking tense and worried and tired above them. “Phone,” Suga croaks. “I’ll get Kiyoko over here.”

 

\--

 

“Kenma, I’m going to need you to watch the shop for a little while,” Kiyoko announces and Kenma freezes on the spot. She brushes past him with a box in her arms, and begins loading it with various jars from her personal shelf. “There are no appointments today, and I don’t think anything big will happen. You don’t even have to serve any customers if you don’t want to, just tell them to wait for me. Make sure no one steals anything.”

“Are we going to be guard dogs?!” Lev asks eagerly.

“Why don’t you just close the shop?” Kenma asks.

“Because then you’d both have to leave, and there are a few things I’d like to teach you today. Kenma, not you, Lev.”

Lev droops onto her counter, exuding disappointment.

“I could have a day off,” Kenma mumbles. He’s been at Kiyoko’s shop almost daily since she’d ‘hired’ him.

“Weren’t you interested in astral projection?” Kiyoko asks, practically dangling it over him. He nods, unhappily, and she finishes packing her box. “Let this show that I trust you enough to stay here without me. I’ll be back soon, but I’m not sure precisely when. Don’t break anything and don’t let anyone steal.”

“You already said that!” Lev whines.

“There are things here that other people don’t need,” she replies vaguely and leaves them there.

“We get the shop to ourselves!” Lev cheers, bouncing back almost immediately. He rocks back on his heels and gives Kenma a very bright grin. He looks away. “We should make something! You’re supposed to be learning how to make stuff, right?”

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles and starts heading back to the storage room, to grab his handheld. Lev’s hand seizes his shoulder and literally drags him back, however. “Let me go.”

“Teach me more runes! I can go get that book she’s lending me—”

“Don’t wanna,” Kenma repeats sullenly.

“Don’t just go back and play your game again. Don’t you want to look at anything in here? This place is _so cool_!”

“Then _you_ work for her.”

“I want to,” Lev says with a heavy sigh. “I could be such a good witch—”

“You’re not a witch,” Kenma points out. That’s all he’s heard from Lev since he’d found out, and it’s getting _old_. He’s mostly resigned to Lev learning about magic, and he’s mostly resigned to teaching him himself since he wants to control what he finds out, but it doesn’t mean he has to like any of it. He really just wants to curl up in his blanket nest in the back room and nap with Kuro.

“Will you at least stay out here if I just read quietly?” Lev asks him, voice oddly serious. Kenma doesn’t meet his eyes but nods.

“I’m playing my game, though.”

While he runs off to grab one of Kiyoko’s books and retrieve Kenma’s game for him, Kenma finds himself scanning over the shelves lining the nearest wall. Kiyoko keeps things organized. Everything’s labeled, although some of the ingredient names look French, and from what he can tell, everything is safely stored. He frowns at a jar with pickled salamanders. Gross.

Kiyoko is _very_ trusting. If nothing else, Lev can cause chaos. If Kenma wanted to, he could burn the store to the ground. He’s sure there are charms in place to protect the building and its contents, but charms and spells are what he’s good at. Not stupid potions.

Kuro’s chin nestles its way onto Kenma’s head and the demon yawns. “Weren’t you sleeping?” Kenma asks irritably.

“Lev stepped on me. Your babysitter is gone?”

“She stepped out for a bit.”

“Sweet, now we can get a peek at the good stuff.”

“Don’t go snooping,” Kenma orders and Kuro whines in defeat. Before he can start on his speech about how Kenma should be more adventurous—he’s already used to that one, too—he quickly adds, “Kuroo. I think that will be your surname.” He’d been thinking of it all last night, after the astral projection had gotten boring.

“…Huh. That’s a little cheap, isn’t it?”

“It works as a name.”

“Don’t humans normally have two or three of those? Where’s the rest, hm?” Kuro says and rubs his cheek against the top of Kenma’s head.

“If you don’t want to be named after a video game character, stop asking and let me think at my own pace.”

“Where’s the clever Kenma that made that summoning circle?”

“I’m going to name you after the guy I’m romancing,” he threatens.

Kuro jerks back and spins Kenma around. His eyes are bright and he’s grinning, but it’s not his usual one. “You’re romancing someone?! How come I haven’t met him?”

“I meant in the video game,” Kenma bites out, cheeks flaming. Who the hell thinks someone’s talking about real life when they use the term _romancing_? “Kuroo Tetsurou. You’re stuck with it now. Congratulations.”

The resulting smile is closer to his usual one. “So we’re romancing?”

“You two are romancing?!” Lev, of course, picks that moment to come back, book held triumphantly over his head.

“Kuro, off of me. You two can guard the shop by yourselves. I’m going into the back room,” Kenma mumbles and flees before they can embarrass him further.

 

\--

 

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Morisuke admits. He curls his overly long tail around his neck, mimicking a collar. “I may be a little fond of you, but I’m not your parent. Isn’t saving you—twice—enough?”

“I’m sorry,” Kei replies with a stiff bow. “I just wanted a few questions answered, and I wasn’t sure who else to ask.”

“Ahh, I’m going soft,” Morisuke laments. Kei straightens, and the cat jumps up onto his shoulders, curling around them and laying down like he’s a shawl. Kei briefly wonders if he’ll just keep collecting strange spirit garb. “Ask away. I’m a sucker for underdog stories.”

 _Why am I an underdog?_ “The hunters from last night—one was a living human but could see and touch spirits.”

“Humans seeing spirits isn’t terribly uncommon. All it takes is a very near-death experience and most figure it out.” The cat sighs against the leather collar. “There’s probably witch spells that can do that, too. Isn’t that what the kid is after?”

Kei glances over at Tadashi. He’s still glued to his phone. “I think so,” he replies. That morning had been awkward, since by the time Tadashi awoke he couldn’t see Kei anymore, but he had announced that he was going to find a way to see him again. Kei’s pretty sure it’s mostly for his own comfort.

“I’ve never heard of any long-term witch spells that can do it, but I have faith you two can figure something out,” Morisuke says proudly. “I want you two to succeed in… whatever the hell you think you’re doing.”

“I just want to pay him back,” Kei mumbles self-consciously. He adjusts his glasses and tilts his head up to avoid the prying bronze eyes of the cat spirit. “Do you know why that man could touch that spirit, though?”

“No idea, actually. I’ve never heard of humans interacting with ghosts like that before. Let me know if you figure that bit out, because I’d love to know myself.”

“I think I’ve found a place!” Tadashi announces, voice loud, drawing confused stares from passers-by. He looks around, eyes gliding over Kei and Morisuke, and give the space to their right an uncertain smile. “I’ll figure something out, okay, Tsukki?”

“That’s really cute,” Morisuke purrs. “He’s still trying to talk to you?”

Kei cranes his head back further so the cat can’t see the blush that’s undoubtedly on his cheeks. “He’s trying to make me feel like he hasn’t forgotten me. Which, of course I know that. It’s an empty gesture.”

“And the nickname?”

“Considering he spent most of last night calling you Mr. Cat Monster, I think I’ve gotten off lucky there,” he deadpans. He feels Morisuke bristle against the sliver of skin between his robe and the collar.

They follow Tadashi on his winding route. Kei’s used to just following him. It’s new that he has even an inkling of what the kid’s thinking, and he finds he enjoys that a little. (He’s lost Tadashi in crowds more than once.) The day is sunny and clear, the type of overly bright day that always comes after heavy rain, and as a result, people are bustling around the city again.

Tadashi waits on a corner while Kei grumpily phases through the mass of people. That always feels so disgusting, _invasive_. He doesn’t realize that Tadashi was waiting _for him_ until he’s caught up and they’re crossing the street together.

“Yamaguchi?” Kei asks, voice oddly constricted. “Can you—”

“I’m pretty sure I’m like a bat right now. I think I can hear you dinging every so often,” Tadashi says, accidentally cutting across him, but the way he chuckles warmly makes him easy to forgive. “Maybe we can use echolocation for awhile if this place doesn’t check out.”

He looks down at his phone again, scrolling down a site Kei can’t see.

“…Why?” Kei asks.

“Well, it’s not _your_ collar,” Morisuke points out. “Maybe that makes it easier for him to hear. You said you’ve been able to touch him, too. Luck spirits aren’t bound as tightly by rules preventing interaction.”

“Only when he’s unconscious,” Kei replies, annoyed again. And not every time. He hasn’t been able to figure that out, either. “…That grey-haired hunter could touch me, too.” Sort of. He remembers his hand reaching through the luck he’d amassed, shaking him, but not as firmly as he remembered _actual human touching_.

He feels oddly lonely at that memory.

“Maybe he wasn’t human? But they both smelled human,” Morisuke hums. He butts his head up against the bottom of Kei’s chin and starts purring again. “You’ll figure it out. I’m good at picking out winners.”

“So you don’t know how any living souls could do that?”

“No, not really. I don’t often hang around humans or witches, though, so there’s probably plenty I don’t know. Your Tadashi will probably have better luck.”

Tadashi finally halts his journey in front of a shop called The Crow’s Cup. They’re in a slightly quieter part of town, closer to residential areas. Morisuke sniffs the air. Kei doesn’t smell anything until Tadashi pushes open the door, and then it hits him like a ton of bricks. He has no idea what the smell _is_ , just that it’s foul and rotten and bitter, and he gags, reeling away from the store.

He reaches out to stop Tadashi, but his hand passes through his shoulder.

“Uh, hello? I, um, think I’ll need some help with something…” he calls as he walks in, unaware. Morisuke bristles again, claws dug deep into Kei’s shoulders, but they follow him in. He’s not letting Tadashi go into a place that feels so _wrong_ by himself, even he he himself can’t place what’s so bad. The store itself seems pretty normal, if a little cluttered with knickknacks.

“Why _hello_ there, pretty kitty,” a voice says from behind them and Morisuke is plucked off of his shoulders.

The cat spirit yowls, fur standing on end, and swats at the person as Kei whirls around. The man before them is almost as tall as he is, sharp-eyed and with horrifically messy black hair, and he’s holding Morisuke without a care to the claws shredding his sleeves.

With a hollow _pop_ , Morisuke turns tangible, humanoid and with fire haloing his head. Kei doesn’t understand why he’s so upset until he spits, “ _Demon_ , let go of me!”

“Where the hell did you come from?!” someone else shouts from within the store. Kei backs away from the apparent demon, wide-eyed, and wonders how he can possibly get Tadashi out of there.

The freckled boy turns around at the commotion, nearly backing into Kei. “Th-That’s a demon?!” he squeaks. His head snaps around, searching—Kei both hopes and doesn’t that he’s looking for him. He just wants Tadashi to get out of there.

“A cat!” the first voice shouts and Tadashi is nearly bowled over by an even taller guy. He pulls the flaming, bottlebrush-tailed Morisuke from the demon’s grasp and the demon _lets_ him with a laugh. “Hey, Kenma, Kuro found a cat person!”

“Put me _down_!” Morisuke snarls and kicks him in the stomach. He’s dropped as the tall man doubles over with a wheeze. He whirls around on the demon again. “What is a demon doing here?”

“Oh, come on, kitty, I’m just a little hungry, just a nibble,” the demon coos back, advancing on him again. Morisuke lashes out with a fiery orb, and he stumbles back, hands up in surrender.

His eyes find Kei.

“Oh no you don’t—”

“Kuro, stop tormenting the customer!” the tall guy commands, but the demon ignores him with a grin.

“He’s not a customer, we just have some uninvited guests. We’re supposed to take care of the shop, right, Lev? That involves keeping spirits out.”

“He’s a spirit?”

“Whoever’s contracted to that demon had _better_ order him to back off before I kill them both,” Morisuke growls. He’s between Kei and Tadashi and the demon, but he looks even smaller compared to the looming figure. And with a jolt, Kei realizes that he’s actively getting taller as he advances, long legs melting into shadows at his feet as he stretches up over them.

The demon lunges at the bakeneko. He’s met with a splash of flames and Kei, again, instinctively tries to pull Tadashi out of the way. The tall guy squawks and instead of running _away_ , he shoves his way between them, barely avoiding the fire. “Stop fighting! You can’t break anything, remember?”

“Hey, _I_ wasn’t ordered to—”

“Kuro, don’t break anything,” another voice floats to them from down the hall.

The demon, chewing on Morisuke’s shoulder, leans back with a sulk. He shuts his mouth and runs his tongue over his too-sharp teeth. Morisuke keeps two balls of fire floating over his shoulder as he scuttles back to stand in front of Kei and Tadashi. “So you _are_ contracted.”

“Of course I am,” the demon pouts.

“Get your owner out here. I want them responsible for your actions.”

“Kenma, we have a customer!”

“That’s why he’s staying back there,” the tall guy cheerfully informs them. “I can help you!”

“You don’t work here,” the demon says.

“What do you need help with?” he continues, ignoring him.

“I,” Tadashi croaks, “uh. I just. Wanted s-some help figuring out how to—that’s a _demon_?”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, at your service,” the demon says with a grand bow. “And unlike my associate here, I _do_ work here. Sort of. A little bit.”

“What sort of shop is run by a demon?!” Morisuke angrily demands. His tail is still frizzed out, but he’s slowly letting the fire burn itself to nothingness.

“At least we know it’s magical,” Kei deadpans. “Maybe they’ll have something to help Yamaguchi.”

“C-Could I speak to your, um, manager pretty please?” Tadashi requests.

 

\--

 

“Hi, Sunny,” Kiyoko says with a smile for the cat that comes out to greet her. She can feel something faintly off, like the barest press of someone’s touch against her mind, and she adds, “Hello, Asahi. I’m sorry, I can’t see you right now.”

It’s always awkward dealing with spirits on her own; normally she has Suga, or at least Yuu, around. They’re the only people she knows who can see ghosts without the aid of magic. She hopes Asahi doesn’t hold it against her.

She finds Suga and Yuu crowded together on his bed. Suga has every single blanket cocooned around him, and Yuu is coughing fitfully, only in boxers and covered with a thin sheen of sweat. He does crack a smile when he sees her, however. “Kiyoko! You came to nurse us?” His voice is hoarse and weak.

Kiyoko sets down her box at the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry you two fell ill.” _At least they’re together_ , she privately adds. She’s glad Suga had the foresight to tell Yuu and Asahi to crash at his place. She bends down, pressing her hand against Yuu’s forehead, and it’s even worse than she’d feared. She has to shove her hand into the pile of blankets and blindly reach around before she can find Suga; he’s cold, clammy, and may be shivering.

“Ryuu’s gonna be _so_ jealous,” Yuu mumbles. “I get Kiyoko to nurse me…”

“Don’t sound so happy yet,” Suga warns from the blankets. His voice, too, is rough, but it sounds more dry than actually sore.

“I’ve brought plenty of things to help you feel better,” she tells them, and ignores the way Suga groans. He can be a bit of a baby at times, and her potions taste _fine_. Or as fine as they can taste, considering some of the ingredients. Maybe they’ll be too sick to notice. “Yuu, could you sit up for me, please? I’d like to give you something to break your fever before I ask Asahi to help you into the bath.”

Taking care of these boys is second nature to her by now. And she’s seen them far, far worse. Kiyoko’s mouth presses into a thin line as she pushes the memory from her. True, Ryuunosuke and Saeko can get roughed up on their jobs, but she can call in Hitoka to help with them. Kiyoko’s not exactly a nurse.

She knows she could have called Hitoka now as well, but she feels responsible for Suga and Yuu (and Asahi) in a way she doesn’t want to think about.

After getting him to drink a mixture with elderberry, mint, and a pinch of dried cowslip, she sits back to watch him hobble toward the bathroom. She can hear the water already running. It’s strange to watch him, knowing Asahi’s helping him; from her perspective, she’s constantly waiting for him to fall over, just to get caught by invisible hands. It’s taken a long time to learn to trust Asahi to help when she could no longer see him.

“Suga,” Kiyoko starts, turning back to the bed. The blanket pile pulls itself tighter inward. “I only brought one cup’s worth. You know it’ll help you.”

“That’s not a cure-all,” he replies, then the pile heaves as he starts sneezing. Kiyoko pulls the jar with the red mixture from her box and unscrews the lid. The blankets pull in tighter again when he must smell it. She herself can hardly smell it, although she’ll admit that what she can detect is cloying.

“Just one cup,” she coaxes. “And then you can have some ginger tea. I’ll bring in your fleece blanket from the living room, too.”

“It’s _not_ a cure-all. This is just a cold,” the blanket pile tells her.

“Yuu has a cold. You are spiritually exhausted.” Kiyoko rarely fully understands Suga’s problems, and yes, she may be prone to using his own recipe as a sort of catch-all when she’s at a loss, but she’s also certain she’s in the right here.

Sunshine jumps up onto the bed with a meow. Kiyoko smiles and scratches him behind an ear, earning a purr, and the cat winds his way around her and paws at the blanket pile.

“Sunny wants in. More body heat wouldn’t be terrible for you right now,” Kiyoko says.

When the blankets lift to let the cat in, she thrusts her hand in instead and clamps down on Suga’s wrist. She hauls him halfway out of his pile, ignoring his whining, and puts the mason jar in his hands. “That was mean, taking advantage of my cat like that!”

“He’s not your cat.”

“Sunny, papa’s being abused!”

The cat meows and sits down beside Kiyoko, fixing Suga with an expectant stare.

“You’re both traitors,” he rasps, then downs the jar in one fell swoop. He coughs, and she holds out the tissue box on the bed. He grabs a fistful just as he sneezes. When he pulls away, there’s red dribbling down his nose and his eyes look watery. “I don’t care how much you pay me, I’m never projecting again.”

“Hopefully we never need it again,” she says, sympathetic, but she can’t promise him that. He should know that. He’s the only one who doesn’t face a great chance of death with astral projection. Maybe, if she could get Kenma to open up and trust her, they could cut down on the chances, but she can’t count on that.

By the time Yuu comes out of the bath, he can walk on his own and a little bit of focus back in his overly bright eyes. He’s still warm, but not as bad, and he chats happily and (mostly) coherently with Asahi as Kiyoko makes them both ginger tea. She adds in a little more elderberry for Yuu’s mug and dumps quite a bit of Suga’s pomegranate juice into his. She’s not sure how he can stomach it, but she won’t comment on his tastes.

When she comes back into the living room, only Yuu is on the couch. She can dimly hear retching noises from the bathroom’s direction. “Your potion didn’t sit too well with him,” Yuu explains, voice still rough, and holds out his hands for his tea. She gives it to him with a sigh. She doesn’t have another batch of Suga’s potion made, nor does she have any more goldenseal powder or dragon’s heart.

“How are you feeling?” she asks and sits down beside him. Yuu hums happily and takes the opportunity to lean his head against her shoulder. She won’t shake him off, as bad as she feels for getting him sick.

“Give me another twenty-four hours and I’ll power through this,” he hoarsely declares, as confident as ever, and sips at his tea. He practically melts with a pleased noise. “I’m just gonna drink this, sleep for another ten hours, and everything will be fine. Promise!”

“Would you like me to drive you and Asahi home?”

“That’d be perfect!” he chirps and slurps at his tea.

“You really should put some clothes on before you get chilled.”

“I _wish_ I could. I still feel like I’m on the surface of the sun.”

They both look up at the reappearance of Suga, looking paler than usual (a feat) and a little more drawn. Kiyoko wordlessly offers up his mug of tea and he sits down on the floor in front of them to drink it. The blanket thrown across the arm of the couch floats down to him and Suga tugs it on over his shoulders with a small, grateful smile.

“Don’t strain yourself,” Yuu says archly. Suga nods. Kiyoko, as usual, feels awkward. “Besides, now we have Kiyoko helping us! I already feel a million times better. Just still really hot. Can I stick this tea in the freezer?”

“I wish I felt warm,” Suga croaks and rubs his cheek against the mug.

“Why don’t you two—”

“He’s too hot,” Suga says at once.

“Too cold,” Yuu agrees and pokes him with his toe. He recoils with a dramatic shiver.

Kiyoko rolls her eyes at them. She may not be able to see him, but she’s certain Asahi does, too.

 

\--

 

Kenma regards the bakeneko with caution, but also interest. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face. He’s never gotten the opportunity to meet many higher spirits outside of using various body parts for charms (and the ingredients in Kiyoko’s potions). …And there had been that run-in with the basilisk when he was nine. Hopefully this ends better.

The bakeneko seemed to calm once he met Kenma, perhaps affected by how young he is to have a demon tied to him, but Kenma can work with that.

“Is there anything I can help you with today?” he forces out.

“I’m just here with them,” the bakeneko replies, jerking a thumb over to the teenager with the rumpled clothes and freckly face. “And then we got ambushed by your pet.”

“I’m not the one with the collar,” Kuro snickers.

Kenma doesn’t understand the joke. “Why did you come in here, then?” he asks the customer. His first customer. Ugh, he really should leave him to Lev and Kuro. Academic interest is not worth it. Cat spirits are finicky creatures, anyway, even if his ears look _so soft_ —

“Is there a spell, or a hex, o-or a potion—anything, really, I don’t know how this stuff works,” he admits and runs a hand through his shaggy hair sheepishly. Kenma stares at him until he continues. “Uh, I’d just like to be able to see spirits? And talk with them? That’s a thing that can happen, right?”

“Yes,” Kenma allows. The only sure-fire way he knows of involves nearly dying. He’s not sure of any spells that can replicate the effect, but there could very easily be a potion that he’s unaware of. “Kuro, could you grab Kiyoko’s index for me?”

The demon slinks off, smirking at a spot behind the customer, and Kenma supposes that’s where the spirit is. He hopes it’s a harmless one, but he’s sure Kuro would say something if it was anything too terrible. He’d never thought about demons being able to see spirits before, but it makes sense.

“There’s no magic to do it?” Lev asks curiously.

“No easy magic.” There could conceivably be a very creative mixture of sight-enhancing charms and psychic awareness, but he’s not sure it would work. In theory, it might. …Probably not.

Kuro tosses the binder onto the counter and it slides to a stop perfectly in front of Kenma. He flips it open without thanking him. Would it be under sight? Or spirits? Probably spirits. He sets his chin in his hand with a sigh and leafs through it, scanning over the pages halfheartedly. Sleep, sleep (dreamless), sleep (healing), sleep (nightmares). How many types of sleep potions _are_ there?

His eyes linger over ‘sleep (projection)’.

A page and a half later of Kiyoko’s neat, uniform handwriting, and Kenma finds the spirits section. Most of the list is related to banishment or warding, with a special portion in blue ink for seances and summoning, but he finds a couple that seem like they’ll be worth looking into: spirit sight draught, spirit view potion, and eye of the ghost.

 _Who names witch potions?_ Kenma wonders with faint irritation. “Kuro, see if any of these three are in stock.” He _really_ hopes he doesn’t have to try to make any of them.

The bakeneko watches the demon flit from shelf to shelf with barely concealed suspicion. “Say, Kenma… How exactly did you come by a demon?” he asks, ears rotating forward and expression shifting to something more earnest when he looks up at Kenma.

“It was sort of an accident,” he admits. The cat spirit’s behavior is a little strange, and he can’t help but pay attention. He just wishes he’d be more distracted by Lev or Kuro or something instead of himself.

“And now you’re, what, just going back to life as normal with a new servant?”

“Not exactly—”

“That thing is safe, right?” the customer asks, voice a little squeaky. He’s the furthest possible from Kuro without seeming rude to Kenma or Lev.

“Kuro’s totally nice! He and Kenma have a contract, which means that he has to listen to him, and all they do all day is play video games and Kenma complains about making potions—”

“Kenma,” the bakeneko interrupts Lev, voice deadly serious, and he leans further over the counter to force Kenma to meet his eye. “Be very careful with that demon of yours, even if you are contracted. There are monsters out there that may want to hurt you through him.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kuro asks with matching gravity. The bakeneko bares his teeth at him but turns it into a smile for Kenma. It’s supposed to be a smile, he’s pretty sure.

“Just be careful. Demons have been valuable lately.” He slides off of the counter, landing lightly, and fixes his shirt. “Not that I’m involved, but I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a curious third or fourth party.”

“Involved in what?” Lev asks insistently. He’s practically lying on the table as he tries to follow the bakeneko’s attention. “Are all spirits so cryptic? Is there a secret society for spooky spirits?”

“We don’t like nosy humans,” he snaps back. And then, again, he smiles when he turns back to Kenma. He’s beginning to think the cat spirit is prone to playing favorites. “Demons aren’t particularly liked, and there has been some unrest with some others. Rumors about some of the Great Old Ones getting restless. And I’ve heard there’s a big-shot hunter that’s been seen around this area lately. Last I heard, he was after tengu, but humans will do an awful lot to avoid demons hanging around.”

He says the last part so pointedly that it makes Kenma wonder. “I’m sorry, I can’t see spirits, but there’s another one here, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, a kid who can’t decide if he’s a luck or human spirit,” Kuro replies, smirking. Kenma nods in understanding. How about that.

“He’ll be a luck spirit for awhile. Don’t touch him,” the bakeneko says with another suspicious look at the demon.

Said demon comes back with a single bottle from the three Kenma set him to find. Before he can complain, he tells him, “This is the only one we have in stock. Spirit sight draught, I guess.”

Kenma looks at the bottle in front of him. It looks like a small wine bottle, with green glass, and a rather ornate glass topper. There’s a label with its name on the base. And absolutely no other information. He comes to the very uncomfortable realization that he has _no idea_ what the potion is actually supposed to do. Or how much it’s supposed to cost, or the dosage, or how to make it if he has to replace it.

“Uh.” He picks it up and sloshes the liquid around inside. It seems thicker than water, opaque, and the bottle’s about half full. So is he not supposed to sell the entire bottle? “This is… something.”

“You have no idea what that is, do you?” the customer asks kindly. Kenma shakes his head. “Well, I don’t really know what I’m looking for, either, so we’re even.”

“I think I can look up how to make it, that should have a description of it…” Kenma reaches for the book Lev had brought out earlier, but Lev pulls it away from him with a defensive frown. All he can see is the handwritten lettering on the spine, but it isn’t Kiyoko’s handwriting. “Kuro, can you grab the recipe book?”

“Already ahead of you,” he says and slides that book over to him. Kenma skims through it until he finds what he’s looking for.

The good news: there’s a description of the potion alongside the recipe for how to make it. The bad news: nothing about the cost or how much to take. “Okay, well… Looks like that _will_ let you see spirits. It lasts about three days, I think? It may fluctuate a bit with how much you take. Side effects include…” Oh, that’s a rather nasty list. Headaches, migraines, eye pain, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, and with repeated use, chances of permanent eye damage and mental instability.

The customer’s gone pale in the face of that intimidating list. Kenma hardly blames him. As semi-curious as he is about ghosts, he’s not about to sign up for that list. “H-How much would one dose be?” he asks.

Both Kuro and the bakeneko glance over to where the other spirit probably is. Looks like someone’s unhappy with this decision. Kenma glances over the ingredient list again. Nothing jumps out at him as _too_ rare or valuable, so surely it’s not a matter to replace it. “Why do you want this so badly?” Kenma asks instead of responding.

“Oh, um, w-well,” he says, wringing his hands but already smiling, “my friend is a spirit, and I’d like to talk to him a bit more.”

“Ooooh, someone just got friendzoned,” Lev stage-whispers. The customer blushes furiously and Kuro bursts out laughing at the ghost’s expression.

“I’m already being haunted, so why not get some company out of it?” he retorts with surprising hardness and crosses his arms. “Just tell me how much it is and if I need to take it on a full moon, or in a crystal cup, or something weird.”

“Witches don’t still require that kind of stuff, do they?” the bakeneko asks dubiously. Kenma shakes his head. “Good. No offense to witches, but for a couple centuries there, you were kind of stuffy.”

“How old _are_ you? Do you know magic, too, other than all of the fire stuff? Do you know how to read runes?” Lev asks eagerly, bending far over the counter to get in his personal bubble. Again. The cat spirit backs away, tail puffed up, and Kenma is personally waiting for Lev to get scratched across the face.

“What kind of witch _are_ you?” he asks. Kuro starts laughing all over again.

“I’m the best kind of witch!” Lev declares.

“You’re not a witch at all,” Kenma corrects.

“In this book it says that you can still do some magic if you’re not a witch and if you have lots of runes. So I’ll do that and still be a witch,” he replies, as if it’s really that simple. Kenma groans and buries his face in Kiyoko’s recipe book. “Don’t worry, Kenma, I’m sure I’m shit at potions, too! So since we’re both really bad at that, and that’s the last of that spirit sight draught, how much are you willing to pay for a last-of-its-kind potion?” he asks, eyes glittering as he turns on the customer.

Kenma needs to stop forgetting that Lev almost sometimes knows what he’s doing. And he’s saved him the hassle of trying to calculate ingredient costs in his head.

“I don’t know,” the freckled boy replies. He leans out of Lev’s intrusion, but he doesn’t back down completely.

“Сколько с него взять?” Lev asks without taking his eyes off of him.[1]

Kenma probably should feel sorry for the way the kid breaks into a nervous sweat at the sudden harshness of the Russian. “Не знаю. Неважно. Но не будь слишком жесток.”[2]

Lev whines and sticks his tongue out. The customer takes a step back, but the bakeneko takes a step up, eyeing them warily. Kenma can tell he’s confused by the way his ears are tilted, a little crookedly, so he hopes that means that not all spirits understand all human languages. “Если я выручу много, покажешь мне еще больше рун?” Lev asks brightly.[3]

“Я покажу,” Kuro volunteers with a nasty grin.[4]

“No, you won’t,” Kenma immediately snaps. He doesn’t want Lev becoming any more comfortable with the supernatural than he has already, and certainly not with Kuro. Kuro sulks and wanders out of the room, headed towards the back room. Kenma feels the usual faint tug in his chest when he leaves his immediate vicinity.

“Kenmaaaa, you’re no fun,” Lev grouses. “Kitty cat man, you’re a luck spirit, right? What if we want to be paid in luck?”

“I’m a curious third or fourth party. He’s paying, not me,” the bakeneko replies. He points to the actual customer with his long tail. Kenma tracks the movement. That fur looks very, very soft.

“Um, maybe I would be able to pay in luck?” he says awkwardly, looking back over his shoulder. “H-How do you pay in luck?”

“No idea,” Lev replies simply. He pushes off of the counter and stands up again, stretching his arms up over his head, and the bakeneko scowls at his looming figure.

Kenma’s about had enough of the skittish back-and-forth on the price, as well as of socializing in general. “Lev, just get something figured out. I need to check on Kuro.” He can pay whatever difference there is himself if need be. Lev, while annoyingly excitable, is more of a people person than Kenma will ever be. And he can be surprisingly shrewd. In fact, they’ll probably get more if he leaves and lets Lev try his tall, scary Russian routine.

And he wants to leave before he does something _really_ stupid like try to pet a cat spirit.

He finds Kuro curled up in the nest in the back room, tapping away at _his_ game. Kenma feels his eye twitch at the sight. “So this is the Tetsurou I’m named after?” the demon drawls and holds up the handheld so Kenma can see it. Kenma doesn’t answer him. Kuro takes it back and frowns at the screen. “I don’t really look like him, do I? I haven’t decided if I think you’re bad under pressure or you’re just incredibly lazy when it comes to most things.”

“Give me that,” Kenma snaps, and he hands it to him without complaint. He’s irritated to find that Kuro had played past his save point. He’s technically looking at a spoiler, even if it’s just his character and Tetsurou talking about— _why are they talking about university_? They had promised not to talk about it until after they went to the crystal caverns to find Yuri. “How did you get this far ahead?! You just left!”

“I could be good at games if you want me to be,” he hedges. He still sounds a little annoyed himself, Kenma notes.

“Don’t play my games, and especially without permission,” he mutters and shuts it off without saving.

“That’s not as far ahead as you’re worrying, if that’s any consolation. When you get to the start of the next mission, he takes you aside, and—”

“Stop giving me spoilers!” Kenma exclaims and wishes he had something other than his handheld to throw at him. He’s not used to Kuro misbehaving like this, as passive aggressive as it is, and he’s still on edge from the mess with the customers. His first customer. Kiyoko sure trusted the right one there, didn’t she.

Kuro laces his fingers behind his head and reclines in the small space, feet nearly touching the far wall. “Still don’t want Lev to learn anything, hm? What if it’s just protection stuff? You heard the cat spirit yourself—some sort of shitstorm is brewing.” He opens an eye and regards Kenma coolly. “Or did you happen to already know that?”

“I don’t have to answer you,” he says, knowing full well that his words are an admission of guilt. Kenma flops down onto the nearest pillow and curls up into the tightest ball possible. Before Kuro can do his usual snuggle attack, he commands, “Go out there and make sure Lev behaves. Don’t torment anyone else. Just… behave. Don’t disturb me.”

“Fine,” Kuro replies, and he sounds miffed.

Kenma boots up the game again and deletes his save file. He’s going to find another character to romance.

 

\--

 

Tadashi leaves The Crow’s Cup feeling like he accidentally cheated the guy inside. He wonders how much luck Tsukishima had been pouring on him during that entire ordeal. Or was he scared of the demon? Was he even still around?

Well, he has a bottle of _something_ now, and his wallet is a little lighter, but he had not spent _nearly_ as much as he’d feared he would. _I wonder if you_ can _pay with luck?_ he wonders and looks down at the bottle in his hands.

He realizes he’s a teenager, standing in broad daylight, with what looks like alcohol. His hoodie pocket isn’t big enough to hold it completely or comfortably. He turns around, looking for Morisuke, but he’s either gone or still inside. Is he supposed to wait for him? He’s not sure what he is there for, aside from vague support. Tadashi has to do _something_ with the bottle; he can’t walk across half the city swinging it around.

“…Should I just drink it now?” He’s not sure how much to drink, but he figures he can just keep chugging until he starts seeing shit. This was a terrible idea. Terrible and vague and maybe outright stupid.

So he uncorks the bottle and sniffs it. It doesn’t smell like much of anything, maybe faintly flowery. At least any cops who inevitably try to arrest him wouldn’t be able to say it smells like alcohol. Or would he be lucky enough to make home? Tadashi really wishes there were guidelines to all this stuff.

He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a fast drink. It tastes like plastic and glue, a little slimy on his tongue, and he resists the urge to spit it back out onto the sidewalk. _This is so dumb._ Tadashi forces it down and peeks around; no sign of any ghosts. He’s feeling dizzy by the second drink, but he thinks he might have heard a faint _ding_ from somewhere to his left.

He realizes he’s about to faint when the ground comes rushing up to meet him. Something catches him halfway, just for a moment, and Tadashi blacks out.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko comes back to her shop to find about what she expected: nothing broken, but everything else a mess. There’s an unconscious teenage boy on her countertop, a worried bakeneko hovering over him, and Haiba Lev bustling around like he owns the joint.

“Where’s Kenma?” she asks, already feeling tired.

“He ordered me not to disturb him,” the demon grumbles, sounding more annoyed than usual. Great.

“Lev, would _you_ please go disturb Kenma for me? Kuro, please tell me what’s going on.” She sets her half-empty box down on the floor in the entryway and hopes that the young boy isn’t dead as she approaches him. His chest rises and falls steadily, although his breathing is shallow.

“Are you the owner of this shop?” the bakeneko asks. He sounds harried. Kiyoko looks him over, and takes a second look at the boy on the counter.

“I am.” Is it really them? She’s pretty sure it’s them. Which means there’s a human-turned-luck spirit floating somewhere nearby, too. Whose luck caused _this_ mess?

“Some place you’re running here,” he grumbles.

“Before you get angry at Kenma, I’m reminding you that you were well aware that Kenma knows next to nothing about potions,” Kuro starts, and that’s not a beginning to this explanation that she wants to hear. She gives him a cold look until he continues. “So they were our first customers, lucky us, right?”

That confirms it. She nods, letting him know that she understands what he means. Of course, she can’t interact with spirits herself, so it’s not as if she can finish Suga and Yuu’s failed job.

“The kid wanted to see ghosts, and we sort of went through your books until we found something, then gave him the potion.”

“ _What_ potion,” she says evenly.

“Uh, the spirit draught or whatever. Green bottle, kinda sparkly.”

“This one,” the bakeneko deadpans and holds up the bottle in question. She doesn’t recognize it right away. “Spirit sight draught.”

“And he drank it?” Kiyoko asks in concern as she takes the bottle from him. She swirls it around, trying to remember how much had been in there. “Do you know how much he drank?”

There’s a pause, and then the cat spirit answers, “Three swallows worth, give or take? Not very much.”

“That’s plenty, considering this isn’t meant to be ingested,” she sighs.

“Does he need to throw it back up?” the bakeneko asks. She’ll find his worrying over the boy interesting later, she’s sure, but right now, she has to focus on taking care of a magical poisoning.

“That’s not that much, so we’ll just need to get him to drink a cleanser.” She ducks back toward the refrigerator and pulls out a pitcher of water, and then bustles over to her powdered ingredients rack. He won’t die, and he _does_ have one and a half luck spirits worrying over him, but she doesn’t like this situation.

While she’s mixing charcoal powder into a glass, Kenma guiltily shuffles into the room, all but being pushed by Lev. Kiyoko saves her reprimand for private; she knows he’d only withdraw further if she brought it up in front of others. Without saying a word, the other witch grabs a notebook from her desk, plucks a small birch branch from one of her shelves, and sits down on the floor. He puts the twig in his ponytail and begins scribbling in the notebook.

He finishes before she does. Kiyoko watches, wary but hopeful, as he rips out several papers from the notebook and arranges them in a semicircle around the counter. He takes the boy’s hand and pulls out a small knife from his pocket. The bakeneko starts forward, but he just opens a small cut near his thumb and dips his index finger in it. Kenma lifts the boy’s hoodie and draws a pair of runes on his stomach.

He’s barely done when the boy jerks up with a gasp, then a cough, and then a weak wheeze. Kenma steps out of his personal space, about to slink off again, but Kiyoko catches him by the back of the shirt as he passes her. “A purification spell?” she asks quietly as the bakeneko helps the boy sit up, rubbing his back as he continues coughing.

“Yeah,” Kenma mumbles and tests her grip. It’s like iron.

“I’ve never seen one like that.”

“You already knew I write my own spells.”

She forces him into a quick bow, and tells the others, “I’m very sorry for this mix-up. You’ll receive a full refund and any additional help you’ll need.”

“Sorry,” Kenma adds softly. At least he sounds genuinely apologetic. She decides to let him go and he scampers off, red-faced.

Kiyoko catches the demon watching him go. She’s still not sure how far apart they can be, but he doesn’t seem fazed about letting him go.

“I-It was my mistake, probably,” the boy on the table says with another cough. He wipes his hand on his shirt, and then looks down curiously at the writing on his stomach. “It wasn’t that bad, right?”

“You weren’t going to die. But it was better to act fast,” Kiyoko responds. She looks over at the charcoal mix, and decides against it. She trusts in Kenma’s magic, although she definitely wants a look at the runes he used. She’s been trying to get a peek at his spell writing since she found out that he wanted an uncontracted demon, but he’s frustratingly shy about it.

“So how _are_ you supposed to use that stuff?”

“You put two drops into each eye. The effects will last three days the first time. May I ask why you wanted such a potion?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.

“He’s got a ghost haunting him and he wants to make friends,” Lev supplies, crouched on the floor. He and the bakeneko are already eagerly looking over Kenma’s spell. “And he blushes a lot if you ask him why.”

“I do not,” he snaps back, and to his credit, he’s not blushing.

“This isn’t a potion to be used lightly,” Kiyoko plainly tells him. She steps around Lev, who’s waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the customer-slash-ex-job. She’s unsure how she ended up with two interns instead of one, come to think of it. Lev goes back to studying the runes when the bakeneko slaps him upside the head. “I’m sure you saw the list of potential dangers? I generally don’t sell this to walk-ins.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you. I just—I’m being haunted, and I’d like to keep an eye on him,” he tells her, changing strategies, but she can see through that. He’s clearly curious and attached. Potentially problematic.

“I offer a banishment service.”

“No!”

So he’s attached to the luck spirit, but she has no idea why. She’s not sure when he became aware of it all, unless it was because of last night’s slip-up. She glances down at the bakeneko out of the corner of her eye; he looks happy to correct Lev on his identification of runes. _Did he tell him?_ A higher spirit inserting himself into their affairs was also unexpected. And not entirely welcome.

Kiyoko’s not used to unexpected. She can’t sense much out of the boy’s future, either happiness or sorrow, and wonders, not for the first time, if she’s losing her touch.

“I will sell you one dose. Tomorrow,” she decides and gives her customer a steely look to prevent any arguing. She doesn’t believe the customer is always right. “And before I send you home today, I’d like for you to drink a mild rejuvenation potion. That spell should have gotten rid of anything toxic or undesirable in your system…” She trails off without meaning to. She really wishes she could study Kenma’s magic as openly as the two seated on the floor.

She makes an appointment with the boy—his name is Yamaguchi Tadashi, and she thinks Suga may have mentioned something similar, but with some careful wheedling, she finds out that the spirit’s name is Tsukishima. It’s not a lot to go off of, but it’s a start.

Perhaps most curiously of all, the bakeneko does not accompany Tadashi out the door. He remains on the floor, tail curling back and forth, eagerly discussing (correcting) rune usage with Lev.

Kiyoko watches them for a moment, and wonders just what Lev _wants_ from his stubborn association with Kenma and her shop. She has insinuated that she’d hire him, but he’s either more dense than she thought or he’d turned her down, despite his attachment. It’s not as if she’s opposed to charity cases (far from it), and funds aren’t an issue. He and Kenma both look hardly out of college. Kenma has been tight-lipped about his personal life and his past, but maybe she’s been going about this wrong.

She carefully crouches down next to them and Lev glances up at her out of the corner of his eye. “Give me just a little more time, and I’ll have every single rune ever memorized.”

“I’ve never known that to be possible,” she replies. “Why are you so curious about them? There are other aspects to magic.”

“Humans don’t need large amounts of magic to manipulate these, right?” the bakeneko says, and she regards him over the edge of her glasses. She must do something with him as well. “Boy doesn’t have an ounce of magical talent, but there’s nothing wrong with learning. Have you ever given him the chance to try any magic here?”

“My name’s Lev,” he says, sounding like he’s already used to saying that, and flips over the paper he’d been reading. He turns it upside-down, sideways, and back the way it was. “And anyway, Kenma uses these,” he adds. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Kenma writes his own spells. I’ve never seen an array like this,” Kiyoko informs him, and she correctly predicts the way his eyes light up. “You’re free to continue borrowing my books for reference, but if you continue spending time here, I could teach you during downtime.” _Since Kenma seems unenthused with the idea._

“I have a better idea!” Lev declares and jumps up to his feet. Kiyoko shuffles away from him before standing, and she catches the bakeneko laying his ears flat in irritation at the sudden height difference, too. If she had need, she supposes Lev could make a decent bouncer. “Hire the kitty guy! Maneki-neko are good for business, right?”

She decides not to be offended that he’s worried for her business. (It’s doing just fine, thank you.) The bakeneko saves her the trouble of answering, however. “Don’t volunteer me for a job babysitting a witch shop!”

“I wouldn’t say no,” she throws out. He turns to her, lip curled, reminding her about the prominent fangs in his mouth. She’s quick to add, “I am more than capable of providing adequate offerings to you. You wouldn’t have to interact with anyone you didn’t want to. The shop is warded and charmed to be one of the safest places in the city.”

“And you’d get to spend time with me and Kenma!” Lev cheers with a grin so bright it’s staggering how genuine it is. How genuine _he_ is, she supposes.

The bakeneko lashes his tail but doesn’t seem as angry now. Kiyoko isn’t sure if Lev is aware of his soft spot, but she’s grateful she didn’t have to be the one to point it out. “I’m not technically a maneki-neko right now. I gave that to someone else.”

“You’re still a luck spirit. A cat luck spirit. I don’t care about the nuance, but you’ll be good for business and I’m fine offering this to you regardless of that fact.”

“And then you can keep teaching me!” Lev says eagerly.

Kiyoko considers being mildly offended that he doesn’t want to take lessons from her. But since this appears to be working out in her favor, she can’t be too mad at him.

“I’ll teach you Russian,” he adds as if that will tip the scales.

“…I’ll think about it,” he admits, _bashfully_ , and Kiyoko _cannot believe_ that that may have tipped the scales in their favor. She just barely manages to keep her face impassive while the bakeneko tells them, “I’ll be back tomorrow with Tadashi and—and I’ll tell you then.”

He vanishes without another word. Lev leans down on the counter with a _very_ pleased look on his face. Kiyoko arches an eyebrow and asks, “How much of that was on purpose? He likes you.” It comes out as more of an accusation than she intended.

“You need to keep teaching Kenma about potions so he doesn’t poison anyone else. And he gets mad when I show an interest in magic, but this way, he can’t say it interferes with his job. And we get a cat to work here!”

That didn’t actually answer her question.

Kiyoko sighs, but overall, she’s pleased.

“Where did Kuro go?” Lev asks and looks around.

They find the demon sitting cross-legged on the roof, dozing. Kiyoko does not ask why he’s not with Kenma, and she does not admit how annoyed she is with herself for getting so used to his presence that she managed to get distracted away from him. The last thing she needs is to get _comfortable_ with a demon in her shop.

But the smirk he shoots down at them both—delayed, like he’d had to muster it contrary to his mood—tells her that he’s already aware of that.

 

\--

 

Suga wakes up the next morning to his phone going off on the nightstand. It’s still dark out his window and he is _not a fucking morning person_. “H’lo?” he grunts, eyes still squeezed shut. His throat is still dry as a bone and there’s a pounding in his head, but he dimly hopes that it’s better than yesterday.

“Kou _shi_.” Great. Tooru only uses that tone when he really, _really_ wants something. Suga snorts (momentarily glad to see that his sinuses have cleared) and Tooru takes it as the warning sign it is. “It’s an emergency, I swear, do you think I’d be up at this hour if it weren’t—”

“Haven’t you ever heard of _sick days_ ,” he snaps and is incredibly glad that his throat sounds as sore as it is.

“It’s an emergency,” Tooru repeats.

Suga pulls the phone away and cracks an eye open just enough to check the time. “Oikawa, it’s barely five. Call Tanaka. Either of them.” God _damn_ he hopes it’s not a ghost problem. Yuu’s probably still out, too.

“This isn’t a shooty problem, this is a I-need-a-good-friend problem,” he whines.

“Oikawa—”

“You can name your price.”

Suga halts in his raspy rant. He takes a steadying breath—he can breathe normally through his nose again, and he doesn’t feel quite so achey in his limbs, just stupidly _tired_ —and demands, “What could you possibly need from me.”

“Someone broke into my house.”

“You have mace. You have _wards_.” Saying the second sentence aloud makes him realize that this problem is at least a little magicky. Which means Ryuu or Saeko would be fairly useless. “…Oikawa, please,” he begs, weakly, into the phone.

“It’s an emergency. He’s sort of still here. I don’t need you to kick his ass for me, I just need some help _dealing_ with him. I can’t call Kiyoko—” Tooru’s voice rises in panic, which makes alarm bells go off in Suga’s mind in turn, “—and I’m serious. Literally name your price. Anything to get you over here.”

How many digits? Sleepy Suga wants to wipe out Tooru’s savings, especially because he’s fucking _considering this_ , but he’s honestly not sure how much he has squirreled away. “Tell me—” he pauses to cough, good job body, “—tell me plainly. Is this an actual emergency.”

“A magical man broke into my house and _is still here_. I have him contained, but yes, it’s a goddamn emergency, Suga. Anything you want.”

Half an hour later finds a very tired, very pissed Sugawara Koushi ringing Tooru’s doorbell. He’s still in sweats and was so kind as to wear a face mask to prevent sneezing on all of Tooru’s ridiculously ornate furniture, and maybe because he wants to make sure he looks as pathetic and sick as possible. Tooru greets him at the door, only in his boxers and with a rather magnificent bedhead (Suga decides then and there to make a picture of that part of his payment), clutching a baseball bat.

“You look terrible,” he has the gall to say.

“I’m going to shove that up your ass. And after we’re done here, you’re making me tea, I’m napping on your couch, and I’m taking a bath.” Tooru has an absolutely amazing clawfoot bath tub and Suga has been jealous of it since the moment they met. “I want bathtub privileges for two months. At least.” He’s going to take a bath every single day if he wants. He’ll steal all of Tooru’s bath bombs, and he’ll have the nicest skin in the city, and maybe he’ll even bathe Sunshine in it once just to annoy him with fur in the drain. “Let’s get this over with,” he says with a sneeze and dumps his bag on the couch.

“About that bath,” Tooru says with a silly smile that is fooling _no one_. Suga stares at him, unable to even glare for how appalled he is, because he cannot be saying what he thinks he’s saying. “Where else was I supposed to put him?!”

Suga makes some horrendous combination of a yawn and a sneeze. It makes his throat clench painfully and he swears into his sleeve until he’s sure he’s not about to cry. He holds out his other hand for the bat. “G-Give that to me, and I’ll take care of your problem.” Bat first, questions later.

He stalks down the hall to the bathroom, ignoring Tooru’s cry of “Hey, wait, it’s actually—!” Suga runs his fingers over the door frame, trying to force his sleep-deprived brain to sort out which wards are active and which aren’t, and figures there’s not _too_ much magic in the air. It can’t be that bad. Probably just a robber with some unlocking charms.

He throws open the bathroom door and raises the bat.

A man, reclining in the tub—the full tub, the warmth of the humid air seeping into Suga’s skin at once—hardly raises his head from where he has it resting on his arms. His very nice arms. Suga stares, off guard and jealous and _confused_ , because a mostly-naked, muscular, tattooed man is calmly nodding off in Oikawa Tooru’s bathtub. The one _he_ wanted to use. …Jealous, he’s definitely jealous. But as his eyes wander over the ink covering his wide shoulders, he’s not quite sure what to be jealous of.

Suga turns, wordlessly, to see how the hell Tooru was going to try to explain this.

Tooru pops out of his hallway closet, arms full of some kind of blanket, and holds it up with a pathetic whine. It’s sleek, dark grey, faintly spotted, not exactly thick. It doesn’t look all that large, either. Suga stares at it, utterly uncomprehending until he catches sight of one of the edges: it tapers off into a thin curl with something like skin underneath.

It’s a pelt, he realizes.

It’s a seal skin.

He needs to ask for more money for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( again, super cute russian!lev hugs go toward [interstellar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/interstellar/pseuds/interstellar) & [dragonslayer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonslayer/pseuds/Dragonslayer) for the russian corrections! i'd be lost without you two <3
> 
> 1Сколько с него взять? = "How much should I ask for?"  [ return ]  
> 2Не знаю. Неважно. Но не будь слишком жесток. = "I don't know. Whatever. But don't be too cruel."  [ return ]  
> 3Если я выручу много, покажешь мне еще больше рун? = "If I get a lot, will you teach me more runes?"  [ return ]  
> 4Я покажу. = "I will."  [ return ]
> 
> and fyi the game kenma is playing is supposed to be completely fictional. if i'd had to name it i probably would've called it _sin magician tension_ though. ))


	5. Oikawa Tooru Is Sometimes Too Curious For His Own Good

Suga turns a couple times to look at the pelt, then the man in the tub, and then the pelt again. Tooru patiently waits for him to adjust, on his own time, because he needs Suga to be his expert. Not that he doesn’t have a good idea of what’s going on already—not hard to guess, actually—but there’s actually something _else_ he wants Suga there for.

“You… That is…” He splutters a moment and goes back to staring unabashedly at the man inside the bathroom. Tooru doesn’t necessarily blame him. He knows Suga is particularly weak to attractiveness. Something in his glassy eyes focus, and Tooru figures he’s found the runes lining the tattoos on the man’s biceps. He hopes so. He can hardly read them and he doesn’t want to go in there and try to force the guy to show him. It had been mostly luck that he’d been able to shut him in the bathroom in the first place.

But Suga’s staring is beginning to get a little old. Tooru’s not jealous. Probably. “If you’d pick your jaw up off the ground, could you shut the door before the big, scary man decides to rush us?” he asks, keeping his voice light. But his tone is enough to snap Suga out of it.

“You have a _selkie_ in your bathtub!” he screeches, and Tooru’s glad the man inside can’t see him, because he accidentally breaks into a wide, toothy smirk at how _relieved_ the man feels.

 _Ah, so I was right_. Of course he was right, but it’s better to be safe than sorry when dealing with home invaders and magicky things. Tooru nudges the door with his hip and Suga shuts it after one last squint at the man’s tattoos. They sit down on the couch and Suga drops the bat at his feet. His socks don’t even match, Tooru notes, and he’s almost feeling sorry for him again.

“You have a selkie. You have a selkie’s pelt. Oikawa Tooru, _how_ did you get a selkie’s pelt?”

“We- _eeeeell_ —”

“This is why you can’t tell Kiyoko, isn’t it? Oh my god, you were looking for trouble again, weren’t you?” Suga gasps.

“I was not!” Tooru snaps without heat. “I was actually looking for a new china cabinet. I want something in a darker wood, to match—”

“Bullshit, you were looking for another cursed mirror.”

He wisely does not respond to that. The downside to being Suga’s friend is that if you do something wrong, he _never_ lets you forget it, and he’s the first one to jump down your throat if you happen to do something similar again. But it had been a very nice mirror.

“Were you?” Suga presses hoarsely. He yanks his mask down to hook under his chin so Tooru can see the full extent of his glare and frown combination.

“The point is, I didn’t find one, but at that antique shop I did find this! I bought it yesterday, because it felt weird and I am a kind person who does not want innocents to get caught up with curses and weird auras, and then I woke up this morning to that guy breaking in and going through my bathroom closet.” He was lucky he hadn’t checked the hallway closet first.

“So you legally own his pelt?” Suga asks with a long, long sigh that Tooru’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve. All things considered, this has gone well. No one’s gotten hurt and the only things broken was his back door’s lock and the mirror in the bathroom. “Okay, best case scenario: you give him his pelt back and he’s happy enough to fuck off back to wherever he came from.”

“I can’t do that! I have a pet selkie!” he squeals and clutches the skin to his chest like an old woman with her pearls.

“ _Oikawa_.”

“He broke in. Why should I give this back to him?” He drops the act and lowers his voice. Suga still doesn’t look pleased. Tooru sighs in exasperation, making sure it’s overly loud and dramatic, and Suga sneezes on him. “Gross! That’s disgusting!”

Suga tugs his mask back up over his mouth and nose but doesn’t look apologetic in the least. “Get me some tea before I pass out on your couch.”

“Don’t sneeze on anything else,” he warns, because he’s eyeing the doily underneath the vase on the table next to him.

Okay, maybe he feels a little bad for dragging him out of bed and across town at dawn and while he’s clearly still sick. Tooru can sense that Suga feels terrible. God, he hopes he’s not contagious. But he needed him, he maintains to himself; he needed magical expertise without the magical expert (Kiyoko). Those runes on the intruder’s arms have him worried, and when he brings out a mug of rosehip tea, he also snags a pad of paper and a pen. He hands the tea over and holds up the paper. Suga nods in understanding.

‘ _He has no idea I’m psychic, let’s keep it that way?_ ’ Tooru writes and Suga nods again. He’d already been pretty careful about not mentioning that, and it’s not an uncommon thing to keep it a secret. Well, that he’s a _real_ psychic, anyway. “What do you even have?” he asks aloud.

“Something foul but you won’t catch it,” Suga replies. He makes a tiny, pleased sound as he sips his tea. Tooru’s pretty sure he didn’t mean to.

‘ _I can’t get much from him, but he definitely has some magical ability & he’s not fully human & he was RELIEVED when you called him a selkie. He’s definitely hiding something!_’ He underlines ‘definitely’ until Suga pulls his hand away.

‘ _What else could he be? He’s after that_ ,’ he writes beneath that and points to the seal pelt.

‘ _A thief?_ ’

‘ _Did he seem to know where it was hidden?_ ’

Tooru reluctantly nods. Nothing else had been disturbed, and the hallway closet was up against the bathroom, so he probably had just misjudged how to get to it. Suga sneezes again and nearly spills tea over himself. He quickly sets down his mug and Tooru hands him tissues with a grimace.

“So much for that. I promise I’m not contagious,” he mumbles and yanks off the face mask with a disgusted face. “But if you have any more bad news for me, I’m going to sneeze on you again.”

“How much could you read off his arms?”

“Not much. I didn’t recognize a lot of the symbols, but the ones I saw were related to change or stability in form. I didn’t grab any of my books because _someone_ didn’t tell me I’d need them…”

“A big, scary man broke into my house! I was understandably upset!” Tooru cries and Suga huffs into a tissue. “How about you go back and—”

Suga leans over and sneezes on him.

“ _Gross_! Okay, fine, _I_ go over to your place, find your damn book, and you get to stay here and make sure he doesn’t break out.”

“I warded that door myself. He’s fine.”

“You warded the back door, too.”

“Yeah, but I warded the bathroom door extra,” Suga reminds him. Leftover from the brief time when Suga crashed at his place and they’d had epic fights over who got to use the bathtub first. Tooru had the advantage with feeling when Suga was ready to slink off, and Suga had the advantage with magical locks. “Here’s my keys. Tell Sunny I’ll be back later this afternoon. I’ll just stay here and nap.”

He knows he can’t begrudge Suga more sleep. But he doesn’t have to be so bratty about it. If he didn’t so desperately want to keep this off of anyone else’s radar, Tooru wouldn’t stand for this. …Probably. He ruffles Suga’s hair as he settles in on the couch, ignoring his protest, and grabs his keys. Today’s going to be a long day, he can already feel it.

 

\--

 

Suga wakes up to Tooru returning, feeling slightly better with a little more sleep. He blinks blearily at the clock on the wall, wondering why it took him over an hour, and finds his answer when the other man dumps half a dozen books onto his coffee table. “I can’t read runes that well! I wasn’t sure which one you needed,” he says defensively before Suga can open his mouth. “And your cat scratched me,” he adds with his usual whine.

“Not my cat.” He’s never Suga’s cat when he misbehaves. With a groan, he sits up, and then shudders when he realizes he accidentally used the seal skin as a blanket during his nap.

The sun’s well up outside by now and birds are twittering excitedly. Suga can’t hear anything from the bathroom but the door’s still shut, so that’s good. He looks through the books Tooru grabbed from his apartment, and at least two of them seem to be useful; the other three are either very old research notes or a recipe book. With a yawn, Suga cracks open the nearest and tries to place the marks he remembers.

Half an hour later, he’s only managed to find one more he can positively identify: an old symbol for _seal_. The animal kind. “Oikawa, I’m either going to have to get a better look at him, or we’re going to have to accept the fact that we’re dealing with a potentially hostile selkie. …Or, you know, we could talk to him. Have you said anything to him yet?”

“I sort of demanded to know what he was doing in my house before I locked him in there. And then I asked why he got into the bath when I heard the water running. He hasn’t said a word to me, though.”

“Can we just try—”

He’s interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Tooru’s eyebrows disappear beneath his bangs. “…I don’t have any appointments until three.”

Suga shoves his books back into his bag and Tooru scrambles to hide the pelt in his bedroom. Suga’s not sure if he should grab the baseball bat again, but he does pull his sheathed silver knife out of his bag and shove it underneath his sweatshirt. _Does silver work on selkies?_ Shit, he has no idea. He doubts it.

Tooru answers the door with his best customer service smile. “Hello, good morning there. Can I help you?” Tooru chirps. Suga can’t help but peek around him worriedly. Not that he can’t handle himself in a fight, but he’s terrible with magic.

The person standing before them may well be one of the prettiest people Suga has ever laid eyes on—and again, he hangs out with Tooru and Kiyoko regularly. Not handsome, not in the way Daichi (or their new selkie friend) is, but not quite beautiful; they’re illuminated by the warm morning light, adding a bit of a glow to their wavy black hair, and they have the prettiest lashes Suga has ever seen. “This is the residence of the—” they begin, eyes flicking over to the sign near the door, “—Grand Psychic, Oikawa Tooru, correct?” The way they say the words means it’s clear they think Tooru’s a fraud. Which is a fair assumption to make, since he makes most of his money making phony predictions and telling people what they want to hear.

“Yes!” Tooru backs up, shoving Suga backwards with him. “Walk-ins are welcome, and you’re lucky my schedule is clear right now, although I’m not used to seeing people so early in the morning.”

They step inside and murmur a polite, “I apologize, I wasn’t sure when your hours were.” Their dark, unreadable eyes land on Suga and he feels his face heat up.

“This is my assistant, Sugawara. I can give you a private reading if that makes you more comfortable,” Tooru says and with his hands hidden behind his back, he tries to prod Suga back in the direction of the bathroom.

“Ah. I’m not here for a… consultation. I wanted to speak of something else,” they reply and raise a hand to brush their bangs out of their eyes.

Suga and Tooru both stare at the glamor charm set into the bracelet on their wrist. There’s a matching one on their other arm.

“Just a moment then, if you please. You can have a seat on the sofa or either of the chairs, and we’ll be right back. Tea? Coffee? Anything to drink?” Tooru asks, voice still unbelievably pleasant considering how hard he’s pushing Suga towards the kitchen.

“Oh, no, but thank you.” The stranger sits down on the chair, brushing the skirt around their knees, and looks around with an impassive expression.

Suga is hardly in the kitchen before he whirls around and hisses, “What are they?! What are they supposed to be? Selkies don’t need glamors!”

“I don’t know, all I know is that they’re calm as hell right now! They either think they have the upper hand or that we wouldn’t recognize a glamor on sight.” Suga’s not sure which is worse. Tooru chews on his thumbnail, eyes scanning the kitchen. (Suga knows his silver knife won’t come in handy.) “They’re not suspicious, and I can’t sense much magic from them. The selkie in the bathroom isn’t really upset or excited, and he had to have heard the doorbell. Maybe this is a coincidence?”

“Then _why_ is something here without knowing that you’re actually psychic?”

“I don’t know! What do you have in your bag—”

“The bag that’s out in the living room?” Suga asks archly.

Tooru sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Do you have anything that we can use without knowing what that is?”

“Salt, maybe? I have some sleep soot. Just call Ryuu—”

“First off, I’m not letting him ruin my house again. Second, I want to contain this as much as possible.”

“I’m a noncombatant,” Suga stresses, and then sneezes. “A _sick_ person who is shit in a fight and can _maybe_ use one spell.”

Tooru glances in the living room’s direction. “…If need be…”

“I do _not_ like that tone of voice.”

“I still have the pelt,” he finishes with an evil, gleeful smile. “We can turn the selkie loose on them. He has to listen to me, right?”

“That is the _worst idea I have ever_ —”

“Sorry for the wait!” Tooru sings as he flounces back into the living room. Suga facepalms. Great, and now his hand is covered in snot. Maybe their guest is allergic to mucus.

When he sits back down on the couch, beside Tooru, he makes sure to drag his bag closer to him. They’re both going to die. His luck is still in the red, so there’s really no chance that this is all unrelated, and Tooru’s going to turn loose a hostile selkie on them. Suga doesn’t want ‘Death By Seal’ on his obituary. He sets his chin in his hands and looks over the pretty guest again; they’re nearly as tall as Tooru, although seeming slender, but that’s just a human guise. _What that size would need a glamor?_

“So, if not for a consultation, may I ask what your business here is?” Tooru brightly asks, using his customer service smile again.

The guest seems unmoved by it. A pity. Suga doesn’t really want to stab them _or_ get his ass kicked by whatever they are. He doubts they’re a fairy, since it seems odd for one to have such a large human body, and it’s the wrong time of the month for a werewolf to need a glamor during the day.

“You purchased a certain object at the antique store on Alba Street yesterday,” they say flatly and fix Tooru with a level stare. Suga tries hard to keep his poker face; Tooru, naturally, doesn’t let his smile dim a fraction. “It is, unfortunately, illegal to own in this city.”

“…Illegal?” Tooru echoes. “Are you some part of some agency? You just seem to be dressed rather casually.”

They look down at themselves, eyebrows raising a fraction in surprise. “Ah. Am I?” They’re in a loose, modest skirt and a short-sleeved button up with a tie, but it’s undoubtedly not any sort of uniform, if a little on the formal side.

 _Do they seriously think we’d buy this?_ Suga thinks, trying very hard to keep from laughing. Or sneezing.

“I bought the skin, and actually, it _is_ legal to own here. I did some research of my own last night. Wouldn’t want to have any illegal animal skins, would I?” Tooru says sunnily, but his eyes are sharp and cold. “Why are you so interested, and how do you know?”

“I wanted it for myself,” they reply with a small shrug. “I’m willing to buy it from you.”

“Not part of any agency?” Suga asks.

“I hadn’t thought that would actually work, but perhaps it might’ve. I didn’t intend to deceive you, only save you from any troubles that item may bring you.”

“Then let’s cut out the deceit, shall we?” Tooru asks and leans back against the couch, all long limbs and confidence. The pretty guest doesn’t bat an eye. “Who are you, and why do you want the seal skin?”

“My name is Akaashi, and it belongs to someone else, actually. I’m looking for them,” Akaashi says with their same, unperturbed tone.

“It belongs to _me_ ,” Tooru coolly corrects. Suga nudges him with his knee. “And next time, try to hide your glamors better. You’re not used to pretending to be human, are you?”

Akaashi’s eyes widen and they quickly look away, lips pursed. “I had hoped you would not know what you bought. I’d hoped this could be a quick errand.”

“So, what are you?” Suga prompts, gently, because he still doesn’t want to piss off a mystery being. “Let’s all be honest with one another and maybe we can figure out some way to resolve this easily and peacefully.”

Akaashi regards him out of the corner of one eye. Then, they unclick each cuff from their wrists, letting them fall to their lap. With a snap of magic in the air, the charm falls away, and Akaashi stretches their legs to adjust—their suddenly very birdlike legs. The black skirt falls loosely around tawny feathers, the colors contrasting sharply, and they shift to roll up their short sleeves, away from the flight feathers that have sprouted along each arm—wing. Arm-wing. Akaashi brushes hair back behind pointed ears and then laces their claws together in their lap.

“Are you a harpy?” Tooru asks with wide eyes.

Suga smacks him. “That’s a tengu. An… owl tengu?” he asks, and Akaashi nods. He’s only had dealings with crow tengu in the past, and only briefly, usually through Kiyoko or Father Takeda. As far as he knows, the owl tengu clan and the crow tengu clan have little to do with one another. “What business would a tengu have with a selkie pelt?”

“Someone stole an egg. Actually, we’ve had several thefts in recent months, but someone stole an egg from a close friend of mine,” they explain, claws clicking together lightly as they fidget. It’s the only thing that betrays an otherwise flawless poker face. “I’ve heard that other clans have had related issues as well.”

“And you think this selkie stole the eggs?” Tooru asks.

They nod. “Someone saw this, ah, selkie as they jumped between realms, into the human side.”

“And you want to get your friend’s baby back,” Tooru concludes. Suga elbows him sharply and Akaashi’s expression is momentarily open, shocked and offended.

“Tengu sell their eggs! This is a business issue, don’t bring their family into it! Very protective of family!” Suga hisses in his ear. He works up an apologetic smile for the tengu across from them. “Please excuse Oikawa’s ignorance.”

“I’m not—”

“You seem to be well-informed yourself,” Akaashi replies tonelessly. “Are you a hunter?” The question is even _more_ neutral than normal.

“I’m not, I just perform minor exorcisms and work with witches,” Suga replies, wary, and Akaashi’s posture relaxes a little.

“Human hunters have been… bothersome, lately, as well,” they say by way of explanation. They survey the living room again, and Suga is _very_ glad he stashed his books in his bag. “I can pay you for the pelt, as I said before. I’d rather buy it from you now before you get caught up in this.”

“And you’ll, what, trap him? Lure him out?”

“I’d like to be the proper owner of the pelt in order to talk and hopefully get the egg back before further issues arise.”

“What happens if someone hatches a stolen egg?” Tooru asks, cocking his head to the side. Suga wants to throttle him and Akaashi stares at him, ‘ _you think we sell our_ babies _?_ ’ written plainly across their face. “Ah, sorry, I’m still getting used to the whole supernatural bird people thing!” He doesn’t sound sorry in the least.

“I. That. Um.” Akaashi looks down at their feathers, looking a little lost (and rather mortified) on how to deal with this. Suga digs his fingers into Tooru’s side but the taller man hardly flinches.

 _What is he thinking? Tengu are dangerous!_ But he knows Tooru does nothing without a plan, even if he’s never so kind as to share that with others. Like the only person who can probably save his ass in a magic fight. Suga wishes he could work up a sneeze again.

“I’ll keep my ear to the ground about this egg, but I’d really rather keep the pelt at this point in time. Would you like me to contact you if I change my mind in the future?” Tooru says and stands. Akaashi gets to their (bird) feet and Suga can see that their feathers are still visibly ruffled. He feels so sorry for them, but he doesn’t want to ruin whatever Tooru’s plotting. Even if he’s being an ass about it.

“I or my friend will be at the goblin market regularly in the next few months if you do change your mind,” they tell them, head bowed. Something subtly victorious flits across Tooru’s expression. At the door, Akaashi adds, “And please, if you find any sign of any tengu eggs, let me know. I’d rather get any of them back in lieu of the thief. Be careful around him, though. He can probably break through the locks you have on that door pretty easily.”

Akaashi departs with that remark. Tooru groans and sags against the closed door. “They knew! They knew the entire time that he was here!”

Suga has absolutely no pity for him. He punches him in the arm, hard, and growls, “You were a douchebag to that perfectly nice tengu! A perfectly nice, pretty tengu who could’ve tried to gut you with their claws but chose not to. _Why_?!”

He whines, rubs his arm, and works up an unconvincing pout. “You’re so mean to me, Koushi. You spent half that conversation giving off _so much_ distrust I thought I’d cry.”

“Tell me what you’re planning before I hit you again.”

“I just wanted to get rid of them before they figured out that he was here, but I guess that didn’t work out. And I knew they were too polite to do anything to us, so don’t say I put us in danger.”

“Why didn’t you just give them the pelt? Then you’d be done with your new problem and we wouldn’t have to deal with it!” a very aggravated Suga demands. Because he had been about to say that. Tengu are fierce, proud, and powerful, and while they gladly sell their eggs to others, they’re still protective of them. Ugh, he’s going to have to get Tooru a book on tengu. And selkies.

“I have a pet selkie now,” Tooru sings in that way that means he doesn’t want to answer a question and will get mean if he’s forced to. Suga smacks him again for using that tone against him. And finally works up another sneeze for him, too.

 

\--

 

“Tadashi’s appointment is soon, would you like to come out and see how the potion is actually administered?” Kiyoko asks, peeking into the back room. The nest has grown. Kenma peeks over the edge of his handheld, face illuminated by its light, and Kuro gives him a sidelong look from across the tiny room. “I’ll let you have the rest of the day off if you learn this,” Kiyoko adds.

Kenma hurries to follow her out into the main room.

Kuro doesn’t follow him. He’s okay with that. The demon has been sulky since yesterday, and while Kenma’s not sure if it’s an actual fight or not, he knows he doesn’t want to apologize. Lev isn’t there today, either, which means without Kuro’s talkative nature, the store has been exceedingly quiet. It’s been nice.

“Lev told me you want the bakeneko to work for you,” Kenma says as he drags a stool over to the main counter. “Is that why you want me out here? You know he likes kids.”

“Are you calling yourself a child?” she asks in return. She sounds amused.

Kenma rolls his eyes. “I know I look young. And Lev acts young. And the bakeneko was attached to the kid and his ghost friend, which is why he helped them. Do you want his help with something or just his luck?”

“Just his luck, and yes, I am trying to bribe him with you. It’s a pity Lev couldn’t make it today as well,” Kiyoko admits and kneels down to pull out a box of what looks like dried sage and rosemary. She hasn’t asked Kuro to do much lifting for her ever since they had their maybe-fight. Kenma doesn’t really like it when other people are just as attentive as he is. It’s weird.

Tadashi arrives early and the bakeneko trails him in. Kenma wonders if the space between them is for the other spirit. Kiyoko gives Kenma one stern look to make sure he’s acting like a good student—he is, he’s just a little off to the side because he doesn’t exactly want to make friends—before outlining the risks associated with the potion. Tadashi nods, absorbing the information like a sponge, and Kenma only half-listens to it all. He’d much rather watch the boy himself; _why is he so invested in a friendship with a ghost that’s haunting him? He has the option to ignore his unwanted shadow_.

Kiyoko leans him back in a chair and carefully puts two drops in the first eye. Tadashi jerks and whines, moving to rub at his eye, but she catches his wrist. “It will only sting for a moment, but don’t ruin it.”

Kenma sags down lower on the counter until his chin is resting on it instead of his hands. Why do potions have to be so finicky? Spells, he can understand—there’s active magic involved there. He watches the way the bakeneko slowly backs off, giving them space, and makes his way unsubtly toward Kenma.

“Where’s your demon?” he asks while Kiyoko drops potion into Tadashi’s other eye.

Kenma shrugs but answers, “Back room. Hopefully not playing my game again.”

“You don’t keep an eye on what he’s doing?” he asks, disapproval clear.

Kenma knows he shouldn’t make him mad or alienate him, but he doesn’t appreciate the judgment call on his life. He didn’t _ask_ for a demon, okay. “He knows not to misbehave. All he does is sulk around and pout and nap all day, anyway.”

“Did you two… have a fight?” he asks, expression honestly shocked. Kenma doesn’t like that, either. He looks away and actively fights a pout. “You have a strange relationship with that thing.”

“His name’s Kuroo Tetsurou,” he grudgingly corrects. The name tastes bitter on his tongue. He’s far more used to simply calling him Kuro, but fine, that one’s his fault.

“Tsukki!” Tadashi crows without warning. He’s grinning from ear to ear, and reaches out on reflex. His fingers pass through the air and he looks down at his hand, momentarily shaken from his happiness. But then he picks his smile back up and announces, “It worked! And it only stung a little, you worrywart.”

He and the bakeneko both chuckle at the ghost’s reaction to that. Kenma doesn’t restrain his pout that time. He doesn’t like the idea of someone observing him but being unable to be watched themselves.

“Hey, um, isn’t there a way for people to touch ghosts?” Tadashi asks Kiyoko with nervous glances to the invisible figure beside him.

“Yeah, we saw a couple of people who could do that,” the bakeneko adds.

Kenma’s watching her, so he manages to catch her dark, _protective_ look before she turns from them. How strange. “It’s… not really possible. And it’s nothing I could sell you.”

“Do you know how it could be done? I guess I could try finding some other place, or witch, or… something,” Tadashi says, scratching the back of his head.

“No,” Kiyoko says curtly, and even the freckled boy catches her mood that time.

 _Who can touch ghosts?_ Kenma wonders, eyes fixed on Kiyoko. She seems to have quite a few freelancers she hires. The short one and the one who ruined his ritual—Nishinoya and Sugawara, he is pretty sure they’re the ones who can see spirits. He’s never heard of anyone touching them outside of becoming a spirit themselves, however. _How would that be possible?_ It should be possible during astral projection, but that doesn’t seem to be what they’re talking about.

“I can practically see the gears of your mind turning,” the bakeneko comments, jarring him out of his thoughts, and Kenma turns to find him smiling at him. “You’re the spellwriter, right? Any ideas for us?”

Kiyoko whirls around, eyes wide behind her glasses, like she doesn’t want Kenma there anymore. Serves her right. “Hm, not really. I’ve never heard of it, either,” he says, eyes on Kiyoko. She stares back at him, shocked but he can’t identify what else, and that bothers him.

“W-Well, if you, uh, find something out or figure something out or—or something, let me know, okay?” Tadashi squeaks, quailing beneath the sudden chilly air in the room.

“…Yes, I will,” Kiyoko says as she finally tears her eyes from Kenma.

He wonders if she meant that to be a challenge. Probably not. It almost makes him want to try, though.

By the time Tadashi’s gone, Kenma’s already back in his nest in the stockroom, beneath extra blankets to hopefully communicate that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Kiyoko knows something he doesn’t, and that’s okay. He just wishes she didn’t act like he’s out to find all her dirty little secrets. He’s not that driven.

“Gonna tell me why the princess is so agitated? She just came in and stared at your blanket lump for like, five minutes straight,” Kuro asks and wiggles up from Kenma’s shadow. He ends up wedged underneath the witch, hopefully accidentally, because Kenma didn’t sign up to find himself lying lengthwise against a demon he may or may not be fighting with.

“Don’t do shadow stuff when she can see,” he grumbles.

“She’s gone, sounds like she’s out hiring that cat. You’re gonna have another babysitter,” he teases. There’s still not his usual effort in it, though. “So, what’d you do to piss her off?”

It was getting uncomfortably warm beneath all of the blankets with another body in there. But Kenma doesn’t want to give in. “Do you know of any way for a person to touch a spirit?”

“Not if you want that person to be alive, no.”

That’s what Kenma thought. Spirits are on another plane of existence, and while it intersects visually, he’s not sure how magic can cross the gap to tangibility. “…Someone’s done it, and Kiyoko knows them. I think she knows how, too,” he confesses after a long, humid pause. His face is getting hot and his feet are sweating. Kuro appears unbothered.

“My money’s on Sugawara. He’s weird,” Kuro loftily announces.

“He’s not a witch.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t use magic.”

He has a point there, but Kenma won’t admit it. He taps harder at his game’s buttons in irritation. Kuro wiggles beneath him and pulls his legs out from under him, bracketing Kenma’s hips. Kenma sets his handheld down to squint at him, and Kuro meets his eyes with a serious expression of his own.

Kenma doesn’t want to have a talk now.

He moves to throw off the blankets, but the demon wraps his arms around him, pinning his own arms to his sides. “Let—”

“Let me just say something first,” he interrupts, and Kenma thinks that’s cheap. He wonders if normal demons can interrupt orders. “You know you can trust me, right? I can’t lie to you. You can trust me. And I can help you. Whatever you were doing, or want to do, I can help. Just so long as it doesn’t involve sacrificing me again, because that part I didn’t really like.”

“Why do you keep telling me that?” Kenma demands, annoyed, but doesn’t order him to let go. Yet.

Kuro seems to take this as a sign of confidence. He shifts Kenma, burying his face in his hair so he can’t read his expression. Kenma tries not to feel alarm at that, and fails; he doesn’t want to have this conversation if he can’t figure out how to react. “Because I’ve seen all of this really great magical potential from you, and ever since I met you, all you’ve been doing is being bored and aggravated here. Demons are supposed to get contracted to _great_ people. Powerful witches and changers of history. Not bored kids wasting time in a potion shop—when they’re shit at potions.”

“I’m not here to be your ego trip,” Kenma growls into his bedhead. He wriggles and ends up facing completely away to escape the nest of black hair. “You were an accident. You were a loophole in my ritual, you said so yourself. Now let _go_ of me!”

Kuro releases him at once—and then rolls over so Kenma and half a blanket pile are under him. “Won’t you at least tell me what you were working on? I’m dying—okay, I’m _really really_ curious and I can _help_ you with it, Kenma. I may not have been what you wanted but look at everything I can offer you! And even if I do find loopholes, they benefit you, too.”

“Why are you so eager to please me?” Kenma demands.

Kuro stares down at him, and Kenma can’t read his expression. As he sucks in a breath to command him to get off, the demon smiles helplessly. He leans down with a soft, sad laugh, and asks, “What _else_ am I here for?”

Kenma doesn’t have an answer for that. Instead, realization coming as soon as he’s forming the words, he says, “I know how they did it.”

 

\--

 

Two days later finds Suga healed, at the bookstore, and as tired as ever. He’s been practically living at Tooru’s house, taking shifts trying to interrogate the frustratingly taciturn selkie, and all they’ve figured out is that he goes by Iwaizumi. Suga has been tearing his hair out trying to identify the other markings down his arms, but the only time he displays any real hostility is when he’s trying to do that, so it’s not going well. As far as he can tell, most of them are to help with his shape-shifting, either to stabilize him for long-term spells in either form or to possibly make the change faster. They understandably don’t want to give him the skin to watch it in action.

Iwaizumi is mostly content to nap in water (Suga hasn’t been able to take advantage of the tub yet, and he’s about a day from simply climbing in with him) and quietly eats whatever they give him. He hasn’t asked about leaving, or tried to escape, or asked anything about them, either.

He hadn’t signed up for a selkie, but it’s starting to feel a little like the world’s worst kidnapping on top of that.

 _Stupid Tooru, he should’ve just given him over to the tengu_ , he curses, not for the first time. He covers a yawn with the book he’s trying to read. About selkies. It’s a fairytale, aimed at children, but it counts as research, right? He had to get away from that house, at least for a little while. Tooru seems frustratingly comfortable with the idea of _not rushing to get the selkie out of his house_. He’s going to ask if he’s been charmed when he goes back, he swears. Or maybe he’ll charm him himself to get him to _talk_ about whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing.

But right now, it’s Suga’s time to relax. It doesn’t hurt that Daichi’s working today. The bookstore is actually busy, with some sort of short-term sale going on, and they haven’t had time to exchange more than quick greetings before Daichi was pulled away to help an old lady pick out a knitting book. As nice as it is to see him again, Suga doesn’t mind just curling up in the comfy chair with a large smoothie and an excuse to be out of that house.

There’s a lull in the crowd around two, and Suga has to admit he’s surprised he doesn’t see Daichi getting his stuff to get off; he’s pretty sure that’s when the morning shift changes into the afternoon shift. Not that he’s used to their shift schedule—okay, he totally is. In his defense, stalking was part of the job when he was tailing Tadashi.

Daichi stops by half an hour later, leaning against the nearest bookshelf. “Your book came in, but sorry, no lunch date today,” he says, and wow, Suga’s missed that voice and that _smile_. His heart thuds in his chest and he hurriedly brings his book up to cover his warm cheeks. “Children’s book today?”

“Needed a break from the King and the Lovecraft.” Suga peeks up at him over the edge of his book, but thankfully Daichi’s looking away, watching the registers. “Why no lunch date today?” Not that he was hoping (he totally had been hoping). Escape from Tooru and all that. Daichi would’ve been the perfect break.

“Middle shift today to handle the sale. I won’t get off for another three hours, which is actually just in time for dinner, surprisingly. Not that I’m assuming you’ll wait around another three hours, reading, like you do all the time—”

“Are you _teasing_ me?” Suga asks, equal parts astonished and positively tickled.

“You do spend a _lot_ of time sitting in here and reading,” Daichi replies vaguely. Suga counts it as an affirmative.

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, much less one you’d take out on other people,” he scolds and reaches over to try to smack him with his book. He’s a little too far away and Suga just flails ineffectively. But he’s rewarded with another smile and a chuckle.

“What keeps bringing you back, if not my excellent social skills?”

“Definitely just your legs, absolutely nothing else.”

“That’s a lot of free time to devote to one body part.”

“Fine, fine, I come back for your phenomenal ass as well. Now please, leave me to my high literature. I’d like to finish this in the next three hours so I can free up my evening,” Suga happily tells him. “And don’t bother playing coy about this. You’ve invited me along to a dinner date and there’s no take-backs.”

“Just so long as you pick up your book, too,” Daichi replies and grins. “You know, I’ve never seen someone so happy at the prospect of seeing someone in work clothes and a post-retail mood.”

“I’ll take what I can get. You’re my excuse not to return to work tonight.”

“Is that something I should be encouraging?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’m still undecided on that, but I have to go check someone out. I’ll come bother you again later, I’m sure,” Daichi said and left in the direction of the registers. Tired Suga almost calls out something stupid like “check _me_ out” before actually-thinking Suga manages to rein that back in. He doesn’t need more embarrassment in his life.

More embarrassment comes anyway.

Suga doesn’t get checked on again for almost an hour; the rush picks back up, and when it lulls again, Daichi seems to get caught up to talking to someone else. He’s speaking casually with this other man, comfortably, and Suga can’t help but wonder if they know each other. Daichi’s maybe-friend looks almost as tired as Suga feels, though he’s handsome in a sort of boy-next-door way.

Just as Suga starts to wonder if he shouldn’t inch his way closer to try to figure out if they do know each other, who else comes through the door but Nishinoya Yuu and Tanaka Ryuunosuke.

Suga squeaks and sinks down in his chair to hide, book covering his head. Asahi floats in after them, mid-disappointed-speech, and freezes when he catches Suga in his usual chair. Neither of the other two notice him. _I’m going to kill him. I’m going to find a way to bring him back to life and then I’m going to kill him_ , Suga decides, then and there, glowering at Asahi from beneath the pastel, rhyming pages.

Asahi tugs on Yuu’s sleeve with renewed panic.

Yuu, yanked back, looks around curiously until he locks eyes with Suga, who is already storming over there, because _he told them_ , god he told them not to come and embarrass him or accidentally dredge up memories of that night or cause more trouble—

Ryuu boldly marches toward Daichi and his friend, not noticing that he’s lost his allies. Suga leaves him, for the moment, in favor of towering over Yuu with all the ferocity he can handle. “I thought we’d agreed that I don’t need your attempt at playing wingman,” he says, voice low. “He’s forgotten almost everything from that night, but what if seeing you brings anything back?”

“Yeah, okay, but remember how I thought I said he looked familiar? Ryuu and I figured out that we actually _do_ know your boyfriend, so that’s totally a game-changer,” he replies innocently with a point in Daichi’s direction.

“He’s not—you what?” Suga releases his grip on Yuu’s shirt and Asahi heaves a very audible sigh of relief.

“Tanaka?! Holy shit, is that you?” Daichi’s voice carries over, loud and delighted, and when Suga looks over at them, he and Ryuu are fighting to see who can get the other in a headlock first.

Well how about that. Suga, stunned, lets Yuu go and the short man eagerly joins the fray. Asahi fidgets beside Suga, but he’s smiling. “I’m sorry, I did try, but you know how he gets. And when they figured out that they all knew each other, I don’t think anyone stood a chance. But at least they’re happy?”

“ _Chika_!” Yuu practically shrieks and they turn to find him climbing Daichi’s friend like a very excited monkey.

“You two know each other?” they hear Daichi ask incredulously.

“They _all_ know each other?” Suga asks weakly. “Do you know them?”

“Um, no, I don’t think so,” Asahi replies. “…Aren’t you going to go ask?”

“Hell no. I’ll sort out the aftermath and—” Just as he turns to return to his chair and smoothie, he hears a warning noise from the ghost, and he’s seized by either arm and dragged backwards. He looks up to find his captors (a gleeful Ryuu and Yuu duo, what else could he expect) but before he can do much more than try to elbow one of them, he’s deposited quite literally into the middle of their friend circle.

Suga rarely feels like Asahi, but he can feel Daichi and his friend’s eyes on the back of his neck, and the two traitors in front of him are grinning brightly. His hands sweat uncomfortably and he wipes them on his jeans. “You know Tanaka?” Daichi asks after a beat. “Or did he just kidnap you.”

“Would you believe me if I said he kidnapped me?” Suga asks.

“Actually—”

“Of course we know Suga! I went to college with him, and we were roommates for awhile!” Yuu says with an excited bounce. (What he actually means is that Suga and _Asahi_ were roommates and Yuu invited himself in.) “And you two know each other?”

Suga wants to wipe that knowing smirk off his face.

“He likes my ass,” Daichi replies simply. His friend chuckles but is polite enough to cover his mouth and pretend he hadn’t.

“And how do _you_ know Tanaka, huh?” Suga shoots back.

“I think introductions and explanations can come when I’m not on the clock. Feel free to hang around, I get off in about an hour, but it’s starting to die down, so I’ll see about leaving early.” Daichi smiles at Suga and his friend, but gives the troublesome pair a rather scary look. “You two, I’m not so sure I want you in my store for an hour.”

“I’ll buy drinks!” Yuu volunteers.

“Just don’t break anything.”

Daichi leaves them, and Suga spends an awkwardly long beat watching him leave. “I’m Ennoshita Chikara,” the friend offers, and Suga pretends like he hadn’t just been doing what Daichi accused. Chikara has his hand stuck out and is wearing a small, but friendly smile. Suga shakes his hand and decides he rather likes him.

“Sugawara Koushi. Call me Suga. And it seems like you already know these two— _those_ two troublemakers,” he corrects himself, because Ryuu and Yuu are already gone, halfway across the store to check out the manga.

“I’ve only met the Tanaka guy once before, and we were both very drunk. He spoke only Portuguese the entire time I was with them,” Chikara replies. Suga is quite certain Ryuu does not know any Portuguese. “…He’s like a larger, scarier Noya, isn’t he.”

Suga and Asahi nod in unison. They make their way back to the comfy chairs, and Suga’s glad his hasn’t been stolen (despite it being marked with his bag, jacket, and drink). Asahi floats behind his chair, and Suga angles his book so he can see what he’s reading; he can’t exactly talk to him with someone else there. They’re used to adjusting for unknowing people around, but he still feels a little bad about it.

Suga finds out that Chikara went to high school with Yuu (and tutored him), and he’s been family friends with Daichi since they were both in grade school. “We sort of fell out of touch as we grew up, but we went drinking a couple times when he had enough leave to handle it. The last time I saw him, it was with Yuu and Tanaka, I suppose, and it involved more tequila than I’d otherwise like to admit to a stranger.”

“I can imagine those two with tequila. I don’t envy you at _all_.”

“How do you know them?”

“Work buddies, now, but I went to college with Noya, as he said. Daichi, uhh… I sort of stumbled into him here a couple weeks ago?”

Chikara just nods thoughtfully, no judgment on Suga’s maybe-stalking habits. Suga definitely likes him. “Do you know the ghost behind you, too?” Chikara asks just as Suga has the misfortune to sip at his smoothie. He chokes and coughs, covering his mouth, and glances back to see Asahi frozen in fright.

“Y-You can…?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’d just assumed you knew him since you seem to be letting him read over your shoulder. If I’m wrong—you have a ghost behind you. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.”

“You can _see_ him?” Suga repeats with another cough. Chikara nods, smiling. “I—sorry, uh, I wasn’t exactly expecting that.”

“It’s nice to talk with someone else who can see ghosts,” he replies. Suga can’t help but feel relieved since that means Daichi can’t; he’d never live it down if Daichi had somehow seen him mooning over him while projecting. “I’m sure you heard earlier, but I’m Ennoshita.”

“Uhh. Azumane A-Asahi,” he replies timidly.

“Nice to meet you as well.”

With _very_ careful prodding while they lapse back into casual conversation, Suga finds out that Chikara is largely unaware of supernatural goings-on and magic. He’s been able to see spirits since he was young, thanks to nearly drowning on a family vacation, and has mostly taken it in stride. _Thank god he wasn’t here the other night_ , Suga thinks, watching and only half-listening as Asahi and Chikara discuss the latest superhero movie. He smiles at how relaxed and _happy_ Asahi is to talk to someone new. _Does Daichi know about this? Does Noya?_

Watching Asahi argue— _argue_ with someone new, wow—about the different Avengers teams, Suga feels a weight he’d been unaware of lift from his chest.

 _Eight months left_ , he remembers, and hurriedly takes another drink of his smoothie to stop himself from making a face.

“Um, excuse me?”

Suga looks up to find yet another surprise for the day: Yamaguchi Tadashi, luck spirit behind him, wringing his hands and trying to force a smile. Asahi cringes away from the other spirit and Chikara looks over at them, mildly curious. “…Yes?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you in private? I-I’m not on shift yet, but I will be soon, so I can promise it will be quick.”

Okay, so his day is clearly meant to be awkward and embarrassing and _weird_. He can’t think of anything necessarily dangerous about the situation, although he keeps an eye out for that bakeneko, and tries to avoid looking at the glare the blond ghost is giving him. He follows Tadashi outside through a back door, and crosses his arms expectantly when the teenager just scuffles his shoe on the concrete.

“We can still ask the other one,” the blond spirit mutters.

“He was talking to Daichi,” Tadashi replies and Suga’s eyebrows inch ever higher.

“You can see him now. You can talk to him,” he says and Tadashi nods guiltily. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course I am.”

“I’m not a danger to him or anyone else,” the ghost growls. Suga looks him up and down; he’s finally figured out how to adjust his appearance, and if it weren’t for his glowing eyes and the leather collar against his throat, he’d look like a normal teenager in casual clothes.

Suga puts his hands up. “I’m not going to interfere with you two again unless I see shit going down or I’m hired to do so. Don’t treat me like an enemy and I won’t be, okay?” Tadashi nods despite his companion’s scowl. Suga has to wonder who helped them out, because he’s pretty sure the kid wouldn’t be standing there in front of him if he’d almost died that night. “So, what did you need?”

It makes sense that he’d have a lot of questions about things, and honestly, Suga wouldn’t mind giving them to him. Tadashi’s been dragged into the world of the magical, whether or not he wanted that, and he’d rather he stay informed and safe about it. He’s already had to give this talk to Yuu and Asahi when they found out, so he has practice.

But he does not expect Tadashi to look at him with a bright, naive expression and ask, “How is it you touch spirits?”

“You can’t,” Suga replies on reflex, already shying away from them. _Shit_. The ghost reaches out and grabs Suga, and he bats him away. He’s a terrible liar. “You can’t replicate that. It was an accident,” he lamely corrects.

“See? I told you. You can’t do it and it was probably dangerous,” the spirit says and looks down at his hands. There’s something oddly lonely in his expression, and Tadashi seems to catch it.

Suga has to nip this in the bud. This is worse than a haunting and a rogue ghost. “It is dangerous. Very dangerous. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, or if it was that cat spirit who put this in your head, but don’t bother. Just—be glad you can even talk to him, okay? That will help you two out a lot.”

He thinks of Asahi. How glad Asahi is to be able to _talk_ to someone, anyone, to be seen and heard and known again. He tries to imagine Asahi if he couldn’t even touch Yuu or Suga.

Suga turns and tries the door back inside, but it’s locked behind him. He feels the spirit grab his shoulder but he shrugs him off and marches down the alley. He can hear them following him. “It could kill you, and it’s not permanent! It’ll be easier if you two just drop it now and recognize the fact that you’re not _meant_ to interact.” He already regrets the words, but he’s still thinking of Asahi, so he doesn’t fully expect the rough shove that sends him face-first into the concrete. He catches himself on his hands, barely, and rolls over to find a _very_ angry spirit towering over him.

“Tsukki, don’t! I’m sorry, he’s just—we didn’t mean to break any rules, and this wears off soon, so he’s a little stressed—Tsukki, I swear, get _off_ of him!” Tadashi tries to grab him but the ghost reacts as if he had; he backs off, expression pinched, hands shoved moodily into his pockets. Tadashi extends a hand down to help Suga back up to his feet, still mumbling apologies, and Suga winces at the scrapes on his palms. He had _almost_ gotten that cut healed, too.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry, but you’ll both only get hurt if you pin all your hopes on figuring out some miraculous way to pretend that he’s not dead,” Suga tells them, and heads back inside. Tadashi trails after him, looking far too much like a kicked puppy, and Suga’s heart clenches as he tries to maintain his stern parent facade. Honestly, it wouldn’t be all that dangerous, now that he knows how to do it—but the Tsukki ghost is still a time bomb, and if he turns into a demon or something _worse_ —

“Dude, you look ready to cry. Did you get beat up by a couple of kids?”

Suga glares at Yuu. Tadashi files past them, but Tsukki pauses, looking down his nose at the short man. Yuu unapologetically glares right back up on him.

The ghost reaches out and tries to touch him. His fingers phase right through Yuu’s arm and he doesn’t bat an eye. Tsukki is visibly surprised, and Yuu cocks his head back and asks, “Expecting something different? Go back and haunt Freckles.”

He floats off in the direction of the back room with a surly curl to his lip.

“So, that’s what he wanted?” Yuu asks without preamble. Suga nods, knowing that’ll continue to be a headache for him, and holds up his hands, showing him the oozing pinpricks of blood. “Holy shit, you _did_ get beat up by—”

“No, he just pushed me, and now they both know. Looks like you’re off the hook if you stop messing around with Asahi around here. And speaking of—how _dare_ you and Ryuu come in here and—”

“Hey, I’ve technically known Daichi longer!” Yuu declares, puffing up to try to match Suga’s height. “You don’t get to stake a claim until I see public groping! Although… Maybe I’ll let you off the hook.” Suga is unaware he’d been _on_ the hook. “Because I actually came to apologize to you.”

 _This_ is why he didn’t want Yuu and Ryuu near Daichi together. “If you’ve embarrassed me further—”

“No, no, but you may be out a date with the guy. Again.”

“ _What_.”

Daichi and Chikara make their way over, Daichi with his jacket, keys, and one hell of an apologetic look. What the fuck. Suga has _finally_ gotten a date with him, and— “Don’t you look at me like that, Sawamura Daichi.”

“You’re invited!” he says at once, defensively.

“Noya and Tanaka convinced him to catch up with us over drinks tonight. They didn’t know you two had a date until I’d already agreed. Sorry,” Chikara explains, helpfully, because at least someone’s on Suga’s side.

 _Is this still my luck? Did that kid take more?_ He’s going to grab him and shake him until pixie dust falls out, he swears. Ryuu bounds up to them and throws his arms over Yuu and Chikara.

“Everything’s on me,” Daichi offers, and Ryuu brightens. “Suga’s is on me. You’re on your own for picking tonight of all nights to prance back into my life.”

“You got a pretty cheap date, then, ‘cause Suga’s a lightweight like you couldn’t believe,” he snickers. One more remark like that and he’s on Suga’s shit list.

Chikara herds the two noisy ones out ahead of them, graciously allowing Suga and Daichi a couple of quiet moments as they doubled back to grab his stuff. “I’m sorry about this. Ennoshita just came back to town recently for some sort of project, and I haven’t seen him for awhile. Hell, I haven’t seen Tanaka or Nishinoya in years, either. Always kinda thought he’d reenlist,” Daichi says, the last part an afterthought.

 _That’s not true, you just saw Noya last week_ —wait. “Reenlist?” Suga repeats, mind grinding to a halt. _Daichi in a uniform_.

“Yeah, he and I were stationed just up north at the base together for the last two years I was in. He and I were drinking buddies and Nishinoya usually wormed his way in when we went out. Honestly, most of my memories of him are pretty fuzzy, but hell of a pair to go out with. …Not that I’m complaining, but how exactly do _you_ know them? Do you have a wild side in addition to your pushy side?” Daichi asks, and he’s teasing him again, but Suga’s still stuck on _uniform_.

“Uh. Work friends. We, um, work together,” he forces out and it takes a couple tries for him to properly grab his jacket and drink. He’s prone to distractions, so sue him. Maybe he’ll forgive Ryuunosuke if he has pictures of he and Daichi in uniform, though.

“What happened to your hands?” Daichi asks suddenly, voice pitching low in alarm. Suga stares down at his palms, uncomprehending for a long second, because there’s a lag in his mental facilities. Oh, right.

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re bleeding on your coat. C’mon, we can go to the back and wash them, at least. Let Ennoshita babysit for a little while longer.” Daichi grabs his wrist and all but drags him through the store, and now Suga’s nearly overwhelmed by how _warm_ Daichi’s hand is on him.

Tadashi is in the back room, tightening his ponytail, lanyard hanging from his mouth. He freezes up when he sees Suga dragged in behind his boss. They stare at each other, and Suga’s not sure how to deal with him in front of Daichi, if at all. He’d sort of been resigned to a cold war between them. “I’m fine—” Suga begins but Daichi turns on the faucet at the sink and thrusts Suga’s hands underneath the hot water. He winces but doesn’t pull away.

It’s not as if they’re particularly bad scrapes, although he does pick a pebble out, but he feels the mood grow heavier when Daichi catches sight of the long slice across his palm, from when he tried to throw blood into Kenma’s summoning circle. It’s still a scab, and he _knows_ it looks fresher than it is, and he knows Daichi knows that. His brow is furrowed, although in confusion or concern, Suga can’t tell.

He pulls his hands out of the water and ignores the tiny droplets of fresh blood that well up. Suga chuckles nervously and turns around, away from the other man, looking for paper towels, and instead finds Tadashi staring at him with his head cocked to the side.

“Yamaguchi, shouldn’t you be starting your shift?” Daichi asks sternly and with a yip, the boy vanishes out the door. Tsukki take a moment later to depart (still staring suspiciously at them).

“We shouldn’t keep them waiting. They’ll just end up in trouble, somehow.” Or they’re halfway to the bar. Suga doesn’t even know where they’re headed.

“Let me bandage those? Or were you planning on passively bleeding all night tonight to get back at me for changing our plans?”

“Oh, do I get to see field medic Daichi?” _Daichi in a uniform, concentrate on that, Koushi_ , he tells himself. He can’t help but get jittery when he’s reminded at how bad his body is at healing properly.

He snorts, which is a far sight better than the confused-or-concerned look he’d been stuck on. He grabs a first aid kit from off the shelf and pops it open. “I _will_ put a field dressing on you if you’re not careful. But just so you know, I was an engineer.”

“And now you work at a bookstore.”

“And now I work at a bookstore,” he agrees with a chuckle. He wraps up Suga’s hands in silence; Suga thinks it’s a little overkill, but now that he’s aware of it, he can sort of see the military practicality in it. In all of Daichi. His hair is probably something like a grown-out military cut, and Suga _really_ hopes Ryuu has photos.

 

\--

 

Tooru drags his finger through the warm water with a heavy sigh. Suga’s just texted him, saying he won’t be coming back again until tomorrow. “Just you and me tonight,” he tells Iwaizumi, who doesn’t outwardly react. Oh, how Tooru wants to tell him he’s clairvoyant, that he’s privy to all of those feelings and loud thoughts he tries so hard to keep hidden, _just_ to see an honest reaction from him. But no, that would show his hand, and he doesn’t want to do that quite yet. “You’re so _bad_ at conversations!” he says instead.

The selkie snorts and sinks deeper into the water.

“We’re _all alone_ ,” Tooru repeats, with emphasis, and Iwaizumi cracks open an eye. “You’re supposed to be excited to have to take down only one person in your grand escape plan!”

“Don’t have one,” he scoffs.

The frustrating part is that he knows he’s telling the truth. Tooru groans and splashes him. “You’re awfully comfortable here for someone on the lam.”

“Hmph.”

“You could probably break me like a toothpick! And you know where the pelt is, so I want to see a mad dash for it. You’re so boring otherwise.”

“I know you’ve hidden it away and have it warded,” Iwaizumi replies curtly. Tooru knows he’s not good with magic, either, outside of breaking basic charms and wards. He’s not actually that good of a thief. Which means he has talents elsewhere.

“What are tengu eggs used for?” he asks to change the subject, but he’s not really changing the subject, and they both know that.

“A lot of things.” He feels faintly confused that Tooru doesn’t seem to know.

“What did you want one for?”

Iwaizumi’s thoughts are a quiet, tangled mess, and Tooru’s not perfect at mind-reading, but he can glean enough to get the sense that it was for someone else. An employer? No, the feel of it was stronger.

“What did _they_ want one for?” Tooru corrects. He’s rewarded by the tiniest of flinches from Iwaizumi. If he hadn’t been looking, and if he hadn’t been in the water, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. But he has seen it, and he’s infinitely pleased to have shaken him. He’s not being remarkably subtle about being a psychic, but he has to admit, he’s a little curious as to when Iwaizumi will guess it outright.

“You’re nosy, aren’t you?” Iwaizumi sneers. Tooru splashes him again. “And stupidly childish.”

“And it’s just me here to entertain myself without my friend coming back. You get to deal with me being bored _all_ night.”

He doesn’t respond. Boring again. Tooru is embarrassingly close to saying something bad just to get a rise out of him.

“I don’t need all that much sleep, you know. I can bother you until you snap and do something stupid, or we can have a civil conversation.” He pulls his hand from the water and flicks off extra droplets in Iwaizumi’s direction. He doesn’t need to be psychic to feel the annoyance rolling off of him. “Can I look at your tattoos again?”

“Why don’t you just dissect me and get it over with?” he growls and un-hunches his shoulders, hiding even more of his skin under the water.

“Why don’t _you_ just squeal and get it over with? I like to think I’m capable of torture.”

“Squeal about _what_? I wanted my skin back. I’m itchy and feel like shit without it. The end,” Iwaizumi says. Tooru blinks at him, purposefully wide-eyed, and his mind already churning over the obvious _lie_ ringing just under his words.

Tooru’s losing patience. He wants his bathroom back, he’s sure Suga wants the bathtub, and he wants to figure out what’s going on. He takes a moment, carefully selecting which verbal weapon to use, before he tells Iwaizumi, “I know you’re not a selkie.”

Iwaizumi starts, sloshing the water in the tub, and Tooru can’t react in time to escape the fingers that seize the front of his shirt. At least they’re not around his neck (yet), but the lunge is nothing compared to the _look_ in Iwaizumi’s dark eyes—anger, no, _fury_ , and dread buried beneath that. His thoughts are a cacophony, shouts and static and words Tooru can’t identify, but he stays still, staring at him, all of his attention devoted to greedily picking through the careless emotions and thoughts.

Iwaizumi must mistake his stillness for fear. He releases his hold and sinks low into the water, only his eyes and hair visible. Tooru wonders if he can breathe underwater somehow, but Iwaizumi comes up far enough to flatly tell him, “You’re an idiot, aren’t you?”

“If you kill me, you’ll never get that skin back,” he replies happily. _Akaashi didn’t call him a selkie until after we used the term. The tengu knew. What else do the tengu know about him?_ Something flickers across Iwaizumi’s expression, prompting Tooru to ask, “Ooh, they have one, don’t they? And that wasn’t bait enough to lure you out, so they’re hoping to grab another. Are you a shapeshifter? What _are_ you, tell me?”

“You’re supposed to be a psychic, aren’t you? You figure it out on your own,” he snaps and Tooru’s momentarily taken aback. That cat is out of the bag. A pity.

“Maybe we don’t have to be enemies, hm?”

“ _Why_?”

“I like having my fingers in as many pies as I can manage,” he replies honestly, and Iwaizumi’s brow inches higher in disbelief. “And I really, really want to know about that leopard thing you keep thinking about.”

“ _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_ ,” Iwaizumi corrects, as if on reflex, because his eyes widen when he realizes what he’s said and he hurriedly ducks under the water again. Tooru reaches in and grabs his arm, yanking until he resurfaces with a wordless snarl.

“Tell me more! We’ve built up such a beautiful rapport already, don’t sour it by acting shy _now_!”

“This is above your pay grade and, also, _why_ the actual  _fuck_ should I tell you anything?”

“Because now that I’ve got you flustered, you’re as easy to read as a book. You can either be with me or against me, and I don’t make a very fun enemy, so just let me know what you’re doing, okay?”

“And _why_ do you want to know so bad?!” Iwaizumi demands and finally succeeds in shaking him off.

“I have my reasons. You don’t need to know everything, you know.”

“You dumbass, what kind of stupid double standard is that?!”

Tooru idly wonders if Iwaizumi’s aware of how much ammo he’s giving him right now; apparently, once he’s riled up, he’s very riled up, and whatever he is, he doesn’t have a very good psychic guard when red in the face. “Help me help you,” he says with a bright smile. “Maybe. At any rate, you don’t want to die in this bathtub, do you?”

“Might be preferable,” he grunts and disappears back beneath the water.

But Tooru knows he’s won. He got him talking, after all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( [akaashi in a skirt tho](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/post/117439197227) (also they're a barn owl tengu in this) ))


	6. Ennoshita Chikara Is Unexpectedly Well-Informed

Tadashi comes home to his empty, dark apartment (same as usual) with an unusually sour mood. Work had been bullshit, school hadn’t been much better, and he had _really hoped_ that the grey-haired stalker would’ve helped. Why, he’s not sure. He has sort of a nice face. At any rate, he certainly hadn’t expected the angry mom rant, nor the way it twisted up the feelings in his chest.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tsukishima asks, in kind of a dry way, like he’s already forgotten how often people need to eat. Tadashi can only vaguely guess how long ago he died; his sense of time back then was all relative and fuzzy.

Tadashi doesn’t like that, either. “Nope, not hungry.” Eating alone is lonely, but eating by himself in front of someone else is just awkward. As he flops onto the tiny couch, his stomach betrays him and growls. Loudly. The worst part is that he’s honestly _not_ all that hungry.

Tsukishima floats over him with a threatening look.

“What kind of movies do you like?” Tadashi asks innocently. “We can have a marathon tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have plans tomorrow and I don’t feel like going to sleep.” It’s not insomnia, he tells himself. He doesn’t have any other side effects, anyway, so he’s okay pretending he can sleep, too. “C’mon, when’s the last time you had a sleepover? We’re supposed to stay up late and eat junk food.” It’s been awhile since Tadashi’s had close enough friends to invite over, but he doesn’t share that. (Maybe Tsukishima knows that regardless.)

“… _Jurassic Park_ ,” Tsukishima says, giving in surprisingly easy, and Tadashi’s face lights up. It’s still a fight to get him to talk about anything remotely personal, so he counts this one as a win as he hops off the couch and tries to find his laptop in the dark. “Why don’t you turn on the light?” he asks, amused.

“Because there’s a streetlight just outside, and you glow, and I’m probably closer to my computer than to the— _oww_.” His elbow connects with the corner of the coffee table and he hisses as he shakes out his arm. Funny bone. Of course.

The lights flick on overhead and he blinks in the sudden brightness. Tadashi finds his laptop—under the offending table—and gives Tsukishima a curious look over his shoulder. The ghost shrugs a little and avoids his stare.

“How’d you do that?”

“Haven’t you heard of things getting moved around during hauntings? Lights flickering on and off?”

“So you’re a poltergeist, a ghost, _and_ a luck spirit?” Tadashi asks archly, but laughs in spite of himself. He can’t really imagine Tsukishima trying to multitask like that; he seems very devoted to luck-spirit-ness. And apathetic toward everything else. Tsukishima stays quiet as he boots up his laptop and goes to find the movies. While that loads, he steals blankets and pillows from his bed and sets up a nest on the couch for them—well, just him, but it’s nice to feel like he’s sharing it.

Halfway through the first movie, when they both give up on the couch and move to the floor to be closer to the laptop on the table, Tsukishima asks, “Have you ever read the books?”

“No, I haven’t. There are books?” Tadashi asks in surprise. Tsukishima snorts into his sleeve and gives him a pitying, you-are-a-peasant-aren’t-you look. Tadashi tries hard not to be too offended by it since it’s not exactly a rare look on his friend.

“Yes. Two. I was halfway through the second one when I died,” Tsukishima tells him, easily, but Tadashi tenses beside him. It’s the first time he’s willingly said anything like that. He doesn’t want to ruin it. “My brother brought them to read while I was in the hospital.”

“Can I…” He swallows and pulls the pillow he’s leaning on aside so he can gauge Tsukishima’s expression. “Can I ask about him?”

“I suppose.”

“H-How did he die?” _Please don’t say suicide, please don’t say suicide_ , he prays, thinking back to the last time he saw Akiteru, the hollow look in his eyes when he simply told him _I won’t be coming back here again, Tadashi_.

“Magic. I think he was trying to make something to… I don’t know. All I know is that it didn’t work, and then he died,” Tsukishima says with a note of finality; topic closed.

Tadashi nods and draws his knees up to his chest. “Wait—magic?! Your brother was a witch?”

“I have no idea. He apparently didn’t choose to tell me,” he replies thinly.

Tadashi backs off. It’s a heavy topic, especially for what was supposed to be a stupid happy slumber party, but he’s still morbidly curious about it all. “Um, how long did you stay at the hospital for? After you, uh, became a spirit?”

“I never met your mother as a ghost,” Tsukishima says flatly. Tadashi flinches.

Silence falls over them, thick and oppressive.

 

\--

 

Suga’s sipping at a pomegranate martini, ignoring the peanut gallery’s jeers, when he gets the first selfie from Tooru. As usual, it’s accompanied by a fair amount of emoji, but what catches his eye is the obvious _selkie_ in the picture. The dressed selkie, unfortunately, which means he can’t try to figure out more of his tattoos. _Why the hell are they taking selfies together_ , Suga wonders, working pleasantly on a buzz, and then he realizes _what the fuck that isn’t in the bathroom_.

So Tooru’s loaned Iwaizumi clothes, and has let him out of the bathroom. He’s going to get himself killed, and Suga is halfway across town. He wouldn’t be able to make it there in time. Tooru will probably snapchat the ordeal. ‘ _i am not going to come get you_ ,’ Suga texts back with an accompanying picture of his drink.

“Did you just take a picture of your bitch drink? Wanted to show it off?” Ryuu asks eagerly, accidentally sidling up between Suga and Asahi.

Suga makes sure to put his pinky out when he takes his next sip. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over how delicious this tastes.” He’s not really hurt by Ryuu’s (ongoing) remarks, since the rare times when Suga goes drinking it’s with him and this happens _every time_ , but he sort of wishes he wasn’t doing the whole spiel in front of Daichi and Chikara.

“I can’t believe someone who so happily drinks such shitty beer is the one to throw the first stone,” Chikara says mildly, and Ryuu backs off with a look in his direction.

The next text arrives with another picture: a blurry motion shot of Tooru trying(?) to put his arms around Iwaizumi. Tooru’s grinning and his new best friend looks like he’s mid-punch-to-the-face. ‘ _I HAVE A NEW BODYGUARD!!!! ٩(๑ơలơ)۶ ur fired koushi <3_’ is the accompanying text.

He is one hundred percent going to get himself killed. Suga won’t stop it. How exactly does one go from freaking out at six in the morning over a home intruder to hiring the guy as a bodyguard? How did _Tooru_ come to that? He really wishes he could understand his trains of thought. ‘ _i’ll be over tmrw to get my stuff and get my turn in the tub_.’ For good measure, he takes a picture of his most unimpressed, ‘I am not going to come bail your ass out of this terrible decision’ face. It comes out pretty badly in the dim lighting of whatever sports bar—a _sports bar_ , he’s never letting either Ryuu or Yuu choose where he drinks again, it smells like grease, smoke, and incredibly cheap booze in there—but he sends it anyway.

“Who are you getting into the selfie fight with?” Asahi asks, leaning over his shoulder. Not so much to look at his phone, Suga knows, but rather to edge away from how loud Ryuu and Yuu are already. They’re screeching at the nearest TV at a hockey game. He’s pretty sure they don’t care much about hockey, if at all.

“Oikawa. He’s just…” He makes a vague hand gesture, because he’s more or less promised to keep the selkie thing under wraps until further notice. He wonders if blackmailing him into becoming his bodyguard counts as further notice. “He’s Oikawa.”

That’s good enough response. Asahi hums and leans politely away when Suga’s phone goes off with another text. There are more hearts than Suga cares to count attached to a picture of Tooru (with a bloody nose) smushing his cheek against what looks like Iwaizumi’s back. He really, really hopes Tooru didn’t try to seduce him. He absolutely does not want to face the prospect of _that_ being Tooru’s grand plan. He has more faith than that.

A moment later, he gets an actual followup text: ‘ _PS: i changed the thingies 2 combust instd of transfer! all by myself!!! ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ_ ’

And then, one more, because Tooru is that kind of texter. ‘ _PPS: he won’t give me his # but i wnt to save it as a flex emoji. i got more runes for yooooou <333_’

Suga rolls his eyes and vows not to respond. It’s not his problem. Especially if he changed the wards guarding the pelt; they had been set to transfer ownership to Suga should Tooru die, like a magical will. Now, he supposes it’ll just burn the pelt. He’s very glad that Tooru didn’t blow himself up trying to change it himself, but he won’t tell him that.

Yuu appears out of nowhere and plucks his phone from his grasp, replacing it with a bottle. “No jobs tonight, just drinking and flirting,” he informs him. Suga arches an eyebrow, so he quickly declares, “Them’s the rules. And should you be starting off with something so strong?”

Daichi, most unfortunately, swaps places with Chikara just in time to hear that last part and insert himself into their conversation with it. “You were in the store most of the day. Have you eaten anything?”

“Firstly, I don’t take drinking advice from someone who’s already two _shots_ into the night,” Suga tells Yuu and tries to pass the bottle back to him.

“It tasted like cinnamon,” he replies, completely unrepentantly, and Daichi laughs. Asahi sighs heavily behind them. Yuu pushes the drink back to Suga, and he pushes it right back—and that distracts him, but not _quite_ enough to miss Ryuunosuke trying to make off with his martini on his other side. He steals back his actual drink and downs the rest of it in one go.

“That… probably wasn’t my best idea,” Suga immediately admits. He hasn’t eaten anything except a muffin at lunch. And he’s not exactly built for drinking anymore. He blinks a couple of times and ignores how heavily the sweetness sits in his stomach.

Yuu bursts into laughter, slapping his hand on the table, trying to smother the noise with Asahi’s arm. Ryuu laughs, too, although he doesn’t realize the amount of stupidity he’d just caused. “That is—That’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever seen you make in person! Oh my god, let’s go drinking more often, S-Suga…!” He cuts off with a snicker as Asahi thumps him on the back.

Suga is going to be regretting that tonight. He wonders if he can just slink home now to sleep it off.

“I thought he said you were a lightweight,” Daichi prompts with a grin he’s trying to hide behind his own drink.

“He is! His liver’s practically broke and that’s going to hit him so hard!” Yuu gleefully forces out between gasping laughter.

Daichi turns back to Suga in alarm. Suga quickly puts his hands up and shakes his head. He pretends the movement doesn’t make him dizzy. “It’s not that bad! Okay, I’m a, uh, lightweight, and there’s not much else in my stomach, but my liver isn’t _broken_. Ignore his inappropriate laughter.” His liver almost functions normally, thank you. …Almost almost. It’s just a little slow on the uptake, like the rest of his body, so he may be dealing with the alcohol in his system longer than most.

“Would you tell us if you had any legitimate liver problems?” Chikara asks mildly. Suga nods but frowns at him. “I’m glad I’m not making friends with another alcoholic.”

“What’s with the ‘another’ remark, huh?” Yuu asks him.

“Suga’s fine, he’ll just be the first to pass out. So before that happens, let’s play quarters!” Ryuu breaks in.

“You make it sound as if it’ll be a race to passing out.”

“Isn’t that how you’re supposed to go drinking with old friends?”

Suga groans and rests his forehead on the table. It’s faintly sticky, but the important thing is that it’s cool. He tunes out Chikara’s otherwise amusing shut-down of Ryuu’s idea and checks his phone again; Tooru’s already sent him another three snapchats (he’s too bleary-eyed to do much more than register the overuse of emoji in the quick messages) and two normal texts. Nothing declaring he’s about to die or is having second thoughts. Or any thoughts.

“You seem more worried than drunk,” Asahi mumbles, rubbing his shoulders, and Suga glances up enough to see Chikara watching them over the edge of his glass. “There’s, uh, nothing wrong, _right_?”

Suga grabs the bottle of whatever Yuu had given him and takes a swig. Good news: it’s sweet and not beer. Bad news: he really should have returned to the glass of water Daichi had slid in his direction.

“Koushi, that’s not going to help,” Asahi chides, gentle as ever.

“There’s just a lot on my mind right now. Why can’t people just _tell_ me what they’re up to?”

“Give it another half hour at the rate you’re going, and we’ll all be able to play counselor to you,” Daichi says, not unkindly, but Suga and Asahi both jump because they’d been unaware he’d been listening. Suga groans into the tabletop. So now it seems like he’s talking to himself. Perfect.

“He was talking to a ghost, not himself,” Chikara tells him helpfully. Daichi snorts and tries to hide his laugh with his drink.

Suga begins hitting his head against the table. Surely with the alcohol and concussion, this night will improve.

The night doesn’t really improve, but at least they leave the sports bar when Chikara makes an offhand comment about wanting to try a semi-famous bar downtown. The night’s gotten chilly and damp, and when Suga catches Daichi shivering, he puts his jacket over his shoulders and feels triumphant for all of five seconds until Daichi puts it right back on him. “You’re colder than I am,” he tells him firmly. His cheeks are pink, though, and Suga refuses to believe it’s from the cold.

“I run cold ‘n I’m in a hoodie. Take my jacket, please?”

“It’s yours and you’re freezing.”

They settle on a compromise of Suga wrapping his arms (and jacket) around Daichi as they walk. He’s only a little unsteady, but Daichi is solid against him, and he doesn’t complain when Suga’s hands drift lower than they rightfully should. Tooru’s still texting him, but he’s getting progressively easier to ignore.

Bar number two turns out to be a dingy, dim pub with a dance floor in the back. Suga has no idea why it’s supposed to be semi-famous, but the staff has cute uniforms, and they manage to snag a booth for themselves despite the weekend rush. Ryuu, unfortunately, manages to start a game of quarters before anyone catches wise; Suga wrinkles his nose at the shot glass in front of him that Ryuu ordered for him. In Portuguese.

“What is this?” Chikara asks, looking similarly put-off by the mystery drink.

“We’re not playing with shots,” Daichi warns, voice low and growly and expression absolutely terrifying, and Suga sighs and leans against his shoulder. “None of us.”

“Just the first round,” Yuu pleads. “We’re supposed to be getting drunk off our asses, and you’re just drinking beer and trying to keep up your macho facade!”

“The facade works better when you don’t have someone as cute as Sugawara using you as a pillow,” Chikara adds and pokes at his drink. “But seriously, what is this?”

“Chika, _you_ are my next target. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how quiet you’ve been.”

“I’m always quiet. I’m not drinking this without knowing what it is.”

“Yuu, you shouldn’t pressure people to do things they don’t want to,” Asahi tells him quietly, and Chikara nods. It’s still so strange to see him interacting so _openly_ with him; Suga and Yuu aren’t used to seeing or doing it. Asahi sighs and reclines on the back of the booth, hands over his eyes, clearly remorseful on their behalf.

“I’m going to be drunk for days,” Suga mumbles into Daichi’s shoulder. “I don’t metabolize—I’m never gonna metabolize all of this.” He’s pretty sure that’s the word. He’s also pretty sure he’s unconsciously drawing wards onto Daichi’s thigh with his finger and he distantly hopes it’s nothing too bad.

Ryuu comes back with a pitcher of water and a stack of glasses. Chikara slumps low in his seat, relieved, and Asahi lets out a loud breath. “Tanaka, what the hell are we drinking? And why does it have fruit in it?” Daichi demands as Ryuu slides in next to Chikara.

“ _Ginjinha_ ,” he replies offhandedly and puts an arm around the man next to him. “Ennoshita’s buying the next round, unless you all want tequila.” [1]

Yuu high fives him from across the table.

“I’m out after this round,” Suga says at once, eying the foreign-named thing dubiously. He has a feeling it, too, is Portuguese.

“Why did I get volunteered?” Chikara asks. “I volunteer Noya, since he offered earlier.”

“Tequila!”

“Why do I suddenly feel like I’m twenty again?” Daichi groans.

 

\--

 

It’s nearing two in the morning and Suga is honestly amazed he can stay upright. He’s even more amazed that Ryuu and Yuu are upright, much less that they’re playfully shoving each other back and forth while trying to sing a Taylor Swift duet. He’s pretty sure that started around the time they found bar number three and its old karaoke machine. “This is not how I expected my night to go,” Daichi admits. Suga’s glued to his side again (no complaints) but he’s a little less stable compared to earlier. “Ugh, I live across town. I’m going to pass out or throw up in a cab. Haven’t decided which.”

“We have to complete our, uh—”

“Reunion?” Chikara dryly supplies.

“—our college reenactment,” Yuu finishes, trying to punch him in the arm and missing terribly. He would’ve face planted if Asahi hadn’t caught him. “We gotta have a sleepover. I wanna pass out on someone’s floor.”

“I am _so glad_ you haven’t changed, Noya.”

“Is that what you do at college sleepovers?” Daichi asks and sways a little on his feet. Suga yawns. “Since Tanaka and I didn’t do college, you guys have fun.”

“Suga’s place is closest!” Yuu declares anyway and begins marching off unsteadily into the night. Asahi follows him with a worried whine; Suga giggles because the image looks like a mother trailing after her toddler. A little. Enough. “Train station’s this way!”

“I’m going to call a cab,” Chikara says with a sigh, digging in his coat pocket for his phone, and Suga tries to remember something about why that sounds wrong, “so get back here.”

“ _Eu vou pegar ele_ ,” Ryuu replies and totters off after him.[2]

Chikara squints at him over his phone, and then gives Daichi a suspicious, questioning look. Daichi bursts out laughing and has to lean against the brick wall behind him for support. “C’moooon!” Yuu shouts.

“Get your asses back here! We’re calling a cab!” Daichi yells back.

Suga finally remembers. “No cabs, he doesn’t like drivers he doesn’t know.” Which means Yuu’s setting out on his own while very drunk with only a nervous ghost and similarly drunk friend as escorts. And they’re all headed to his apartment. He pushes off of Daichi and is very pleased to discover that he can stand just fine on his own.

Yuu looks _incredibly_ proud of himself when the entire group finds themselves at the subway station. Suga’s just glad no one fell down the stairs. As Yuu reads over the map, Daichi smacks him in the arm and scolds, “Don’t invite people over if it’s not your place.”

“I’m inviting myself out! Suga’s place is the smallest,” Ryuu volunteers. He throws his arm over Chikara’s shoulder, earning a raised eyebrow, and adds, “But his hotel’s next closest.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“ _Você tem certeza que quer dizer não?_ ”[3]

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re saying,” Chikara tells him, but ruins his serious expression with a laugh he can’t contain.

“Tanaka,” Daichi starts, voice going growly again, and Suga sighs against his shoulder.

“It’s no real trouble.”

“You have no idea what kind of trouble he can be,” he warns.

“I just watched him drink almost an entire bottle of tequila by himself. I have an idea. I’ll agree with Noya as far as the fact that someone should escort the alcoholics home. To somewhere, at least.”

“ _Eu quero incomodar você_ ,” Ryuu mumbles with a smug smirk.[4]

“I drank just as much!” Yuu pipes up. Asahi facepalms. Ryuu sticks his tongue out at him and Yuu retaliates with both middle fingers.

“Children! Behave!” Daichi barks. The train, mercifully, arrives and Suga tries to process leaving the two of them behind to catch another. Asahi yanks Yuu through the doors before they shut on him and he and Ryuu continue to make faces at each other until they’re out of sight.

Suga plops down in the nearest seat and pulls out his phone. Saeko is not going to believe that her little brother just managed to very accidentally go home with someone, but that thought is sidelined as soon as he sees a text from Kiyoko. ‘ _Are you out drinking? Please be safe_.’ He can _feel_ the disappointment even in so few words.

 _Who told her?_ he thinks, and as soon as the thought is formed, he realizes _I’m going to kill Tooru myself_. Suga, rather childishly, is about to text her back and rat out the true guilty parties when he feels a weight against his shoulder. Daichi’s slid down in the seat and is resting against him, eyes closed, either dozing or very hopefully not passed out.

Yuu leans forward, looking around Suga, and then grins at the image. He pulls out his phone and snaps a picture. Suga shrugs with one shoulder and whispers, “Send that to me?”

“You know, you two are actually pretty cute together.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m serious! I trust Chika’s choice in friends.”

“Can you two stop talking about me?” Daichi grumbles against Suga’s shoulder. He starts, embarrassed, yet glad that he doesn’t have to try to drag him anywhere. “Which line are we even on?”

“The blue one,” Yuu answers, rather uselessly.

“Second,” Suga corrects, far more helpfully. Daichi grunts against his shoulder. “You’re welcome to crash at my place if you want.”

“Pretty sure I’m heading in the exact opposite direction from my place,” he admits. “Sleepover, I guess. I’ll owe you one, ‘kay.”

“It’s not really a bother, just don’t throw up on my floor.” He gives Yuu a pointed look. On his other side, Asahi also gives him a look. Yuu shrugs and laces his fingers behind his head with forced nonchalance.

Their stop arrives and Suga’s glad they don’t have to grab another train. It’s just two blocks to walk from there, and while he’s tired and his stomach is still worryingly heavy, at least he can safely pass out on his couch. Yuu can get the floor. Suga wraps his arms back around Daichi’s waist, sharing his jacket again, and he’s halfway across the platform when he hears Asahi. “Yuu, what are you—that’s sneaky! You shouldn’t—!”

Suga turns to find the train doors sliding shut, Yuu and Asahi still inside, the former waving cheerfully and the latter looking frantically apologetic.

“Did we just get ditched?” Daichi asks as they watch the train depart.

Suga sighs, long and hard. “I’m not sure if he planned that or not.” He’s rarely sure if Nishinoya Yuu plans things or is remarkably talented at pulling off last-minute decisions. “You don’t have to—”

“If you’re okay with it, I’m more than okay crashing on your couch tonight. I really just want to sleep right now.”

Suga is going to have words with Yuu, and Tooru, and ignore Kiyoko’s words for him, but momentarily, he’s pleased at the prospect of Daichi coming home with him, even if it’s just to pass out and it’s definitely not what he’d want if he were more sober. And then, he promptly realizes that his apartment is a _mess_.

He manages to get his jacket onto Daichi by the time they reach his building, and the taller man leans against him on the elevator ride up. Suga pretends like he doesn’t fumble with his keys, and then he pretends that it’s just the alcohol, but Daichi is just so _present_ behind him, that even though he’s exhausted and Daichi’s exhausted and they’re both about to crash, his mind wanders to bringing him home under different circumstances, anyway. Ugh, why does he have to live in such a cramped place, why didn’t he think to clean it—

“You have a cat?” is the first thing out of Daichi’s mouth as they stumble inside.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sort of. His name is Sunshine,” Suga replies, smiling at how Daichi kneels down and holds his hand out.

“You have a black cat named Sunshine?”

“All cats look grey in the dark,” he says and flicks on the lamp. _And he used to be yellow_. Sunshine meows, loudly, and seems to accept Daichi when he starts scratching him behind an ear.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a cat so big.”

“He’s part Maine Coon. I, uh, hope you’re okay with him cuddling, because he has a spot in the bed that he won’t give up—”

“I’m not going to take your bed,” Daichi says at once.

Suga shakes his head and Sunshine loyally meows in agreement with him. Good cat. “Not having this argument tonight. Next time, we share it, but tonight, you’re in the bed and I get my lumpy couch. Your legs do not deserve the horror of that couch.”

“What about—”

“Neither does your ass, but I’m trying to be a gentleman here in front of the cat.” Sunshine gives him a judgmental look anyway. “The bedroom’s in this way, _please_ forgive the clutter, I wasn’t expecting anyone and I haven’t been home a lot lately, the bathroom is that door on the right, and uhh you shouldn’t need too many more blankets.”

“Is… there a bed underneath that?” Daichi asks dubiously when he sees the pile of blankets atop Suga’s mattress. Suga tries not to blush in embarrassment as he steps over and steals a couple for himself. There’s only… okay, he doesn’t want to count that high. Yui’s mother had been a quilter. Suga hadn’t had the heart to give any of them up.

“Goodnight, Daichi. Wake me if you need anything.”

Sunshine jumps up onto the (smaller) blanket nest and meows plaintively at his new snuggle buddy.

 

\--

 

Daichi wakes up at about six in the morning in an unfamiliar room with a cat’s face inches from his own. He bites back his yelp—it comes out as sort of a strangled sound that’s equally embarrassing—and Sunshine blinks his big, perfectly innocent orange eyes like he hadn’t been caught creepily watching him sleep. Suga hadn’t warned him about that.

Daichi rolls away from the cat, but said cat responds by headbutting and licking the back of his neck. “Cat—uh, Sunshine—please.” His head is pounding and he really, _really_ wants to go to sleep. Sleep is very much impossible with a sandpaper tongue trying to lick layers of skin off in a very specific spot near his ear. “Please let me sleep again.”

Sunshine purrs.

Daichi is one of those usually-useful types of sleepers who, once he’s awake, is _awake_. It is not useful when he’s on four hours of sleep with a hangover in an unfamiliar apartment. And a noisy, overly friendly cat. He groans, sits up (eliciting a happy chirp from the cat), and runs a hand over his face. It’s still blissfully dark outside the curtains. There’s a clock on the nightstand, but it’s almost ten minutes off according to Daichi’s phone.

Sunshine meows insistently at him. “I’m not Suga, you know. What do you want…?” Daichi knows he wants painkillers and water. And to go back to sleep. Does the cat get fed this early in the morning? He can’t imagine Suga bright-eyed and bushy-tailed before dawn, but there’s a lot he doesn’t know about the man. He wouldn’t have figured out his first name if he hadn’t pulled Ryuunosuke aside and asked him, and he _won’t_ be living that one down for awhile.

Sunshine weaves in and out of his legs while he staggers to the bathroom. His stomach churns, but he’s pretty sure he won’t throw up, and he shoves away any guilt he feels at going through Suga’s medicine cabinet after he turns on the light and curses at it. Sunshine meows in a way that makes Daichi wonder if the cat is laughing at him. The cabinet is full of what looks to be herbal remedies, including two small jars of what seems to be actual, whole plants, and Daichi sincerely hopes all of these are legal. He feels a little better when he finds a bottle of ibuprofen behind a package of hair ties.

Daichi sits on the toilet and holds his head in his hands. He really wishes he would’ve had the foresight to do much more than unbutton his shirt and faceplant onto the bed; his clothes are a mess and he feels rather disgusting on the whole. He peeks between his fingers at the shower. He’ll feel slightly better about his strangely platonic walk of shame if he showers, he knows. And it usually helps clear his head.

He’s already imposing. He’s also pretty sure he’s still a little drunk. Sunshine makes himself comfortable on the rug and shamelessly watches as Daichi strips and squints at the shower handles. Hot, cold, and a mark he has no idea how to interpret. It looks like it’s been scribbled on with a sharpie. “Sunshine, you’d tell me if your owner was crazy, right?”

Sunshine looks away with a flick of an ear.

“I thought we were bonding this morning.”

The hot water lasts for about two minutes. Daichi’s used to fast showers, but that’s just cruel. He’s not even upset about dripping on the cat as he gropes for a towel. Sunshine paws at the cracked door until he pulls it open and vanishes outside. Daichi steals more ibuprofen, wonders if he can ask about borrowing a shirt ( _would it even fit?_ ), and walks back out into the living room with the towel around his waist to find Suga sitting up on the couch.

“Uh… hi,” Daichi says awkwardly, because that had _not_ been the plan. (The plan: see if he can find a glass for water, think about breakfast, discover how cute of a sleeper Suga is, and _maybe_ snoop.)

Suga, hair a mess and eyes still screwed shut, may actually still be asleep. Sunshine, the traitor, is on his lap with what can only be described as an aggressive purr.

Daichi edges back down the hallway. Suga rubs at his eyes and yawns. “…That’s my towel,” he says thickly.

“Sorry.”

Suga holds his hand out. Daichi blinks down at him, confused until Suga makes an insistent noise, and then breaks into a grin. He hands the towel over; he has his boxers on underneath and he knows from the disappointed expression that crosses over Suga’s face that the man is more awake than he seems.

“I took all the hot water. All two cups of it. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I’m gonna… go back to sleep,” Suga mumbles and he sways when he stands. Sunshine jumps into the warm spot he’d given up and curls up in it.

“Taking the bed back?” Daichi asks archly but follows him back into the bedroom. Suga nods tiredly and faceplants onto the bed. Daichi knows the feeling. “Is there any chance I could borrow a shirt, if you have one that would fit me?”

“Second drawer,” he mumbles into the pillow. There’s a hint of a slur to his words.

“Are you… still drunk?” he asks with a squint. Suga buries his face further into the pillow. Daichi sincerely hopes that Yuu’s joke about his liver being broken was just that. He finds a large (even on him) sleep shirt in the drawer and pulls it on, and hardly gets it over his head before Suga grabs his wrist and tugs him toward the bed. “Oh, am I napping with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure I can fall back asleep.”

Suga turns and peers blearily up at Daichi. His eyes are a little glassy and he has the imprint of a pillow on his cheek, but he otherwise looks conscious. “D’you want to nap with me?”

“Uh, I guess,” Daichi admits, rubbing the back of his head. The bed isn’t the largest and he’s in the space between grumpily hungover and wanting to leave before imposing further. He had planned on making his way home and grabbing something greasy in hopes of quieting his stomach.

Suga tugs him onto the bed, and Daichi is momentarily concerned over how cool Suga’s skin is, despite the flush on his cheeks. But the thoughts are pushed out of the way when Suga pulls him close and throws an arm around him. His other hand, trapped between them, traces patterns on the shirt he’s borrowed. In hindsight, he should have expected a person like Suga to be a cuddler, and he’s far from shy, so he’s not sure why he’s so surprised.

“Uh,” Daichi tries again when Suga throws a leg over his hips. He’s an octopus. Daichi begins to regret this. He’s still not tired, either.

“ _Sleep_ ,” Suga murmurs and taps on his chest.

Daichi’s eyes droop and he suddenly feels _incredibly_ sleepy. Weird. Suga tucks his head beneath Daichi’s chin with a contented sound and at least his breath is warm against his throat. Daichi hums and manages to fling his free arm over Suga’s shoulders before drifting off again.

 

\--

 

“I charmed him,” Suga moans, tugging at his hair. “I wasn’t thinking—how do I apologize for something like that? He doesn’t even know what I did! Was I tired? Was I drunk? I’m never drinking again—I’m going to murder Tanaka, just you wait, and then I’ll die of shame myself.” He buries his face in his arms, fingers still tangled in his pale hair, and Tooru obnoxiously sips at his tea.

“Just give him a dozen roses and a blowjob and you’ll be fine. Vague apologies are still apologies.”

“Is that how you got your new bodyguard?” Suga hisses, not at all amused by the suggestion. Tooru looks pointedly away with another sip. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It was a joke, Suga.” Even his supposed joke doesn’t have its usual lilt, and despite still wanting to throttle him, Suga can sympathize with how tired Tooru looks. His hair is droopier than usual and there are bags under his eyes; Suga wonders if he should cast a sleep spell on _him_ just to make sure he’s gotten some sleep in the past few days. “Ah, before I forget, I got _you_ a present, too.”

He pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and slides it across the table. Suga prods it open, half curious, half afraid. It turns out to be a list, and Suga’s eyes light up with delight. Tooru hides a smile behind his styrofoam cup. “You copied down more of his tattoos?! Oh my god, your handwriting is _terrible_.”

“I did the best I could, alright? That’s all I could easily see without making him more suspicious of me.”

“I’m surprised you could get this many. I’ll get to work on this tonight, maybe figure it all out in a day or two, if I’m lucky.” Suga can’t remember the last time he was lucky. “Until then, we’re either going back to my crisis or your new bodyguard. Pick a topic.”

Tooru’s expression pinches in disgust. “I’ve _told_ you, we have a mutually beneficial agreement now—”

“That involves blackmail _and_ you won’t tell me anything else about it,” Suga reminds him. “I’m understandably worried. There is also the entire issue of him _breaking into your home_.”

“Go back to your big gay crisis.”

“It’s not a gay crisis, it’s an ‘I accidentally used magic outside of a job and on someone I very much like without his consent’.”

“Yes, go back to worrying over him. I’ll worry over the selkie.” The last word leaves Tooru’s mouth strangely, too heavily. Suga glances up from the marking list to find Tooru staring at a point across the cafe, expression distant. Before he can ask, Tooru speaks first. “…Suga, what else can shapeshift?”

“He knew where the pelt was. You can’t fake that kind of connection without a _lot_ of magic.” Suga doesn’t want to follow that train of thought. A selkie is a known quantity, something he knows (vaguely) how to contain and defend against. He doesn’t want his psychic friend to throw a wrench into that fragile sense of security—but he knows it’s coming. The doubt’s already there, anyway. Suga takes a breath through his nose and orders, “Tell me how you figured it out.”

“Just by his reactions. You know, we haven’t actually seen him use the pelt—”

“He has a connection to it. He knew where to look but not how to find it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tooru pouts and sets his chin in his hand. He levels a stare across the table at Suga, all business now. “The tengu know. I’m pretty sure they have another pelt, or at least something of his that’s valuable. Any chance we can get that back?”

“And piss off the tengu further?”

“What if we trade for their egg?”

“Do you think he’ll give it up?” Suga asks in surprise.

Tooru shrugs and nods. “I think I can convince him. I think you should broker it for us, though, since I didn’t make the best first impression.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“What are tengu eggs used for, exactly?” he asks as if he hadn’t heard the jab.

Suga folds the list again and tucks it into his bag. It can come later. He counts off on his fingers and replies, “Potions, spells, hoodoo, alchemy, even cooking and baking. Just about everything. They actually taste pretty good and they’re supposedly really good for your heart or something.”

“If I get Iwa-chan to give up the egg, do you think you can trade it for us? I’m not even entirely positive what you’d be looking for, probably just another pelt or something…”

“Iwa…?” Suga echoes blankly. Did he hear him correctly? 

“I’m trying to get him to tell me his first name,” Tooru says with an evil smirk. “Until then, he’s Iwa-chan. Cute, right?”

“He _falls_ for these childish tactics?” Suga has to ask, because he’s honestly astonished at the mental image that creates. Iwaizumi had sort of struck him as rather stoic, but then again, this _is_ Tooru he’s thinking about. If there’s a button to push, he’s on it.

“He does!” he gleefully exclaims. “Okay, so he can be a little mean, but he’s easy to rile up once you get under his skin.”

“Please don’t get yourself killed.”

“I’m good at toeing the line. And I don’t mind a couple bruises if I figure out more about him. It’s really strange, you’d think someone like him would have a better sense of psychic shielding…” Tooru hums, thoughtful, and taps against his cup.

“That is a little strange,” Suga agrees, “but you’d also think a thief would be better at unlocking spells. Where are you keeping him while he plays bodyguard?”

“He’s out of the bathtub, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It was,” he chirps and beams at him. “I’ll stop by later tonight to check on things. And by that I mean take a two-hour bath.”

“You’re going to get disgustingly pruny,” Tooru sneers. Suga smiles even in spite of that. “Just don’t let him see that list I gave you if you do come over. I know he’s caught me looking but I don’t want him realizing how good my memory is. But please, feel free to try to talk to him, too. Maybe he’s bad with pretty people. Ooh, I hope so!”

“I’m almost feeling sorry for Iwaizumi.”

“Ask him about his boss,” Tooru adds happily. “That always makes him nervous and he does this cute reflexive thing.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m feeling sorry for him.”

“Fine, if you don’t want me to pick at his brain and save us both a lot of research time—”

“By that, you mean me.”

“—just ask him about the leopard thing!” he finishes, drumming both hands on the table. “ _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_ ,” Tooru adds, then claps a hand over his mouth, eyes going round with shock. Blood drips down out of his nose. Suga hurriedly hands him a wad of napkins, and Tooru whispers between his fingers, “I didn’t mean to say that. That’s what Iwa-chan did when I brought it up.”

“So what, now you want me to research his boss too? I’ve never heard of it.” Suga tries to contain his worry, focusing on wiping blood off of Tooru’s hand, but giving a psychic a nosebleed at the sound of your name understandably sets off more than one alarm bell in his mind. _I don’t know who or what this leopard is, but I’m not sure I want to find out much more_ , he thinks, and under his breath, he mumbles, “ _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_.”

He’s unaware he’s said anything until he catches Tooru’s shocked expression.

 _Shit_. Suga loses all sympathy for his bloody nose and punches him, hard, in the shoulder. “You absolute ass, you gave me your memetic infection! Don’t say or think anything about it again.” Well now he’ll _have_ to look that up, and that won’t be fun. Tengu would be easier. “Get me the egg and I’ll see what I can do. And I’ll look up everything else, I guess, because I don’t want you anywhere near that thing. _Don’t_ bring it up with Iwaizumi again.”

Tooru nods, still staring incredulously at him, and Suga sighs. He’d rather go back to worrying over Daichi.

 

\--

 

Tooru waits until he can hear Suga start his music in the bathroom before cornering Iwaizumi. “Who is your boss?!” he demands. Iwaizumi turns away, completely disinterested, and Tooru leans down until he’s at eye-level and can’t be ignored. “I want to know who else you’re working for, and I’m serious about this request of mine. Whoever that leopard guy is—”

“ _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_ ,” Iwaizumi says, at the same time that Tooru’s forced to correct himself, and Tooru growls in frustration. “I recommend you stay away from that topic,” the not-selkie dryly adds.

“Absolutely not. Sugawara called it a memetic infection, and whatever the hell it was, it tore down his mental walls in an instant _and_ without him noticing. Probably the same for me. _That’s_ why you’re so shit at blocking me out, huh?”

“Who’re you calling shit?!” Iwaizumi snaps, teeth bared, and Tooru can’t help but notice how much sharper than average his canines are. “I didn’t know I’d be running into a clairvoyant, even if it is just a half-assed one like you.”

“Not a very good boss, not preparing you for things like that.”

“You _really_ don’t want to stick your nose into this, trust me. It’d hurt that pretty little psychic head of yours.”

He may very well have a point there, Tooru knows, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give up. He leans out of Iwaizumi’s space and folds his hands over his chest. “If you can give me the egg back, I may be able to get your other skin back from the tengu. Or does your boss need one _that_ badly?”

“It’s not my boss,” Iwaizumi grumbles, averting his eyes again, and that rings true. “…I guess I haven’t handed over the egg yet, though. But I’ll need to turn something in eventually.”

The music in the bathroom pauses, and Tooru can hear Suga answering his phone.

“If I get your other skin back for you, you realize I’m going to demand to know why you wanted the egg. Why your boss did. I’m going to want some _answers_ ,” he says quietly.

“Of course I realize that,” Iwaizumi says with a dirty look.

 _So that means he wants his thing back more than he cares about keeping secrets_ , Tooru surmises, restraining a smile, _I can work with that_. “So, Iwa-chan, what are we going to be trying to trade for—”

The bathroom door slams open to reveal a dripping Sugawara, towel barely held up by his waist and phone clenched tightly in his hand. Iwaizumi and Tooru both blink at him, stunned, and he holds up his phone like it’s given him a death sentence. “We got the dates wrong for the dragon migration.”

“Dragons migrate through this city?” Iwaizumi asks with his head cocked to the side. “Huh. Why do you care? Aren’t you Shittikawa’s assistant?”

Suga gives him a look that could peel paint. Tooru snickers behind his hand. “I am _not_. Oikawa, I wasted one of your bath bombs, and I’m not really sorry. Because this sucks. I’ll be back—uh, later, I need to go—” He starts towards the living room, then seems to realize he’s still mostly naked and trudges back into the bathroom. Tooru tries very hard to restrain his laughter.

“What’s he going to do to a dragon?” Iwaizumi asks, nonplussed. “He’s sort of on the skinny side, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he has a team. Kiyoko normally goes dragon hunting, and she rarely does anything without dragging him in. Was Iwa-chan worried?”

“He’s quieter company than you are. And he doesn’t loom stupidly over me and believe he’s being intimidating.”

“I am too intimidating!”

“Right.” He crosses his arms and watches Suga storm back out of the bathroom, mostly dressed and with his bag in his arms. “And he’s going to kill a dragon. What do these friends of yours want with a dragon, precisely?”

“The same thing your boss wants with a tengu egg.”

He’s not amused by that and thumps him on the back.

“Mean, Iwa-chan!”

“ _Stop_ calling me that!”

“Tell me your first name and what your job is!”

“Not on your life, asshat.”

 

\--

 

“Why was I included in this meeting?” Kenma asks, groggily; he’d been napping at home, and quite happily at that, when Kiyoko had demanded his presence at her shop. Most of her little team is assembled, in various states of agitation, and he doesn’t like the tension in the room. He also doesn’t like apparently being _part_ of her little team.

“Kenma, can you scry?” Kiyoko asks solemnly.

“Of course I can.”

“Please do so. We need to double-check something.”

“I thought you were supposed to be a precog. Something else distracting you?” Kuro asks and Kenma kicks his shin as he passes him on the way to the nearest table. But Kenma has to admit, he’s curious about that little fact, too.

“Psychics can’t scry. Not with any degree of accuracy or ease, anyway,” Suga supplies, ignoring the actual question entirely, and brings over a wide, shallow basin.

“I’m telling you guys, he’s smart, and if you bother traveling all the way here on a business trip, you _don’t_ get the fuckin’ dates wrong,” Ryuunosuke says as he scrolls through his phone.

“Yeah, but _we’re_ the ones workin’ with the psychic, so shouldn’t we be the better informed parties?” Saeko shoots back. She nudges him with her shoulder, earning a sour look.

“This is just to double-check. I’m not doubting you or Ennoshita,” Kiyoko says soothingly and places a large pitcher of witch water next to the basin in front of Kenma. He can get used to others bringing him all the ingredients. “Suga, I’m not sure where my silver knife went, if he could please—” A sheathed knife slides across the table and Kuro catches it for Kenma.

“So… you guys are dragon hunters?” Kenma has to ask, because it’s unexpected, to say the least.

“Only when they pass through here on migration. We’re opportunists, not exactly hunters,” Yuu replies. He’s following Kiyoko around like a puppy, but somehow manages not to get underfoot, despite not being actually helpful. Kenma catches Kuro tracking something behind him.

“And I’m supposed to scry to check when they’re arriving?” He hadn’t known this city is on the migration path, but he also hadn’t expected to stick around this long. Kiyoko nods, so Kenma sighs, and pours the witch water into the basin. She hands him an open jar and he takes a pinch from it to sprinkle into the water. Kenma watches her return the jar, but his attention is soon drawn by Yuu and the ghost Kuro’s watching. Again.

“Don’t be distracted while you’re scrying for something else,” Kuro murmurs in his ear and Kenma bows over the bowl. His loose hair shields his face from the others as he pricks his index finger with the silver knife and squeezes out three drops. The liquid in the basin goes dark and still and he peers into it.

Kuro’s right, of course; he shouldn’t be distracted while trying to scry. _Dragons_ , he thinks, _I wonder why they want one. I’ve never seen a live one. I wonder if she’ll let me have some ingredients…_ Ingredients sets him back into planning mode, however, and he quickly shakes his head.

The water reveals scales, thunder, and blood. He recognizes symbols for dragons, but he tries to concentrate on the timing, and it fights him. Kenma frowns and pushes harder. Something pushes back, just for a brief moment, but then he breaks through and he can see clearly. Finally.

“Looks like it’ll be soon, in the next two weeks. It’s a little difficult to pin down, though—”

“That’s all the confirmation we needed,” Kiyoko says, but she doesn’t sound happy about it.

“Um, it seems like there may be some trouble, too,” Kenma adds, keeping his eyes low, despite the water having gone back to its natural state. “So, uh, be careful.”

“It’s _dragons_ , of course there’ll be trouble,” Yuu exclaims, grinning hard, and prods at the air beside him. Kenma watches him.

“That’s why you hire us, anyway!” Saeko declares. She kicks off of the stool she’d been perched on and slings an arm around Kiyoko’s shoulders. The dark-haired woman delicately steps away from the contact. “Looks like Ryuu’s friend’s information was right, so we got one week instead of three to prepare.”

“Of course it was,” her brother mutters.

“I still can’t believe Chika knows about dragons. Or any of this? Asahi nearly had a heart attack when he said hi,” Yuu says thoughtfully, and then grins again at his ghostly companion.

“How do you forget that sort of thing about a person?!”

“Hey, I didn’t know about half this stuff until a couple years ago myself! It’s not like we tried hunting fairies when we hung out. I guess I never thought he was actually _serious_ about the ghost stuff.”

Kiyoko separates them and places her hand on Ryuunosuke’s shoulder. His expression brightens. “Ryuu, would you and Saeko mind helping me outline a plan? I’d like your advice when drawing something up.”

“So we can go home, right?” Kuro asks, jerking his thumb toward the door, and Kiyoko nods absently. Kenma inwardly cheers. The demon’s been unusually helpful lately, or perhaps he’s just more attentive. Or is it encouraging toward Kenma’s sneakier side?

He’s unaware he’s not the only one to slip out until Yuu falls into step beside him outside. Kenma starts and nearly hits Kuro. “Jumpy, aren’t you?” Yuu says with a snicker, but he gives him a little bit more room on the sidewalk. “Just a head’s up, but I’m pretty sure Kiyoko will ask you to help with the dragon wrangling.”

“Why?” _Why are you telling me_ , he means, but the shorter man takes it the other way.

“We always need more help with dragons. I mean, me and Asahi have only done this once before with them, but Suga’s told us about past attempts. And dragons are cool! You should be excited to get to see them up close!”

Kenma has never particularly _wanted_ to. Kuro leans over his shoulder, though, and asks, “Why does a potion shop owner thinks she needs a dragon?”

“Ingredients and shit, I guess? But do you know how much a dragon is _worth_? We’re all making bank next week. Hazard pay on top of normal rates, and Kiyoko always cooks us the most _amazing_ meal beforehand, and we get to use all kinds of spells!” He looks positively overjoyed at the prospect, eyes sparkling and hands clasped in front of him. After a beat, Yuu and Kuro both look up at the ghost Kenma cannot see and the demon snickers. “You’re only saying that because you never got to try her cooking.”

“Apparently, neither Nishinoya nor Sugawara can cook,” Kuro tells Kenma, and he nods, not really interested. He’s not sure about trying to kill a dragon, either. Can’t they fly? He’s pretty sure they fly. He’s also pretty sure he _can’t_. “Say, Nishinoya, I’ve been wondering about your tattoos for awhile. Are they magic?”

Yuu blinks up at him, momentarily caught off guard, and Kenma doesn’t see anything except surprise in his expression. He tugs his shirt collar to the side, exposing pitch black ink curling over his shoulder and dipping down across his collarbone, and asks in return, “Can demons get tattoos?”

“I’m not sure.”

“If you wanna try it, let me know. But nah, these ones aren’t magic. I’m not magicky like Suga or a witch like Kiyoko. Or Kenma, I guess,” Yuu amends with a bob of his head. He lets go of his shirt and folds his hands behind his head. Kuro makes a thoughtful sound and Kenma peeks up at him to find him staring at the Asahi spirit again. “I don’t really want to get into the ‘why’ of it, but maybe sometime I’ll show you them, when it’s not cold as balls outside. Because man, the piece on my back? Super proud of how it came out.”

“Kenma, let’s get matching tattoos,” Kuro says, tugging on his sleeve. Kenma shrugs him off with a grunt. He’s not the tattoo type of person; those garner attention.

“Hate needles?” Yuu asks with a teasing smile.

“Hate giving people a reason to stare,” Kenma mumbles. He can already feel his face heating up from the way Yuu looks at him after that admission. Yuu turns away after a beat.

“Y’know, I get being self-conscious and anxious and worried about what other people think. Well, _I_ don’t, so I’m told, but I know people who do, so for future reference? If me or Ryuu or anyone makes you uncomfortable or pisses you off or whatever, just tell us or smack us. Even if that means you’ll miss the totally awesome _dragon hunting party_ , because oh my god, that part I’m really feeling the need to bully you into!”

As he trails off into an excited recounting of what to expect—a sleepover at the shop, Kiyoko cooking (he seems particularly excited about that), using flight spells and learning how to take down a dragon—Kenma can’t help but wonder, _why is he acting like we’re friends? Like we’ll stay here for any amount of time?_ Wait, right, he’s already being forced to apprentice in a potion shop. Who knows when that’ll end.

Kenma realizes then that he really doesn’t have any plans for the future anymore.

Yuu’s exuberance is steadily gaining volume and larger hand gestures, so it isn’t long before Kuro swaps places with Kenma, walking between them. Yuu startles at the demon’s sudden proximity and it’s weird to see something invisible catch him in midair. “Woah. Sorry.”

“That works better than smacking you, doesn’t it?” Kuro asks with a sharp smile. “You almost act as if you’re scared of me.”

Yuu squints at him and gestures to the ghost (who sets him back down on the sidewalk). “Demons have a habit of eating souls and spirits.”

“I’m contracted. And very hurt by that.”

“Sorry, not sorry. You two are pretty chill, and I trust Kiyoko’s judgment, but startle reflexes are a bitch to try to adjust.”

Yuu waves with both arms when their paths diverge. Kuro cheerfully waves back and even Kenma gives him a little duck of his head. Once he’s out of sight, Kenma releases a relieved breath; socializing with someone that energetic should be an Olympic sport. Kuro doesn’t say anything until they’re back at Kenma’s little apartment and Kenma’s flopping into bed instead of doing anything productive. “Wait, really? C’mooon,” the demon whines, tugging at his foot.

“I’m tired.”

“You said you’d work on the spell again after your nap!”

“And my nap got interrupted,” Kenma points out.

“I even got you more information—”

“You got me nothing.”

“He said ‘ _these_ tattoos’ aren’t magical. He totally has a mark.”

Kenma rolls over, taking the comforter with him, until he looks like a burrito nestled up against the wall. Kuro sits on the edge of the bed and pokes at him. “I’m going to proceed with an anchor of some sort in mind. I can’t think of any easy way of doing it without it. But do you think we should help with the dragon hunt if Kiyoko asks?”

Kuro looks taken aback at being asked for advice; Kenma immediately regrets it. “Why wouldn’t we? I’m a demon. I’m pretty sure I can fight a dragon. I’ll punch a dragon in the face.” God, he actually looks _excited_ about the prospect. He definitely regrets it.

“There’s going to be trouble. I saw blood, and something else felt wrong.”

Kuro gives him a blank look. “A hunt means we’re going to _kill_ a dragon, Kenma. There will be some blood.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he mumbles and rolls over again, more snug in his burrito. Kuro flops over him, and now he regrets that, too, since he has no limbs free to push him off.

“If you’re worried about whatever bad shit you’re trying to avoid, then don’t? Kiyoko’s a precog, remember. She’d definitely catch wind of something big and bad and pull her troops out. Which, for better or for worse, you are now part of. A lawyer and now a soldier, how ambitious of you.”

“If you keep teasing me, I’m not going to work on that spell anymore,” he threatens.

“Don’t be cruel! I want to see you _do_ something, my clever little Kenma,” Kuro whines and wiggles so there’s more of him covering Kenma. Kenma wheezes, trying to get out from under his weight, but Kuro laughs and wraps his arms around his blanket burrito. “If you steal this spell, or make it your own, or otherwise manage to write a spell that can make spirits tangible to someone, I’ll tell you a really good secret.”

“You’re keeping secrets from me? Tell me your secret.”

Kuro whistles innocently.

Kenma wiggles harder in his grasp. “Kuro, I order you to tell me your secret.”

Kuro rolls them over so Kenma’s on his chest, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t really remember where I came from anymore.”

Kenma manages to roll over so that he can look his demon in the eye, but his expression is open and honest. Kenma narrows his eyes at him. “Um. What.”

“I have more than a few secrets. I guess you can order me to go through them all, but that’s a little cheap, isn’t it? And I promise you, none of these secrets are harmful to you or your plans—what little you tell me of them—otherwise, I would’ve told you.” He shrugs and then has the audacity to grin down at Kenma. And then has even _more_ audacity to poke the tip of Kenma’s nose.

Kenma wrinkles his nose and contemplates the merits of trying to bite him. He’s fairly sure demon blood is either poisonous or corrosive. “I don’t have any plans,” he mumbles.

“You’re easily swayed,” Kuro blithely tells him. “But you’ll figure something out. Until then, I’m here to be your cheerleader.”

That’s a mental image that Kenma simultaneously wants to forever ignore and mull over further. He's not sure why. “Are you poisonous or corrosive?”

Kuro blinks down at him, eyebrows raised. “I have no idea how humans work. _Am_ I?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Shouldn’t _you_?” They stare at each other, neither willing to back down, until Kuro rolls over again and they both fall off the bed with a _thump_. “Time to experiment! I want to see you progress by the time the dragons come through, so that gives you a week. That’s enough time, right?”

“You have no idea how much effort it involves to write your own spell, do you?” Kenma deadpans.

“So show me,” Kuro challenges. Kenma sighs, and wonders if maybe he is easily swayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( edit: thank you so much to the mysterious but INCREDIBLY helpful guest who helped fix the portuguese! 
> 
> 1ginjinha = a type of portuguese drink  [ return ]  
> 2Eu vou pegar ele. = "I'll grab him."  [ return ]  
> 3Você tem certeza que quer dizer não? = "You're sure you want to say no?"  [ return ]  
> 4Eu quero incomodar você. = "I want to bother you."  [ return ]
> 
> at least dragons don't speak languages i don't. ))


	7. Kuroo Tetsurou Is An Exceptional Guard Demon

Kenma hears the shop bell ring and goes to flee, but Kuro grabs him by the back of the shirt. Yaku cocks his head to the side. “Isn’t that a customer?” the cat asks.

“I don’t deal with them,” Kenma replies and tries to escape again. Kuro’s grip is firm.

“Kiyoko’s in the back, so shouldn’t you—” His reprimand is cut short when he sees who comes in: it’s not a customer, but Sugawara, who only gives the tan cat a vaguely curious look (and a nod for Kenma) before heading straight to the back. Kenma wants to run even more, even as Yaku’s tail slowly fluffs up. “What was _he_ doing here?! That man tried to—”

“Tried to banish the glasses ghost?” Kuro offers and Kenma shoots him a dirty look for his betrayal.

“You know him?” Yaku asks incredulously.

“He just tries to clean up the city, stop supernatural trouble,” Kuro replies. Yaku gives him a supremely distrustful look, but drops the subject in favor of licking his tail’s fur back down. “He and Kiyoko have been spending a lot of time together.”

“They’re planning for the dragons,” Kenma says, because it’s not as if it’s a great mystery.

“I might’ve overheard something about an infection. And accidental magic.”

“Eavesdropping is rude, you know,” Yaku tells him and jumps down to the floor. His new (fake) collar chimes with the movement. A second bell is heard, the front door, and once again, Kenma tries to bolt just for Kuro to catch him.

He’s saved a second time when it’s not a customer, but Lev, hands full of bags of take-out. “Aw, Kenma, were you going to try to run away from me?” Lev asks with an almost convincing pout.

“I’m not supposed to be watching the shop by myself.”

“It didn’t turn out _so_ bad last time,” he replies reasonably and holds out his hand to Yaku. (Yaku ignores him.) “We get first dibs on the food, right? Kiyoko just told me to get a bunch of stuff. I’m _huuungry_.” He slumps with a groan, but it’s a feint; as soon as Yaku turns to look up at the bags, he reaches out and seizes the cat around the middle. He holds him up over his head triumphantly, for just a moment, and then there’s a _pop_ and the human-sized Yaku drops down on top of Lev’s head without remorse.

“They make this place lively,” Kuro says fondly as Kenma sneakily peeks through the food containers.

“They make this place _loud_ ,” he corrects. “Lev, what kind of food is this?”

“The yellow bag is sushi, the rest is Russian. You liked the _pelmeni_ my mom made when I brought it into work that one time.”

Kuro ducks into the back room to tell them the food’s there and the witch and bakeneko poke through the dishes with Lev happily narrating each. Kenma ends up with something he can only halfway pronounce, but it’s tasty. Lev shares what he’s appropriated for himself until there’s little left for himself (his fault for giving fish to a cat spirit), and Kenma ends up sharing half of his box.

The front door chimes, yet again, and Kenma is, yet _again_ , stopped. He’s going to have a serious talk with Kuro as soon as his mouth isn’t full of dumpling. Yaku turns back into a cat but stays crouched over a plate of sushi, glaring at Lev, daring him to try to take some.

Tadashi peeks into the main room with a relieved smile. “Oh, good, you’re open today. W-Wait—am I interrupting? Sorry, I can—”

“I’ll go get Kiyoko,” Kenma tries again but Kuro grabs the back of his jeans and forces him back down.

“We can help you,” the demon says cheerily. “Kiyoko’s busy, but I promise we won’t poison you this time.”

Yaku pops back into bakeneko form and stands protectively between them. He sighs when Lev steals his food, but ultimately ignores him in favor of telling Tadashi and his ghostly friend, “That grey-haired man who tried to banish you? He works here, too.”

“Um, she _did_ mention she had a banishing service. But he said he’ll stop,” Tadashi replies meekly, to Yaku’s surprise.

Kenma and Kuro turn back to their food, letting them work it out amongst themselves. Lev keeps watching between bites like it’s a soap opera. Kenma only hopes he doesn’t have to apologize again for the spirit sight draught incident.

“You trust him?” Yaku asks with his voice lowered, like they aren’t all in the same room.

“Well, I’d like to buy more potion, and why wouldn’t I trust him? He seems nice.”

“He invited a nightgaunt down on us!”

Kuro’s head snaps over so fast it startles Kenma and makes him drop his California roll. “He did what?” he asks, because he’s evidently lost his sense of subtlety in his shock, and Kenma sighs sadly and puts the sushi on Yaku’s plate.

“Whaff a nigh-goff?” Lev asks.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Yaku replies reflexively, tail lashing in annoyance.

Lev swallows and laughs. “да мама,” he says and Kenma snorts and hurries to cover his mouth. Kuro grins.

“I’ve already talked to him, I think we’re okay?” Tadashi breaks back in, wringing his hands. “It was just a job, and Tsukki’s not really a regular spirit to banish now, and Kiyoko’s nice. I really just want more of that spirit sight potion, please.”

“Have any of those bad side effects yet?” Lev asks politely, but tactlessly. Tadashi flinches and suddenly finds the far wall very interesting.

“Nope! None at all.”

“Are you lying?” Yaku asks.

“Nope!” Tadashi insists.

Kuro hides his laughter with his sleeve and Kenma wonders if the bakeneko actually buys that. He’s not really sure if Kiyoko wants to keep selling to Tadashi, especially if the kid is starting to feel the side effects. But he’s a customer, and Kiyoko’s busy, and he’s going to want Tadashi to _not_ hate him so he can practice his new spell (whenever he finishes it). So Kenma hands his food to Lev, gets to his feet, and retrieves the bottle. “I can help you with it today,” he says simply.

“Since you know how to do it now,” Lev points out and Kenma purses his lips.

Yaku hovers while Kenma drips the potion into Tadashi’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Tadashi pays while rubbing at his eyes, but the way he brightens when he sees the ghost again lessens Kenma’s guilt a tad. He waits until they’re out the door and Yaku goes to steal back his meal from Lev before murmuring, “Kuro,” under his breath. The demon catches his eye and nods slightly.

 

\--

 

“You shouldn’t keep rubbing at your eyes, should you?” Tsukishima asks, disapproval clear in his voice. It’s easy to brush off, however, since Tadashi can _hear_ his voice again. The potion had worn off the day before, and it had been almost painfully quiet. “Even Yaku is starting to worry.”

“It’s only my third dose. I’ll be fine,” he says. Though his head is pounding a bit, right behind his eyes. But Tsukishima can’t know that. It’s harder to hide the insomnia, but the headache is new.

“Hey, kids, wait up, would you?” Tadashi turns, surprised to see the demon jogging up behind them, looking severely winded. Kuroo presses a hand to his chest with a wince. “It’s harder to move when I’m this far away from Kenma, y’know?”

“What do _you_ want?” Tsukishima demands.

“I want to help you, of course.”

“Um, how?” Tadashi asks, cutting across Tsukishima’s annoyed retort. “The potion thing worked, again, so there’s not much else I really want?”

“Don’t get addicted to potions, especially one that’ll rot your brain. Instead, Kenma and I have an amazing proposal for you two.” With one last wheeze, he straightens, arms akimbo. He pauses expectantly.

Tadashi tries not to roll his eyes as he asks, “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the proposal?” Tsukishima makes a grumpy, distrustful sound.

“You’re attached to this guy, right? So why bother coming back and waiting for the guillotine of Kiyoko’s disapproval every three days? Why subject yourself to continued nightmares, migraines, and mental instability?”

Well fuck, had those been on the list? Tadashi hasn’t gotten any of those yet, although the throbbing behind his eyes is starting to threaten a migraine. “You sound like a sleazy car salesman. Do you have a point you’re trying to get to?” Tsukishima asks scathingly, and Tadashi bites his lip to stop himself from smiling, because he’s not exactly wrong and the mental image is something he can't shake now.

“I barely know what that is, but I do, so go with me a moment,” Kuroo replies, unperturbed. “You’re stuck relying on a three-day potion for something you only half-want. You wanted tall, blond, and asshole here tangible, too, didn’t you?” He reaches over and grabs Tsukishima’s chin, making him nod along with him. Tadashi can’t hide his interest. Tsukishima swats the demon away, lip curled, and shies a little bit closer to Tadashi.

“This doesn’t involve demons, does it?” Tadashi asks, like a responsible almost-adult. (He knows there has to be a catch somewhere, at any rate.)

“No more than it already does. Cross my heart, we’re not going to turn you into a demon. Either of you, before you ask,” Kuroo says and Tsukishima shuts his mouth with a glare.

“The stalk—er, um, the ghost hunter guy, he said this sort of magic is dangerous.”

“Did he,” Kuroo mumbles with a wide smirk. He returns his attention to the two in front of him with a kinder smile. “Well, that’s not a lie. Probably. There are risks involved with spells like this, and the bad news is that I can’t really tell you more until Kenma actually writes the thing. So that’s the other bad news. I’m selling you on an idea.”

“Why should we be interested in hypotheticals?” Tsukishima sneers. (Tadashi is very interested.)

“Because it’s long-term, side effects don’t melt your eyes or brain, and hey, tangibility. Also, no more risk of turning into something nasty than what you’re facing right now.”

“Kenma’s _making_ this spell?” Tadashi asks curiously. He didn’t know you could do that. Then again, he supposes magic things have to come from _somewhere_.

“He’s a spellwriter when he’s motivated enough to be. Potions clearly aren’t his strong point.”

“Clearly,” Tsukishima thinly agrees. He folds his arms over his chest and gives Tadashi a ‘I can’t believe this’ look that swiftly transforms into a ‘I can’t believe _you’re_ into this’ look. “You can’t be serious, Yamaguchi. A literal demon is trying to make some sort of deal with you—”

“Hey, I’m _contracted_ , and Kenma’s the best spellwriter I know.”

“—and all we know about this spell is that it’s vaguely _dangerous_. I refuse. Thank you for your offer, but we both decline.” He tries to get Tadashi moving, tries to steer him away, but Tadashi just stands there, because the intangibility thing is exactly what they’re trying to get rid of.

“How long-term would this spell be?” Tadashi asks and Tsukishima growls under his breath.

“I’m fuzzy on the details there, but months, at least. Probably years if you want it. It’s flexible.”

“How would it be dangerous?”

“Also a little vague on that part. No one will know a lot until Kenma gets off his ass and does this. And we’re kind of booked for the next week while we take care of other business.”

Tadashi is disappointed that they won’t get more information for a week, but he’s still hopeful. “We’ll be back by then, anyway, so I guess we can discuss it then. I don’t want to commit to anything until we have more information.”

“Smart. We’ll look forward to your continued patronage, then.”

Tsukishima graciously waits until he’s out of sight before turning to Tadashi with skepticism clear in his eyes. Tadashi starts walking again, shoulders hunched against the weight of that disapproval. “There’s nothing wrong with talking about it.”

“You’re going to end up selling your soul or something. Or _my_ soul.”

“I wouldn’t! Jeez, give me some credit, would you?” he snaps and scrubs at his eyes again. He catches Tsukishima shrinking back out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry, Tsukki. I’m just, uh, tired.” Shit, that’s admitting to insomnia. But he can’t admit to a headache, either.

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find something less hazardous to your health,” he says mildly. “And there’s money on the ground over there.”

Tadashi finds a pair of bills caught in a crack in the sidewalk near the gutter. “Do you _make_ this stuff happen or are you just good at noticing it?” He’s found more money on the ground in the past couple of weeks than he dares believe (although in one case, it was in a wallet, so he turned it into the police, despite Tsukishima’s groaning).

“I don’t know.”

It was enough for fries, so he hums happily and pockets it. “You’re getting better at making luck, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Want to test it?” Tadashi asks with a grin, and jogs across the street into the convenience store on the corner. By the time Tsukishima catches up with him again, he’s looking at the types of scratch cards along the wall behind the counter.

“You’re not old enough,” he points out.

Tadashi presses a finger to his mouth when the clerk isn’t looking. He points to the wall, and Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but his mouth twitches upward. The ghost hops over the counter, studying the choices, and ends up pointing to the leftmost one.

The clerk sells Tadashi two cards, clearly in the ‘not getting paid enough to police minors’ camp, and he wins money on both of them. He leaves the store with a new spring in his step and more than enough for groceries that week. He’s surprised himself at how guiltless he feels, although for gambling or cheating he’s not sure, but it’s not like he was stealing from orphans or something.

His day gets infinitely better when Tsukishima _laughs_ outside—not the mean, sarcastic kind of laugh, but an actual, amused laugh. “I didn’t think you were that type of person, Yamaguchi,” he says snidely, trying hard to recapture his mean streak, and Tadashi laughs at his attempt at a frown. “Going to rob a bank next?”

“Hey, rent’s expensive.” Tsukishima’s smirk disappears and Tadashi hastily continues, “I mean, I don’t even have my bank robbing outfit on. Isn’t it dark clothes and a mask? I-I think my freckles would stand out a little, don’t you?”

“How _are_ you paying rent?” Tsukishima asks quietly.

“C’mon, I want to get fries on the way home. And a milkshake. How many other places do you think we could get to sell us scratch cards?”

“Yamaguchi, I _will_ go back to that store and tell Yaku that you’re living alone." He'd have a cat spirit foster parent faster than he could blink. And Kiyoko would probably disapprove even further of his choice in product. 

“Maybe Kuroo and Kenma would move in with us,” Tadashi snipes back, because that was a low blow, and he doesn’t want to have this conversation just when he’s gotten his company back.

Tsukishima shrugs and turns around, back toward the Crow’s Cup. Tadashi starts forward, stumbling through him, and the blond goes rigid at the sensation. Tadashi puts his arms out to stop him—and notices that his face is pretty red. “Don’t _do_ that,” Tsukishima snaps. “It feels disgusting.”

“Sorry, Tsukki, but I have savings, okay? And the bookstore’s been giving me more hours since I’m so lucky lately. And I’ll get a full-time job somewhere when I graduate in the spring, so I’ll catch back up on everything then,” he desperately blurts out. 

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. Tadashi pretends it doesn't sting. 

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll win the lottery instead. Can we _please_ just go get food now?”

Tsukishima mutely follows him, probably sulking, and Tadashi doesn’t feel much better. Neither of them speak until they duck into the nearest McDonalds and Tadashi’s stirring his strawberry shake with a crispy fry. It’s about the only thing the burnt ones are good for.

“I’m sorry, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima mumbles, looking as if the words pain him. Tadashi blinks at him. “For the record, I’m glad you’re going out of your way to talk with me, even if you’re being foolish and unhealthy about it.”

“Well, life’s been a bit better with a roommate. I plan on moving into a smaller place when I turn eighteen, since I guess you don’t need your own room. So, uh, stop worrying about me. Please.”

“I wasn’t worrying. Not about that.”

“Then about Kuroo’s offer?”

“It seems like a bad idea.”

“So did being haunted,” Tadashi says airily and laughs at the constipated look on Tsukishima’s face.

“Right, I’ll go talk to Yaku.”

“Wait, Tsukki, I’m sorry!”

 

\--

 

“Kenma says he’ll help us,” Kiyoko says proudly, and the witch beside her ducks his head in embarrassment, “but we need to pick up a few more supplies before the hunt. Which is why they’re coming with us.”

Suga gives Kenma and Kuroo what he hopes is a supportive, grateful smile. Inwardly, he’s cringing at the thought of bringing a demon along with them to the goblin market. Kiyoko, as if reading his mind, produces an amulet from the pocket of her frock. She stands on her tiptoes to put it over Kuroo’s head, and both Suga and Kenma cock their heads in confusion as the tang of magic abruptly leaves the air.

“I had no idea I’d gotten so used to the demonic magic,” Suga remarks and leans over to sniff Kuroo’s shoulder. The demon gives him a weird look. “He still smells a bit himself, though.”

“Kuro, you smell,” Kenma agrees, likewise sniffing him.

“I do not.”

Kiyoko sprays him with her perfume anyway. The demon sniffs at his new flowery scent. “The crystal amulet I gave you should make you seem human, not just in form, but in the amount of magic you carry with you. So Kenma, Suga, be careful using any magic while near him. You could disrupt it.”

The guys are loaded up with jars and bottles to barter with, and Kiyoko leads the way to the nearest door between realms. Suga catches Kenma looking around, but he can’t figure out if it’s with interest or apprehension. Kuroo doesn’t seem at all worried despite the fact that most of the market would be hostile if they knew what he was. Suga can’t help but worry in his stead. He doesn’t want to get kicked out. Or attacked, he supposes.

Kenma’s definitely interested as they walk through the market, taking directions from Kiyoko, but he’s also shying closer and closer to Kuroo as they walk. It’s not a particularly busy day, but there’s still a bustling crowd of all types of creatures, spirits, and beings. “I need,” Kiyoko announces, consulting her list, “fairy wing dust, tengu eggs, a kappa shell, more witch water, and, hmm… Think we could find phoenix feathers? Flight spells are easier to make with them. Oh, and a broom for Kenma.”

Suga and Kuroo both grin at Kenma’s put-out look.

“Would you rather have the broom or the spell?” Kiyoko asks.

“…The broom,” he replies faintly.

“So we’ll need to rent one for him.”

“Aren’t tengu eggs supposed to be having a shortage right now?” Suga asks as calmly as he can.

“I think Father Takeda mentioned that, but I only need three. Two could work in a pinch, but we’re having more people for dinner tomorrow…”

“You don’t have to feed us before you put us to work,” Suga tells her, but he’s touched, like he always is whenever she shows off her kinder side. Better a meal than that red shit.

She presses her mouth into a firm line. “I want you all to be in top form,” she says with a note of finality.

When they find one of the tengu stalls, Suga lets out a relieved breath that it isn’t Akaashi manning it. Instead, it’s a severely dejected-looking screech owl tengu, using the table as a pillow, with drooping, spiky hair streaked in the same shades of white and black as his feathers. He doesn’t even look up at them at first. Kuroo knocks on the table, barely earning a glance. “What kind of customer service is this supposed to be?”

“Not customer service if we don’t get any customers,” the tengu replies in a listless drawl, “‘cause the eggs are expensive right now.”

“How much?” Kiyoko asks with a quick check of her watch.

“ _Why_ are they expensive?” Kuroo adds.

“Thieves,” the tengu says and droops a little more. Suga innocently looks away, pretending to study a kitsune’s stall nearby. Wait, why had that been plural? “They took _my_ egg, too.” Suga is growing more and more certain that this tengu knows Akaashi. That this is the egg he’s supposed to be getting back. How awkward.

And what do you know, Suga spots a head of wavy, black hair coming towards them. “Why don’t we circle back? We have other errands to run, and we don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“But we need the eggs,” Kenma points out as he watches the demon prod at the tengu’s head.

“Then divide and conquer! Kiyoko, you stay with them and deal with the tengu and Kenma’s broom, and I’ll go grab the other things, ‘kay?” He plucks the list from her hands and doesn’t leave any room for arguments before he marches off. He’s pretty sure Akaashi gives him a look as he flees the scene. Oh well. He doubts the tengu is spiteful enough to say anything to Kiyoko, given their hope to rescue the egg.

Witch water is easy enough to find, and Suga manages to trade half a pound of Kiyoko’s homemade sleep soot for a barrel to be delivered later that week. The fairy dust he has to get on loan, but he knows Moniwa, and he knows that Suga and Kiyoko are good for it. The entire market is tense, with the upcoming dragon migration hanging over everyone, but no one discusses it. It’s bad luck, and natural disasters are the last thing anyone wants when a couple hundred dragons are in town.

A kappa shell proves trickier to track down. There are a couple of corpses on display from hunter stalls, but the last thing Suga wants is to have to clean a carcass in addition to all of the other prep work, and most others he finds are powders or decorative. He texts Kiyoko, asking where they are and telling her that he’s gotten some of her things, and she replies at once with ‘ _We’re still at the tengu stall. Kuroo made a friend. You should see Kenma’s face_.’ Oh, he can imagine. With not much else to do (it’s unlikely he’ll find phoenix feathers on his own), he heads back in their direction, silently hoping Akaashi is gone.

Akaashi is not gone.

They’re seated, feathered legs crossed beneath their skirt, next to a shockingly boisterous screech owl tengu and his equally exuberant demon friend. They’re practically nose-to-nose, chatting excitedly, and they’re speaking so fast that it takes a moment for Suga to register that it’s in another language. Akaashi inclines their head politely at Suga and he nods nervously back.

“I believe Kuroo just volunteered himself as a hunter,” Kiyoko remarks, straight-faced, but Suga can see the amusement dancing in her eyes.

Kenma looks so thoroughly harassed that Suga doesn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or burst out laughing. He settles for a pat on the shoulder. Kenma glares daggers at him. “Don’t give me that look, I didn’t invite you along,” Suga points out, but he can’t see Kenma putting the blame on Kiyoko.

Kuroo leans further forward across the table, and the movement causes his crystal necklace to slip out of his shirt. The owl tengu looks down at it, blinking big, golden eyes, and Kenma hurriedly closes his hand around it and forces Kuroo back to their side of the table. “We’re supposed to be buying eggs, not planning a date,” he says with a scowl.

“But his egg’s been stolen. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

“I want to get this over with. …There’s a lot of people here.”

Suga has no idea how genuine Kenma’s being, but the anxious fidget and the sad eyes he’s giving the demon work better than any charm. He’s impressed. Kuroo turns back to the tengu with a serious expression, and tells him, “We have other business to attend to, but don’t worry, I’ll get your egg back for you.”

Akaashi and Suga both squint at him.

“How did you come to that conclusion?” Kenma asks.

“Someone stole his egg. How’d you like it if someone stole yours?”

“I don’t lay eggs.”

“How’d you like it if someone stole your 3DS?” Kuroo amends and Kenma’s expression briefly goes _horrified_. Kuroo chuckles and pats his head. “Exactly. So, I’ll get your egg back, and in return, we get a discount on your remaining stock, right?”

“Sure! Remaining stock is just two eggs today, but we also have a roc egg if you want it. Decent price on it, promise.”

Kiyoko shakes her head. “No thank you. Just the two eggs today, if you’d please.”

Suga expects Akaashi to step in when the exact price is being discussed, but to his surprise, they sit back and let their companion handle the business. Akaashi catches sight of his raised eyebrow and Suga leans over the table. “This is the first time I’ve seen him smile in over a week,” they confide, claws cupped around their mouth and voice lowered. “But he _will_ expect his egg back soon. Is your associate up to this job he’s taken on?”

“Uhh.” The plan had been to trade the egg for Iwaizumi’s thing, but Kuroo had just inserted himself gracelessly into it, and Suga had no idea what sort of price he’d asked. “…The priority is you getting the egg back, right?”

“Yes, but I’ll let Kuroo take the credit.”

That doesn’t help. Suga grimaces, trying to think of an easy way out of this, and nothing comes to mind. He can’t even discuss it with Akaashi with Kiyoko nearby. “We’re a little busy right now, but we’ll be in touch in the next couple of days.”

Akaashi’s expression hardens, mouth pressed into a thin line, but they nod.

Kuroo hands the two eggs off to Kenma, and he holds one in each arm awkwardly, blinking down at how large they are. The other tengu sighs fondly, and then turns to Akaashi and says, “Humans are so cute, Akaashi. I want one.”

“No, Bokuto,” they reply with a rehearsed air. Bokuto pushes out his bottom lip in a surprisingly childish pout.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you your egg back and then you can have your own kid! So don’t steal Kenma,” Kuroo says cheerfully (though his voice edges toward protectiveness at the end), and both tengu go rigid, feathers fluffing up in offense. Kenma looks down to the eggs with a panicked noise, and Suga facepalms.

“Please excuse him, he’s naive,” Kiyoko steps in, bowing to them.

“I swear we’re competent freelancers,” Suga adds and begins tugging Kuroo away. “We’ll be in touch regarding the return of your egg. Thank you so much for your patience with us.”

Akaashi nods, shell-shocked, and tugs Bokuto back down when he tries to lunge at Kuroo. Kenma narrows his eyes at them and Kiyoko quickly pulls him away as well. “Thank you for your business today,” she tells them and they quickly escort the pair out of range of any irate tengu.

“Aw, I was hoping for a fight,” the kitsune whines as they pass him. Suga shoots him a dirty look.

“Why doesn’t anyone know how anything nonhuman works?” Suga laments as soon as they’re out of earshot. “I’m going to start a school. I’ll teach everyone how not to offend tengu and how not to summon demons.”

“Did you know them?” Kiyoko asks as Kenma huffs.

“They, uh, came to Oikawa for a consultation. About the egg. So looks like I’m double-booked on that one.”

“What?” Kuroo asks innocently. “When I see a guy so upset over losing something so important to him, my heart goes out to him.”

“Do you _have_ a heart?” Kenma asks, clearly in a foul mood.

“Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Children, behave,” Suga orders and Kiyoko covers her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. At least someone’s entertained by it. “Let’s just get our stuff and get back.”

“And no more flirting to get us discounts. It reflects poorly on our reputation,” she adds; what she means is _they begin to expect_ me _to do it too_. That’s why Saeko’s not allowed to go shopping with them anymore.

“I wasn’t flirting,” Kuroo replies. Kenma hefts the eggs in his arms, shoulders hunched, and Suga and Kiyoko exchange a look behind him. “Sometime, you should let me flirt for a discount. I bet I could get us a nice one.”

“I want to see that, but not today,” Suga tells him. Kenma scowls harder. 

 

\--

 

The shop is busy. Honestly, Suga likes it when everyone’s together like this, laughing and talking and making it feel homey. He and Saeko are on nail-painting duty, working on their own in between coats for Yuu and Kuroo, and Kiyoko’s busy in the kitchen. She never lets anyone in there when she’s cooking, although out of shyness or a need for a clear space, he’s not sure.

 _I suppose she let Yui in_ , he remembers as he blows on his left hand. Two coats of polish for everyone. This year Kiyoko has managed to color it so it’s a sort of bluish metallic color, sort of pretty.

Kenma is parked very firmly in the furthest corner from the activity, Yaku and Sunshine both purring in his lap. Suga feels a little bad for him; he can see him trying not to shut down in the face of so much enforced socializing. But at the very least, they need him present to go over tomorrow’s plans with, as well as get his nails painted and the appropriate charms on him. It’s easier for everyone to spend a cozy night in the shop together than try to coordinate it all in the morning.

“Hey, kiddo, need another coat yet?” Saeko calls and Kenma flinches.

“Um. No.”

“I’ll do his second coat when he needs it,” Suga tells her quietly, and she nods. She looks at her own nails, admiring her skills, and blows on them around a smile.

“Oi, Ryuu, are you done warding the bolts yet?!” she shouts into the back room.

“Al _most_ , now quit fuckin’ asking! They’ll be done when they’re done!” her brother yells back. They’d been doing that for almost an hour.

“So why do we need this again?” Kuroo asks as Saeko snags him from where he’s helping Yuu move boxes of ingredients out of the way (to make room for blankets and futons; yay, sleeping on the floor).

“It helps keep magic stable on you,” Suga answers.

“Let me rephrase: why do _I_ need it?”

Saeko laughs, a high, sharp sound. “You get to match us. And you never know if we might need to spell you tomorrow or something. Just be lucky this is version four-point-oh. The first time Kiyoko made this shit it looked like, well, shit. Really shiny shit.”

“It was _bronze_ ,” Suga corrects, sighing.

“I’ve had bronze nails, and that was not bronze.”

“Kiyoko’s going to spit in your food.”

“She’s not that crude. That’s my job.” Saeko releases Kuroo’s hands with a pleased smile, and he blinks down at the pale blue. “There, now you’re almost as pretty as me and Kenma.”

“What about me?” Suga asks, faking an offended gasp.

“Give him something achievable to aim for.”

“Saeko, I need another coat!” Yuu declares and all but dives into her lap.

“You’ve already had two coats,” Asahi points out. Saeko, unable to hear him, grabs his hands to put another coat on, anyway. Suga pulls his foot up onto his chair and goes over his toenails again. While Kenma agreed to help them with the dragons, he’s beginning to worry.

Ryuunosuke pads back out into the main room, pant legs rolled up and a smear of rust-colored mixture across his brow. Suga clucks his tongue and beckons him over, using his shirt sleeve to wipe it off. “That stuff is toxic, don’t go rubbing your face in it.”

“Yes _mom_ ,” he retorts and Saeko barks out a laugh. Suga smears nail polish over his cheek in retaliation. “Just give my feet another coat, dude.”

“Get Saeko to do it.”

“Sis! I’ve been abandoned by mother dearest!”

Suga rolls his eyes as he goes over to sit by Kenma. The witch wordlessly holds out his hands for him and Yaku flicks an ear in his lap, one eye cracked open. Sunshine continues to snooze. “You doing alright?” Suga asks quietly as he takes his hand in his and dips his brush back into the little bowl.

“I just want to play my game without getting polish on it,” Kenma mumbles. “…Do you think I could get the recipe for this stuff?”

“I’m sure Kiyoko would be very happy to hear you say that.”

Pink spreads across his cheeks and he turns away, using his loose hair to cover his face. “I don’t want to ask her.”

“I’ll get it for you. You know, tomorrow, you’ll be okay, right? You’re just backup with Kuroo.”

“I don’t need a pep talk.”

“I like giving them.”

Kenma falls silent, and Suga finishes with the last coat for his hands and feet. As he returns to his seat, he spots Yaku watching him with round eyes.

Despite Yuu smudging his left foot’s toes (twice) while helping to move boxes of glass bottles off the shelves, they manage to get the magic-magnetic nail polish on everyone in sufficient quantities. Kiyoko calls Suga into the tiny kitchen to taste-test (it comes out wonderfully, of course), and it isn’t long before their little group is spread across the store, eating a veritable feast. Suga makes sure to snapchat a picture of the boiled tengu egg for Tooru. Yuu and Ryuu thank Kiyoko profusely and repeatedly for the food, and he catches them taking pictures of it, too, whereas Saeko is halfway through her first serving of sweet potatoes.

Kiyoko outlines the plan (again) as they eat. Start on the roof of Saeko’s apartment building, since it’s the northernmost tall building they have easy access to, and they’ll set the flight charm and use the spirit sight potions then. Kiyoko is on lightning duty and Kenma and Kuroo are her protection-slash-backup for anyone else, while doubling as pack mules once they bring a dragon down. Suga and Yuu are vanguard, picking out a target and hopefully drawing it away from the flock, and the Tanaka siblings, of course, are their actual hunters.

“About that,” Ryuu says, gesturing with a piece of bread, “we actually need two dragons.”

The room goes silent aside from Saeko reaching over to steal another piece of pork.

“…What,” Kiyoko asks faintly. Asahi lets out a nervous wheeze.

“Oikawa contacted us today and wants a dragon for himself. Figure since we’re in the area—”

“That’s _not_ something you just decide at the last minute!” Yuu exclaims and Asahi catches his wrist before he can throw a bun at him.

“He called us like two hours ago,” Saeko says. “We didn’t mean it as a surprise. We’ll be doing the work for it, you guys don’t have to help, but if you want, we’ll give you a cut of our pay. We’ve sort of got dragon hunting down, so I figured it wouldn’t be _too_ hard to grab another, y’know?”

“We only have it down because we don’t bite off more than we can chew,” Suga grouses. He sets his plate down so he’s not tempted to throw anything, either. “Last time was a _pain_ —”

“But this time, we have two extra helpers, and your leg isn’t in a cast. It doesn’t have to be a huge dragon. And if it gets to be too bad, we’ll cut it out and give it up as a bad job. No big deal.”

“I wish you would have said something earlier,” Kiyoko says with a frown. Ryuu looks upset at it, but Saeko’s not fazed.

“It’s a last-minute job. But we got this,” she says firmly.

Despite the sudden announcement, the night soon turns warm and happy again, even if Kiyoko refuses to let them drink. Suga’s not complaining. They play cards by candlelight while Ryuu and Yuu do the dishes, and Kenma is a surprisingly good poker player. Kuroo, similarly surprisingly, is not. They switch to Uno after Saeko and Kuroo talk them into a single game of strip poker; it’s the only game Kiyoko wins, which only reinforces Suga’s suspicion that she is more talented than she lets on.

They invite Asahi into the game, although it isn’t long before he has to set his cards down, unable to hold them for long. The game also lasts about two rounds before the first draw four is thrown down and everything erupts into chaos. They _somehow_ manage to finish a game, with Kenma narrowly beating Yuu, and quickly switch to rummy despite Kuroo’s insistence that it’s his new favorite game.

Kiyoko cuts them off after going through go fish and old maid, citing an early night, and she and Saeko disappear into the bedroom. Sunshine slinks in after them in search of the only bed in the place. Traitor. Kuroo and Kenma end up in one corner of the room with a significant percentage of their pillows. Suga ends up in the middle, because he doesn’t want to be next to Ryuu, but that unfortunately puts him next to Yuu, the amazing acrobatic sleeper.

Predictably, the next morning, he wakes up with Yuu’s foot in his back.

 

\--

 

Kenma yawns at the overcast sky. It rumbles back at him. Dragons bring storms, but the rain hasn’t arrived yet, and probably won’t until after the bulk of the flock is gone. Ryuunosuke has loaned him a leather jacket, and he has it zipped up against the chill of the October air. Kuro’s in (similarly borrowed) military fatigues, stretching his arms over his head, matching the Tanaka siblings.

“That reminds me, I want a picture of Daichi in uniform,” Suga tells Ryuu, and the other man laughs.

“I was wonderin’ when you’d ask, dude. How much are you willing to pay?”

“Don’t be a dick. You owe me for the quarters game.”

Kenma tightens his grip on his temporary broom. It feels too heavy in his grasp, foreign and unwieldy. He’s not much of a flier in addition to a potion-maker, and he hasn’t been on a broom (aside from a test ride) in years. “Nervous?” Kuro asks, nudging his shoulder. Thunder rumbles overhead again.

“No,” Kenma lies.

“Line up for flight spells,” Kiyoko says and Kenma watches as she casts them over the other four. It’s the first time he’s seen her do anything bigger than a minor clean-up charm, and he’s not surprised that her form is clean, but textbook. The spell is just a basic flight spell. How disappointing.

Suga re-ties his scarf around his neck while she passes out cups of spirit view potion. It’s not the one Tadashi usually buys (it’s actually ingestible) and Kenma wrinkles his nose at the smell of it. It tastes about as sour as it smells. Kenma blinks, meeting Asahi for the first time, and he’s surprised at how he looks. He was expecting someone smaller, meeker.

“This will last until sundown, but we shouldn’t be here long. Ryuu, Saeko, are you two ready?” Kiyoko asks as she grabs her broom. They leave most of their stuff in a pile on the roof, but her broom as well as Kenma’s have bags tied onto them for emergency supplies.

Saeko hops into the air first, legs moving as if she’s climbing upward, and she skates a circle around Kiyoko. Ryuu jumps up, wobbles, and then seems to find his footing. He gives them a thumbs-up. “Looks like we’re set!”

Kiyoko mounts her broom sidesaddle, as graceful as ever, and makes sure her braid is firmly tied. Kenma mirrors the movement and adjusts the holly in his ponytail. It seems secure. He pulls his broom into the air, makes sure he’s stable, and then helps Kuro up behind him. The demon wraps his arms firmly—too firmly—around his middle and rests his cheek on the top of his head. “Guess we’ll find out if I’m afraid of heights, huh?”

“Don’t joke about that,” Kenma mumbles. He hopes he hasn’t suddenly developed the same fear.

Sugawara steps into the air and Yuu leaps into it like it’s second nature. Asahi floats after him, hands occasionally shooting out to help balance him, and Kenma watches, fascinated. _They’re actually touching each other_.

“These are higher creatures, so they’ll be tangible even to us, even if normal people can’t see them. Don’t get too close to them until we’re sure it’s not a threat to us. Everyone, be careful.” With those words, Kiyoko flies straight upward on her broom. She pulls a metal rod out from her pouch and raises it above her head, a metal canister in her other hand. Kenma’s very glad he isn’t on lightningrod duty. He’s never tried it before and he has no desire to.

“How do you stay balanced on this thing?” Kuro asks and nearly squeezes the air out of Kenma as soon as they’re truly off the roof.

“You just… do?” Kenma has no trouble with it, but he supposes he's the one driving. “Don’t pull me off.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kiyoko flies high, nearly to the ceiling of dark clouds, and catches the first bolt of lightning with a _crack_. Kenma can feel the hairs on his arms stand on end from the static and Kuro jumps violently. Kiyoko moves a little higher as Suga and Yuu move forward, and Kenma doesn’t feel all that guilty about giving Kiyoko some distance.

The wind picks up, and Kenma shivers despite his coat. Kuro, having relaxed his grip slightly after adjusting to the broom, tightens it again. The clouds roll overhead. Kenma idly swings back and forth in the air, unconsciously following the theme of his latest game, and watches the far specks of Suga and Yuu climb up into the clouds, almost as high as Kiyoko. The Tanaka siblings stay below them. Ryuu’s tapping his crossbow on his leg, and Kenma thinks he can hear Saeko talking over the wind.

When the first dragon breaks through the clouds, Kenma doesn’t expect it. Kuro swears and Kenma drops in the air from surprise. It’s _huge_ ; its snout pierces through the clouds and it dips low, whiskers trailing, and winds back up into the cloud cover before they even see its front legs. “Holy hell,” Kuro says against his hair, and Kenma worries that he can feel claws through his jacket. “Did you know they were that big?!”

“N-No,” Kenma replies honestly, and dips a little lower in the air. He has absolutely no problem giving that thing a wide berth. They finally see its front legs, with claws probably as long as Kenma is, and Ryuu pretends to aim at it from below.

Thankfully, by the time its tail lazily flicks through the clouds like a rudder, more dragons have appeared, and most of them are a fair bit smaller. Kenma curiously flies a little higher, head craned back so far he’s almost resting on Kuro’s shoulder, and watches the different colors and types and sizes avidly. There’s one that’s iridescent and limbless, followed by a large, black, western dragon with molten breath. Another massive one ducks down out of the clouds, causing even Kiyoko to get some distance, and one of its hind legs nearly brushes a radio antenna from a skyscraper.

The wind starts howling as the dragons pass through, and Kenma has to focus more on keeping them steady in the air, but he’s fascinated by the dragons. He probably won’t admit it, but he’s already _so glad_ he came. A long, pearly, pink one that looks a bit like a winged worm slices through the air, dipping lower than the others, and Kenma’s close enough to see its bright red eyes. More start spreading out from the flock, not quite exploring the area, but not unafraid about it. Kiyoko’s momentarily hidden from view by a matching pair of wyverns who twist around her like a braid before flowing along through the air.

Kenma doesn’t see an end to them in sight, although most of them are clearly hidden by the clouds, winding in and out like it’s water. He’s actually leaning as far back as Kuro will allow him, resting comfortably against his chest, eyes on the sky. They can spot young dragons in the flock now, smaller and more curious, usually darting out in groups before getting herded back by larger ones. Kiyoko had already warned them not to approach any mother or baby dragons, although a blue one the size of a large dog flaps down and momentarily stares at her. It’s frightened off by another strike of lightning to her rod.

With a scream like metal on metal, a colossal bird breaks out of the clouds, an eastern dragon writhing in its talons. The bird is large enough to rival even the bigger dragons, and Kenma and Kuro drop several feet in the air before he regains control and turns them around. “What the fuck is that thing?!” Kuro shouts in his ear as they dash down to where Yuu’s met up with Saeko. Dragons are roaring and scattering above them. Kiyoko’s dropping out of the air, more worried about getting away than deceleration, and Kenma doesn’t stop until he’s hiding behind Saeko (who has her crossbow trained on the giant bird).

“Don’t shoot it!” Kiyoko shouts, barely heard over the roaring wind. They’re all buffeted by the downdraft of the bird’s wings and Kuro’s squeezing the air out of Kenma’s lungs again.

Suga skates up beside them, pale and trembling, and breathlessly explains, “That’s a garuda. For the love of everything holy, do _not_ shoot at it.”

“That thing just ate a dragon like a goddamned noodle!” Saeko barks. “I’m not gonna fucking shoot at it!”

Kuro laughs humorlessly and makes a slurping sound. Kenma elbows him.

They wait in an anxious knot until the garuda has disappeared above the stormclouds again and the dragon migration is calm once more. Kenma has to peel his fingers off of his broomstick to try to get feeling back in them. Yuu is the first to venture off again, and Kiyoko visibly steels herself before hesitantly floating back up with her lightningrod. Kenma waits until the rest of them return to their posts before following in her direction.

“I’m fine with no more heart attacks during this,” Kuro remarks and Kenma nods, perfectly fine with that.

As the migration wears on and the wind continues to chill him, Kenma can’t help but cast a small fire spell to keep his hands warm. Kuro presses up tight against his back, and he wonders how he can stand it, since he’s blocking most of the wind. They spot another little group of hunters several blocks away, who quickly disperse after pulling a dragon out of the sky with a glowing harpoon.

Yuu finally picks out a dragon for their group. It’s a dark teal one with four wings and a feathery mane of white, probably about the size of a small elephant. (Another thing Kenma has never seen in person.) He and Suga take turns darting up to it, trying to lure it out, and it’s not long before they draw it away from the flock.

Ryuunosuke is the first to shoot it, two bolts hitting it cleanly in the neck, and the dragon thrashes and drops out of the air. They follow it, and thankfully it lands on a rooftop, still alive and very pissed. Kenma starts drawing sigils in the air, readying a magic arrow, but Saeko shoots it in an eye and drops down onto the roof before slitting its throat with her hunting knife. It falls, twitches once, and apparently dies. A little anticlimactic.

Kiyoko nods down at them and Saeko and Ryuu both wave back with wide grins. “One more, right?” the elder calls up.

Kiyoko nods again. Kenma starts flying back toward their starting roof to retrieve their stuff. “So, now we get a dragon. How do you think we’re going to carry that thing back?” Kuro asks conversationally, voice raised to be heard over the growing storm. With his face in the wind, Kenma appreciates just how cold it is, and he’s pretty sure he feels a couple of stinging raindrops hit him.

“Kiyoko said she hires someone else to collect the bodies,” Kenma answers. “We just had to kill them ourselves.”

“Aw, I wanted to see you gut a dragon,” Kuro laments. “Are you squeamish, Kenma?”

“Hardly.” They land on the roof and Kenma starts tying bags onto his broom while Kuro shoves as much as he can into his backpack. It weighs them down, but they can manage it all in one trip, so Kenma wants to go for it. No use making two trips. They’re a little unsteady taking off again, and Kuro acts nervous again, causing Kenma to chuckle. It’s so unlike him. “Think I’d drop you? We’d both end up dying.”

“I think the wind will knocks us off. I wouldn’t blame you, but I really don’t want to die today.”

By the time they land next to the dragon corpse, Suga is trying to lure out another dragon from the flock, although it doesn’t seem to be cooperating. Kiyoko has moved up so she’s straight above their roof and Ryuu is still by the corpse, trying to pull one of his bolts out of its neck. Kenma can’t help but look over the dragon curiously. He can’t even smell the blood with the wind until he’s practically on top of it. Kuro nudges it with his boot before stooping to run his hands over its scales, and Kenma can’t help but do the same; it’s smoother than even a snake, but all of its scales are rock hard.

Ryuu pulls his bolt free with a triumphant crow. “Careful touching those, ‘kay?” he says and tosses it into a pile with the others. While he climbs back into the air, even using his hands, Kuro kneels down and touches one. He draws back with a hiss.

“What did he _just_ say?” Kenma asks with a sigh.

“Don’t you want to see what kind of concoction Kiyoko cooked up to slay a dragon?” Kuro asks and holds up the bolt.

“There’s leftovers at the shop. Snoop there if you must. We should really get back into the sky.” He sort of wants to go back to simply watching the dragons again. The rain picks up into a sharp drizzle, but Kiyoko’s catching lightning at a steady rate. Suga has given up on the one he wanted and is now talking with Yuu and Asahi near the tower on another skyscraper. A dragon with antlers nearly as long as its body lands on the tower, startling them, and winds back up into the clouds with a bark of laughter.

“Think we could get one as a pet?” Kuro asks.

“ _You’re_ my pet,” Kenma retorts.

“That’s a little rude.” A moment later, he leans forward, bending Kenma forward as well, and asks, “Are those people on that rooftop?”

Kenma squints, following Kuro’s point, but he can’t see through the rain. “They’re probably other hunters. How many are there?”

“Two, looks like. One has a crossbow, but looks like the other has a rifle. Can I have a rifle?”

“Can you even shoot?”

“Order me to and we’ll see. That’ll be a fun experiment, Kenma.”

“Why do you want so much stuff lately?” Kenma dutifully asks, taking his bait. The wind is growing even stronger, and it’s getting to be a fight to stay upright, much less remain in one place.

“Do you want a bored demon on your hands?” Kuro replies, dodging the question.

Kenma huffs and resolves to ignore any and all requests from here on out. They slowly inch closer to the two combatants as Suga tries again to coax a dragon from the flock. Kiyoko’s coming closer to them, too. He doubts it will be long before they have to quit due to the oncoming storm, so the burnt orange wyvern they’ve targeted now is likely their last attempt.

Kuro twists on the broom in the direction of the people on the roof. Kenma wobbles at the sudden movement, but Kuro doesn’t seem to notice. “Kenma, use some of that eagle eye potion.” He’s completely serious, serious enough for Kenma to dip into the bag tied to the handle by his knees. “I think they’re going to snipe our second kill.”

“There’s only two of them, right? They have to notice that we outnumber them.”

“We’ve only just moved this far north, but they don’t have any kills of their own. Why else would they bother waiting for us to cross their path?”

Kuro braces him as he tips the bottle back; the potion tastes sickly sweet and thin, and he accidentally slops half of it down his coat with a particularly vicious gust of wind. The demon doesn’t even laugh at him. Kenma rubs at his eyes and blinks down at the two men on the roof, now in focus. They’re both in raincoats, hoods down, one standing and one laying on his back on the fire escape. Both of them have dark hair and solemn expressions and nothing about their clothes is particularly distinct.

The standing one, the one with the crossbow, aims upward and shoots at the wyvern they’re trying to pull away. It goes straight through a wing, causing it to buck and drop away from the flock with a screech. Kenma hears Suga and Yuu shout in alarm and he sighs as he begins flying toward the interlopers. The Tanaka siblings start toward the injured dragon with matching snarls. It’s a good thing Kuro’s practically made for intimidation tactics, but these men aren’t the brightest if they think they’re going to beat them to the dragon they’d already marked.

The rifle one braces himself against the metal grating and his aim is a little too low to be the wyvern. They barely hear the gunshot over the storm, as far downwind as he is, but Kenma _does_ hear Saeko’s scream.

He nearly flips in the air turning around, and catches Saeko pulling something from her chest. She’s already falling, though, slowly at first and then outright plummeting when her body goes limp. Ryuunosuke and Yuu are both streaking toward her, and above them, Sugawara is batted out of the air by the flailing wyvern.

Ryuunosuke suddenly jerks in the air and somersaults, but he catches himself. Kenma can’t see where he’s shot but he sees blood dripping.

“Kenma, we have to get them!” Kuro snarls in his ear and grabs the broom himself. Kenma doesn’t turn until he sees Yuu catch Saeko out of the air, but then he’s pelting toward the two on the building, using the wind to carry him along. He can _see_ the first moment they notice him, as low as he is, nearly level with their roof. One’s surprised, but the other just aims his rifle back at the group above them.

Two things happen at the same time: Kenma is shot and Kuro jumps off of the broom.

Kenma tumbles through the air with the change in weight, and Kuro lands on the one with the crossbow, who goes down with a yelp. Kenma rights himself, stomach churning, and doesn’t actually register the pain until he looks down to finds the rip through the leather jacket. The bolt went clean through, which he first thinks is good, but then realizes that he’s bleeding freely without it when he sees red seep into the top of his pants. Panic closes his throat and sends his heart rate through the roof.

 _Don’t freak out_ , he tells himself, uselessly, and manages to tear his eyes away. The first hunter is on his hands and knees, coughing up blood, and the second is trying to beat Kuro back by using his rifle as a bat. The demon’s hands are coated in black, fingers sharpened to points, and all hopes of reining back his panic goes out the window when he realizes that _he’s losing his settled form_.

Kenma can’t be assed to draw the runes. “ _Light-magic-sharp-form_ ,” he rushes out and draws his hand back, magic arrow bursting into the space between his arms. The drain on his magic is immediate, but his shot nails the sniper cleanly between the eyes. The man crumples and Kuro whirls around, claws raised, sharp teeth bared. “K-Kuro,” Kenma calls, voice shaking, and his eyes sting. He can’t get enough air into his lungs.

Kuro’s shoulders slump and his hands slough off the blackness like water just as the first hunter staggers up. “The hell are you two?” he asks thickly. He holds up his weapon with one hand, pointing it at Kuro, and wraps his other arm around his waist.

“Drop that if you don’t want to die,” Kuro replies coldly and starts walking over to the edge nearest Kenma.

The sky rips open above them.

A massive, clawed hand reaches through the tear and grabs at grown dragons like a child with a fistful of worms. The sudden surge of magic in the air is overpowering, and Kenma goes from hyperventilating to being completely unable to breathe in the blink of an eye. Like in slow motion, he tilts off of his broomstick, eyes raised to the claws pulling dragons through the rip between realms, and just like that, it’s gone again. He sucks in a breath just in time to tip backwards off his broom.

He catches himself two stories down on the fire escape. He doesn’t catch his broom. Kenma clings to the slick, freezing metal, willing himself to just concentrate on _breathing_ , blinking past the hot tears suddenly coursing down his cheeks. The air still feels _wrong_ even without the tear in the sky. _This is it_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut to try to stop himself from feeling so dizzy. It doesn’t help and he can’t stop his heaving chest. _This is the end of the world_.

 

\--

 

“Kenma!” Kuro shouts as the witch falls. He doesn’t even notice the chaos in the sky until he sees the bright reflection in the water beneath him. He can’t help but to turn to look, just as the other hunters do, and yet it _hurts_ to look directly at it. He watches mutely as it drags half a dozen screaming dragons back to where it came. The hole in the sky seals itself and the storm picks up again with a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning; Kuro hadn’t realized it had stopped.

“Fuck this,” the crossbow guy mutters and runs away from Kuro, toward the far corner of the roof. He picks up his own broom and leaps over the edge of the building, out of sight.

Kuro lets him go in favor of leaning over the side of the building, spotting Kenma two flights down, half-folded over the metal railing. “Ken—” He’s cut off rather rudely by a blade through his stomach. The demon elbows the man standing over him with a snarl, and pulls away from him, heedless of the thing sticking out of him. He looks down at it; it’s not a knife or a sword, and in fact is solid red. It liquefies before his eyes and drips down onto his boots.

The hunter raises an eyebrow, face otherwise impressively (and aggravatingly) impassive. “You’re not dead—oh, you’re not human.”

“No shit,” he snaps and vaults over the stone to the metal grate. Kuro, again, stumbles, this time from a stab to the back. It hurts more the second time around, and the man drags it down before he can throw him off. He whirls around and sharpens his claws again. The other guy was clearly the brains of the operation, because this man is fucking _dead_.

Kuro catches him reform the blade this time; he pulls it into solid form with a near-silent murmur from a line of jars near the stairs. Two of them are completely empty, but it doesn’t click for him until the third blade is completely created.

“Humans still _do_ blood magic?” he asks, unable to help himself. The hunter’s mouth twitches but he doesn’t respond. _Okay, so the guy is a witch and a fucking asshole._ He realizes he has no real idea of how to kill witches. _Sheer force it is._

The man is fast, though, almost inhumanly so. Kuro barely has time to raise his clawed arm before the blood blade digs into his chest. He shoves him off before it can get too deep, and rips it out himself before it can melt. He presses a hand to his chest and feels something curiously like alarm when he finds his _own_ blood on his palm. It fades to black and he flicks it to the ground in annoyance.

“You’re a demon, then,” the hunter notes. “I wasn’t prepared to kill a demon today.”

“My lucky day, then. I’m always prepared to kill assholes.”

“You can’t kill me,” he says, and he sounds so confident in that fact that Kuro almost believes him. “But I wasn’t hired to kill you or the witch with you. So _sleep_.” Kuro’s too late to try to get away from the spell or close his eyes or anything—shit, he needs to discuss magic with Kenma— _shit, Kenma_ , he thinks and tries to grab the man even as he collapses.

 

\--

 

Kenma _feels_ it when Kuro falls. He doesn’t know if he’s injured or unconscious or dying, but it hits him like a blow to the sternum, knocking the air clean out of his lungs. His grip goes slack on the cold metal and he slips off of the fire escape with a breathless cry.

He hardly falls at all. In fact, he’s caught almost right away, fingers digging into his shoulder and back—no, not fingers. Claws. Kenma swings in his savior’s grasp as they head upward, and he cranes his neck back to see black feathers connected to the scaly legs holding him.

He’s dropped onto the roof and the tengu tumbles onto the concrete ahead of him with a weak wheeze. “Oh my god, you were _so heavy_ , I thought we were both gonna drop and die and I don’t wanna go splat! I mean, I’m always falling but—”

The sniper looks down at them over Kuro’s body and the tengu squeaks. Kenma draws back his hand again, a bluff because his lungs feel like they’re on fire and his vision is swimming, but the man backs off with a nearly-imperceptible narrowing of his eyes. He strides away without a look back, and Kenma _wishes_ he could pull himself together enough to shoot him again, but the man retrieves his broom and leaves.

“ _Augh_! Oh my god, is that guy dead?!” Kenma’s savior yelps.

Kenma crawls over to Kuro—he can’t be dead, otherwise _he’d_ be dead, but his body is so still and he _has_ to check—and finds the demon still breathing, face streaked with watery blood. Kenma lets out a shuddering breath. Thunder rumbles overhead and the rain picks up, but Kenma hardly notices. He crawls over to the edge of the building and heaves over the side. He can breathe semi-normally again, but his stomach churns and his shoulders are painfully tense; he has to power through the attack before this gets any worse.

“Are you okay?” the tengu asks, suddenly beside him, bouncing gently on his heels. He rubs Kenma’s back with the smooth, curved side of his claws. It helps.

“Who are you?” Kenma gets out, wiping his mouth and trying to glare at the tengu. The very, very small tengu. The tengu with a shock of orange hair that contrasts bizarrely with his pitch black feathers. “You’re—what are you doing here?”

“That hunter stole an egg from my family,” he informs him conspiratorially. “I was stalking them. But I kind of got a little lost in the storm, and then there were _dragons_! No one told me there’d be _dragons_ , and look at this storm they called in! It’s all like _boosh, boom, crack_! Well, okay, the lightning didn’t start until just a little bit ago, so maybe it didn’t get here yet? I nearly got my feathers singed off the first time!”

 _Kiyoko_ , Kenma realizes and looks back out into the storm. He doesn’t see any of them in the sky anymore, even with his improved vision, and lightning forks overhead, uninterrupted. He doesn’t see any other dragons in the nearly-black clouds anymore, either. “Did you see anyone else in the sky? A-A woman, or any spirits?”

“No? Are you looking for anyone else? I doubt they’ll be out in this storm. Uh, really, I’m not sure _we_ should be out in this storm.”

Kenma looks down at his unconscious demon. The tengu follows his gaze and jumps up to his feet.

“I can help you carry him! C’mon, this is a door over here, right? Let’s get out of this rain before we get struck by lightning or someone else comes by.”

Kenma unlocks the door with a ward and together they manage to carry Kuro inside. They drip on the stairs but the tengu has no problem with it and happily flops down with a wet _smack_. Kenma positions it so Kuro’s head is in his lap before he unties his wet hair and shakes it out. The holly drops down to the floor, useless. “Um… Thanks. For saving me. Earlier,” he mumbles.

“I wasn’t gonna let you go splat,” he replies simply. “And I saw you were attacking both of those hunters, so the guy shooting really cool witch bolts at my enemy is my friend, right?”

“I guess.” Kenma concentrates on running his fingers through Kuro’s wet hair. The repetitive motion helps to calm his racing heart further, so long as he avoids looking at the blood covering his jacket. He’s not sure the healing spells he knows would work on a demon. Maybe they _should_ have been experimenting all this time.

He jumps when the tengu reaches over and strokes over Kenma’s free hand. That helps, too. Kenma scoots down against the wall and the tengu presses up against him with a happy hum; the witch uses his shoulder as a pillow, nose against the downy feathers peeking out from the edge of his tank top.

“I’m Hinata. Um, Hinata Shouyou. I think that’s how human names work? I-Isn’t it?”

“Kenma,” he replies tiredly. “This is Kuroo.”

“Nice to meet you! Maybe we can hang out again sometime when it’s not pouring rain and I’m not on the hunt for the bastard thief. I wanna see you do that witch bolt again!”

“Um, sure.” Performing a very basic spell in exchange for saving his life. Sounds like a deal.

“D’you know what that big hand-thing was earlier?” Shouyou asks curiously, head cocked so that he’s speaking directly (loudly) into Kenma’s ear. Kenma’s too comfortable-slash-exhausted to bother moving.

“…No idea,” he lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( hinata is, very predictably, a crow tengu. at the veeeery beginning, lev's tiny bit of russian (мама) is, very predictably, "yes mom". (thanks and hugs to the person who helped with russian nuance!) 
> 
> alternate chapter title, probably courtesy of lev: "kuroo tetsurou is one hell of a (guard) demon" ))


	8. Iwaizumi Hajime Is Loyal When It Counts

Yachi Hitoka has to be in doctor mode now; she _knows_ this and tells herself this repeatedly. Or nurse mode. Or pre-med student mode, or really just a girl who happens to know a teensy bit of magic and who has a lot of practice patching people up— _what if they die while under my care?! What if I have to cut someone open and I can’t see what I’m doing because I’m crying so badly?_

“Hitoka,” Yuu says seriously, placing a hand on her shoulder, and she jumps and blinks back her tears before turning to face him. “It’s okay. You can do this. You’re awesome, remember?”

“I-I’m awesome,” she repeats. The blonde looks back down at Saeko, sprawled out on the tabletop. She’s breathing, shallowly but evenly, and the only wound she can see is the puncture mark from the tranquilizer. “So you don’t know what’s in her system?”

“No, we don’t,” Suga says from where he’s reclining in Kiyoko’s desk chair. His arms are wrapped around his middle and his face is pinched in pain.

“She got it out pretty fast, but all we know is that it was for dragon use. Probably,” Yuu admits, scratching at his head. He looks like the only one who’s come out unharmed.

Hitoka shakes her bangs out of her eyes and steels herself. No one will die today. She rummages around in the desk, careful not to touch Suga, and pulls out tracing paper. A basic purifying spell would be best to start with, and hopefully that does _something_ to help, because she doesn’t want to leave Saeko long enough to rummage through Kiyoko’s stock. _And Kiyoko…_ The other woman is laid out in the backroom, unconscious. _I have to focus on Saeko first._

Saeko’s breath hitches when she performs the purifying spell, but there’s no other real changes aside from Hitoka’s own fatigue. She feels her pulse again, and it’s still weak and fluttery. “U-Um, Nishinoya, I’m going to need you to see if Kiyoko has any cowslip?” She really, really wishes she knew what Saeko got shot with.

Like a genie granting a wish, the front door slams open. Hitoka jumps violently but Ryuunosuke looks out into the hallway and makes a happy sound. Two men she doesn’t recognize stagger in, holding each other up, and one of them is dragging some sort of gun by the barrel. Both of them drip onto the hardwood floors for an awkward moment before the taller clears his throat and announces, “We’re back. Brought you a present.” He drops the rifle and Hitoka flinches.

Ryuu picks it up and turns it over in his hands, once, before unloading the chamber and popping a dart out. He holds it up to Hitoka with a wide grin. She plucks it from his grasp with an overjoyed cry before he can say anything and she all but dives into Kiyoko’s nearest shelf to begin gathering supplies for testing.

“This is Yachi, our resident angel and unofficial medic,” Ryuu introduces proudly. Hitoka can’t help but smile, just a little, at that, even as she’s elbow-deep in a vat of barghest entrails. He’s right; she’s their healer. And she can do this.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko wakes to a tiny blonde napping on the smallest possible corner of her bed. Hitoka’s hand is covering hers, atop the blankets, and she takes great pains not to disturb her sleep as she sits up. On the whole, her body feels fine, but her mind is another matter. Her brain feels scrubbed clean, too smooth and too new (too _unfamiliar_ ), and she runs a hand over her face just to make sure her head is still attached to her body.

She tastes copper in the back of her throat when she clears it. She touches her nose, finding dried blood, and grabs her glasses from the nightstand.

Hitoka stirs and wakes with a delighted sound that stretches adorably into a yawn. “Oh, you’re finally awake…?” She slides off of the bed and presses her hand against Kiyoko’s forehead, eyes still squinted sleepily, and nods to herself. She puts her fingers against the pulse in her neck.

“Is everyone else alright?” Kiyoko asks quietly.

Hitoka blinks fully awake and sets her mouth in a grim frown. Fear grips Kiyoko. “I had to scold Tanaka and Kozume for trying to treat themselves and making it worse.” Her expression breaks, replaced by her own teary fright, and she whispers, “They won’t hate me, will they? They just—Ryuunosuke is _always_ trying to dress his own wounds, and he always ends up scarring, and this time, there was a curse on the crossbow bolt! Kozume and Suga helped me break it, but he lost more blood than he should have for an injury to his arm—”

“Hitoka, they won’t hate you. No one here hates you,” Kiyoko breaks in gently. She smooths her bangs out of her eyes and presses a kiss to the crown of her head. “Ryuunosuke is just acting macho. You and I both know that, and he probably didn’t want to bother you if you were busy.” _Kenma, on the other hand_. She can’t reconcile Kenma with the image of someone defying a healer’s orders. “What about Kenma…?”

“Ughhhh, we _just_ met and I chewed him out for trying to cauterize his own wound. With fire magic. He ended up with second degree burns and he’ll scar, too.”

“Ah.” She’s inclined to pick Hitoka’s side on that, but she’s unsure what happened to Kenma during all of the chaos following the shooting. _And that hand…_ A shiver goes down her spine at the very memory. “Thank you so much for all of your help with this. Especially so suddenly.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more. I, um, had no idea what happened to you. The best I can figure out is some sort of psychic attack,” she mumbles, meekly, causing Kiyoko to grasp her hand in both of hers.

“Hitoka, I’m fine. We’re all fine, if a little rougher for this. Thanks to you.” She gives her a sincere smile and Hitoka’s face lights up in kind, all red cheeks and big, sparkling brown eyes. Kiyoko really wants to lean forward and kiss her. Properly.

The door slams open to reveal Yuu. “Sunshine jumped up on Suga so he tried to use a healing spell on himself and he passed out!—Ahh, Kiyoko, you’re up! How’re you feeling?”

Kiyoko grimaces. Probably for the best that that moment was ruined; she can’t stand the hope she sees in those brown eyes whenever they share quiet moments. Kiyoko can’t do that to Hitoka. “I’m fine. What happened to Suga…?”

Trying to hide her wincing—she truly did feel fine, it was just her head that protested movements—she gets out of bed, following the short pair, to go take stock of her team. Saeko’s awake but woozy, sipping at something in a thermos in the corner. Sugawara is unconscious on the floor beneath her desk, the cat pawing at his hair and meowing, as if in apology. Ryuunosuke also brightens when he sees her up again, and she’s glad to see that his arm is properly bandaged. Kenma is sleeping, using Kuroo’s lap as a pillow, and the demon puts a finger to his lips when he sees her enter. It must be late enough that the potions have worn off since she doesn’t see Asahi anywhere.

So they’re all in one piece. They’re all alive. They had bagged one dragon, but she doesn’t remember the second one; everything in her memories around the time of _that hand_ is fuzzy in comparison. They’ve had worse jobs, but the dragon hunt was _hers_ , not for anyone else. Kiyoko quietly buries the guilt within herself.

Ryuu helps Hitoka pull Suga onto the table and Kiyoko watches the blonde gingerly feel around his ribcage. “What exactly happened?” she asks, sitting on the stool nearest the table.

“What _didn’t_?” Yuu snorts. Kiyoko gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, and he grows serious. “Far as we can tell, two hunter asshats were trying to poach our kill, and they ended up hitting Saeko and Ryuu. Suga got hit by a dragon and probably broke a couple ribs. Kenma and Kuroo went to kick their asses for us, and they both got roughed up. Then that _huge fucking thing_ ripped open the sky and you dropped like a lead weight. You were, uh, seizing by the time I got to you, and bleeding pretty badly. But you’re fine now—everyone’s fine now, so the end!”

Kiyoko has never had a seizure before in her life. There’s a very high chance it was from mental stress, or perhaps magical, but the knowledge shakes her. If that had been what she thinks, then she may have more trouble on the horizon than she’d feared. “These… other hunters,” she says, taking pains to make sure her voice is even, “what were they like?”

Ryuu looks over at Kuroo, too, curiously. “And how did you get away from ‘em?”

“One of them ran when the big thing came through. The other one knocked me out with a sleep spell.”

“Then how are you two here?!”

“Ask Kenma,” Kuroo says with a lazy shrug. He cards his fingers through Kenma’s half-dyed hair like the movement is second nature to him and Kiyoko thinks the tips of his fingers look black beneath the blue nail polish. “I can tell you about the hunters, though. They were both witches, for starters. One seemed to be about Kenma’s age, and the other was a jackass with blood magic, of all things.”

Kiyoko and Ryuunosuke exchange a look with fairly matching levels of alarm. Hitoka blinks up at Kiyoko, marker dangling out of her mouth as she pauses her rune writing. Yuu looks similarly confused. “What’s the joke we’re missing here?” he asks.

Kiyoko massages her temples. “That sounds like Ushijima. He’s widely regarded as one of the best hunters in the business. He’s not the type to poach someone else’s kill, even a dragon.”

“Which means…”

“His target was us,” Ryuu surmises grimly. “Us or our job, which means Oikawa. Or all of the above. Just fuckin’ great.”

 

\--

 

Kageyama Tobio is not happy. Sure, it’s technically a completed job; they stopped the targets from securing a second dragon. But he hadn’t been warned about a demon.

He’s also not happy about continuing to work with Ushijima. The man is scary, for want of a better word, and conversation with him is like pulling teeth. It’s easier to work in silence when they’re forced to be near each other, but a certain amount of talking is to be expected, isn’t it? They _are_ both on the same string of jobs by the same employer.

He sets his chin on his fist and glares at the crow across from him. Kasa cocks her head to the side and opens her beak in a silent caw. His familiar is better company, by a long shot, but then again, she’s better company than ninety-nine percent of anyone ever.

He doesn’t really want to check in with his employer, either. He doesn’t even know who his employer _is_ , but he doesn’t like them. Sure, the pay is incredible, but it was unprofessional and really fucking _rude_ not to get warned about certain hazards. He was hired because he’s one of the best. (Unfortunately, same with Ushijima.) He _can_ handle hazards on the job. He would just rather not be surprised.

He shoves away the guilt in his stomach. ‘ _Complete the jobs through any means necessary_ ’. In other words, murder. Tobio isn’t a bounty hunter (or a thief); he’s supposed to be the one wrangling dragons, not shooting the ones doing that. Dragons sounded cool and now he’ll have to wait another two years before he can try to take one down himself. How unfair.

“Want dinner?” Tobio asks and cracks an eye open to look at Kasa. She nods. The crow hops onto his shoulder and he double-checks to make sure his weapons are safely tucked away before leaving the hotel room. It’s still storming out from yesterday, and he almost regrets coming outside, but he’s already soaked from the rain. He should’ve just ordered delivery, fuck. But his hotel room stinks of magic from his last conversation with his boss.

Kasa nestles in close to his head, a warm spot against his ear, and he turns up the collar on his coat to try to shield them both from the pelting rain a bit.

They’re no sooner walking out of the parking lot before she squawks in warning and something tackles him from behind. Tobio throws out one arm to break his fall and the other goes to his hip, trying to wrestle his knife free from the wet sheathe. His assailant grabs his arm and twists, flipping him over, and Tobio finds himself staring up at a very wet, very angry crow tengu. Scratch that: very wet, very angry, very _small_.

“Are you some kind of dumbass?” Tobio asks, because the kid doesn’t have a glamor on, and storm or not, they’re in a hotel parking lot in the middle of the city.

“Thief! Egg thief!” the tengu screeches and he becomes aware of very sharp claws at his neck. Kasa squawks and flaps around the tengu’s bright hair, but he ignores her. “You stole an egg from my family! Give it _back_ you asshole! This is your only warning.”

“How did you even find me?” Tobio hisses back.

The tengu squints at him like _he’s_ the stupid one. It’s insulting. “You have a crow familiar. You think I don’t know how to find a crow? You’re a pretty dumb thief, aren’t you?” He laughs airily, covering his mouth with his clawed hand while keeping his foot talons right near Tobio’s throat.

“Kasa?!”

She shakes her head and pulls at the tengu’s hair. He bats her away with a scowl.

“Get off of me before someone sees you out here, dumbass! Do you know how many magical laws you’re breaking right now?”

“Says the dirty _thief_!” the tengu squawks. “Give me back my cousin’s egg or else I’ll eat your eyes! We’re entitled to retaliation, I know that much!”

“…Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“I hear human eyes are supposed to be a delicacy.”

Tobio spits up at him. He misses and it lands on his shirt, but the tengu rears back anyway, absolutely affronted by the gesture. Tobio bucks him off and rolls them so he’s pinning the kid’s wings with his knees, knife finally drawn and held near his jaw. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fucking kill you.”

“I’ll trade you _my_ egg!” he valiantly declares.

Tobio squints at him, wondering if he genuinely is that stupid. “Aren’t… Aren’t you a little _young_ to be making eggs?”

“I’ll make one eventually!” he snaps and kicks, narrowly avoiding Tobio’s back with his talons. He scoots forward nervously. “You wanted a First egg, right? So give me back my cousin’s and I’ll give you mine!”

“How did you know—?!”

“Like it was hard to figure out?”

“I don’t have the time to wait another decade for you to grow your flight feathers and trade. I had a job to do, and I did it, so I doubt you’ll get your egg back. Sorry, I guess.”

The tengu looks even more offended, mouth slack and eyes wide. “I _already_ have my flight feathers, jackass!” he howls and kicks, even harder than before. Tobio forgets about the bird legs—backwards joints—until the claws rip into his back. He’s pried off of him, knife nicking the tengu, and he swears again before throwing Tobio away. He skids across the concrete and Kasa flaps after him, landing in between them with a shrill squawk.

“Kasa, go—” Get Ushijima? He wouldn’t help him. Tobio doesn’t have any family or friends in this city, and his partner would absolutely leave him. Great fucking job this is turning out to be. “Kasa, just go!” Tobio shouts and wonders if he can make it back to his room before the tengu catches him again. He could throw his knife, but the tengu is so small and so fluffed up and the knife isn’t exactly built for throwing. Does he have time to draw runes?

“I’ll give you my First egg _and_ my mask!” the tengu declares.

He’s not attacking. What. Tobio takes a moment to register his words. “Why the shit would I want your dumb mask?”

The tengu stomps his foot, feathers practically standing on end. “I’m giving you a chance to get the egg back for me! I don’t really wanna eat your eyes, I bet they’re disgusting!”

“Then _don’t_!”

“My egg, my mask, _and_ my fan!”

Tobio freezes. He has literally _never_ heard of anyone owning a tengu fan before. He hadn’t thought tengu were allowed to even _use_ them in the presence of non-sanctioned beings. “…Why?” he asks guardedly.

“I’m trying to hire you out from underneath your boss and I don’t have much money,” the tengu admits, face scrunched up in angry embarrassment. “And you’re a witch, so it’s not like I can offer magic. Unless you want tengu magic, in which case, I wanna offer that instead!”

He knows tengu are proud, and stubborn, and hold grudges. He’d been against stealing from them from the start. But he hadn’t thought they were stupid, too. …Then again, what clearly-thinking nineteen-year-old purposefully makes lifetime enemies out of such a powerful race? Tobio has the distinct feeling that he’s been tricked, or _wants_ to think that, although he knows he picked up the job willingly.

“S-Stop glaring at me and give me an answer already!”

“I’m not glaring! I’m _thinking_ ,” Tobio snaps.

“Could’ve fooled me,” the tengu grouses. He wraps his wings around himself with a shiver. “I don’t really wanna have to kill you if you won’t help me, but I have to get either revenge or justice, and bringing back your blood won’t make my family any happier. And your familiar is really sweet and I _don’t wanna_ hurt her feelings.”

“Who says you’ll be able to kill me so easily?!” he demands, because the crow tengu is half his size and Kageyama Tobio is _good_. Talented. He’s supposed to be one of the best. He wouldn’t get killed in a hotel parking lot by a baby tengu, of all things.

“My egg, my mask, my fan, and I’ll teach your crow familiar wind magic!”

“Stop talking. I’ll do it. Now let’s get out of this rain before you freeze your feathers off. I want dinner.”

 

\--

 

“Hell of a job,” Saeko says, ice clinking in her glass. She tilts her head back toward the ceiling and sinks low in her chair before bringing it up to sip at. “We haven’t gotten that fucked up since the manticore.”

“The manticore was _your_ fault,” Suga replies mildly. He scrolls through his phone, chin in hand, trying not to feel too bad about the few worried text messages Daichi had sent him. (No guilt for Tooru.)

“The manticore was the result of poor communication,” Kiyoko corrects.

Saeko chuckles and grins against her glass. “That’s one way to put it. At least this one ended alright, all things considered. Could’ve been worse. I guess Oikawa doesn’t get his dragon, and the boys have a couple more scars to show off, but we all made it.” Her smile falters, then fails, and she slips down to rest her cheek against the table. “We all made it this time.”

“This is supposed to be a happy night in,” Suga says absently and taps out a text to Daichi. ‘ _sorry i’ve been mia!! i haven’t been ignoring you promise xo_ ’. Avoiding him, maybe a _little_. But not ignoring him on purpose.

“Is that why you’re talking to lover boy instead of the two lovely ladies in front of you?” Saeko asks, grin back in place.

“If we’re getting on someone’s case about making moves, my vote is Kiyoko.” He looks up to catch her surprised expression, and can’t help but to grin himself. “Hitoka seems to think she’s blown some sort of chance with you. _Again_.”

“Were you two making eyes at each other again? Fuckin’ hell, Kiyoko, when are you gonna get on that?”

“She’s too young for me,” Kiyoko says, eyes averted. The usual excuse.

“It’s been three years,” Suga reminds her. “You’re allowed to have a life of your own again.”

“You’re not a widow!” Saeko exclaims, tone bordering on outraged, and she smacks the table with her palm for emphasis.

“I’m married to my job,” Kiyoko primly tells her and sips at her tea. “Maybe… When things aren’t so hectic. I’ll have a talk with Hitoka about it.”

“She’s in college—things’ll be hectic for _her_ for awhile, and you’re always finding excuses to pick up more work,” Saeko accuses, and at least Kiyoko doesn’t try to argue that point.

Suga’s phone vibrates against his thigh and he can’t help but smile at the message. ‘ _That's a military term, or are you a soldier now too?_ ’ He starts a response, but another text pops up just a few moments later. ‘ _Since you’ve been too busy to haunt the store, can I ask if you have any plans for Halloween? I got invited to a party and you seem like the Halloween party type._ ’

Halloween… Right, that was next week. With wide eyes, Suga looks up at the women in front of him and asks, “Has anyone warned Tadashi and his friend about the _Danse Macabre_?”

“Ghosts are your jurisdiction,” Saeko replies.

Kiyoko shakes her head. “I haven’t. With all of the last-minute preparations for the dragon hunt…”

Suga sighs. He supposes he’s the best person to explain it. “I’ll do it. Hopefully I can catch him at work when I go apologize to Daichi.”

“Ooh, in the doghouse already? You two haven’t been together that long, so how did he already see past your charm?”

“We haven’t been together at all. I just accidentally put him to sleep while I was drunk,” he says and feels his face heat up. Saeko positively cackles at that, and Kiyoko gives him a disapproving look over her glasses. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I already feel like an ass for it, thanks.”

“Get him hyacinth,” Kiyoko tells him. “Purple, if you can find it.”

“Better than roses.” He buries his warm face in his arms and tries to tune out the blonde’s laughter. “If I don’t find Tadashi before you do, just point him my way. I think I have to talk to him, anyway. I have until November off, right?”

“Barring emergencies,” Kiyoko agrees. “Try to take it easy.”

“Will you be alright handling the dragon stuff on your own?” Saeko asks, hope in her voice, and the other woman shoots her down with a mere look.

“You’re not allowed into the goblin market with me anymore. I’ll just bring Kenma and Kuroo, since he seems to have made a friend. That reminds me, I need to talk to Oikawa about the dragon as well…”

“At least let me go with you then. I gotta talk to him about that, too. _That’ll_ be fun,” she groans.

Suga glances at his phone when it buzzes again, and belatedly realizes he hasn’t responded. Oops. ‘ _Tanaka and Ennoshita are coming to this thing. It’s the last night before Ennoshita has to leave_.’

‘ _are you trying to guilt me??_ ’ he texts back suspiciously. He’s curious about Daichi’s insistence, but he really can’t go. A pity.

‘ _Absolutely. Tanaka wants matching costumes and I want to use you as an excuse to duck out._ ’

“Saeko, is your brother going to a Halloween party next week?”

“Probably, he said something about seeing this journalist again.”

Suga smiles and wonders if he can bribe him to get pictures of Daichi in whatever get-up they end up in.

 

\--

 

“Are we going to wonder why Kiyoko had a book on demonology?” Kuro asks, though he stays obediently still while Kenma works.

“It’s _not_ a book on it. It’s only a chapter.” Kenma wishes it were all about demons. That’d be a lot more useful than the research he’s been throwing together on his own; it’s like an egg hunt, except twice as hard and instead of candy he’s learning how to get Kuroo to stop bleeding all over his clothes. And, what do you know, demon blood is mildly corrosive _and_ stains. Joy of joys.

“Okay,” Kuro says, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as Kenma’s fingers ghost over him, and asks, “then are we going to wonder why she had a book on _necromancy_?”

“Not hers,” Kenma bites out and pulls his hand back, hissing at the sting on his fingers. He has no idea why Kuro simply isn’t healing. While his wounds hadn’t seemed to affect his mobility or mood, he’d admitted to pain, and they kept oozing darkened blood. Even Kenma’s injuries are healing.

“Does she know you borrowed it?”

“Lev borrowed it first.”

“ _Why_?”

“It has runes.”

“Great,” Kuro says with a breathy laugh. “Are you, uh, almost done there? That magic burns like a bitch.”

Kenma glares at the back of his head. “No, what burns is actual magic fire. Which I’m going to try on you next if you keep bleeding around your stitches.” He sighs, dropping his annoyance as best he can; he’s only working himself up and exhausting himself. Kenma looks down at the expanse of olive skin between his legs, only marred by admittedly poor stitches and smears of black. There’s fingerprints of the stuff near Kuro’s shoulder blade, and Kenma inspects the pads of his fingers. They’re red but it’s not too bad.

Kenma groans and presses his forehead against Kuro’s spine, careful to avoid any of his injuries. “Gonna kiss it and make it better?” Kuro teases, squirming a bit at Kenma’s breath on him.

“I have no idea what to do. Is it because you’re not fully settled? Is your form breaking? It’s been _days_ —you should be starting to heal.”

“Hate to tell you, but I don’t really know what else to say. I’m as in the dark as you are.”

Kenma sighs again and moves off of him. “Roll over.” He obeys and Kenma catches a peek of black smudges on his sheets. The two wounds on his chest are bleeding, too, even through the bandages. “Can you die of blood loss?”

“Maybe. It’s probably more than humans, though, so this won’t kill me anytime soon. Or at all.”

He consults the book again, but it hasn’t grown any new words or helpful hints since the last time he read over it. The chapter is divided neatly between summoning a demon and killing a demon. Apparently very few people want to keep one alive.

“Whose book is it if not Kiyoko’s?” Kuro asks, propped up on his elbows. Still reading over it, Kenma just holds it up, flicking open the front cover so he can see the names written inside: _Michimiya Yui & Sugawara Koushi_. The demon lets out a low whistle. “Well then, the plot thickens, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t affect anything. I can’t ask him for help. I’m still writing the spell on my own.”

“We should’ve bet. I _knew_ he was hiding something.”

“We knew he was capable of magic.” He shuts the book, disappointed (again), and he looks at the stitches on Kuro’s chest instead of the demon’s eyes. “We need to talk.”

“Are we breaking up?” he jokes, and immediately backtracks. “Sorry, I don’t mean to make light of the contract. Even if it hasn’t exactly backfired on you yet.”

Kenma continues avoiding his gaze and drops his eyes further, to the polish on his nails. “I want you to tell me when the contract is up.”

“That’s my secret for when you finish the spell. You’re what, halfway done? Another couple of days of work and you’ll be golden, and Kiyoko gave us all this time off after the dragons—”

“You wanted to know what I summoned you for, right?” Kenma interrupts. His palms are sweaty and he can _feel_ the weight of Kuro’s eyes on him. He never wanted to have this discussion, but with _that hand_ , and considering that they’re still pacted, he’s going to have to bite the bullet and trust Kuro. _It can’t get worse than the current situation_. “I’m, um, pretty sure the apocalypse is coming. A minor one, at any rate. You were part of a spell to get me enough power to either protect myself or run.”

“That.” Kuro takes a breath and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Okay. Not exactly what I was expecting. Not far off base, but not quite it. What’s a _minor_ apocalypse?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not something I want to stick around for.”

“Then what was your plan for this, exactly? If you’re willing to share it with me this time.” He doesn’t sound bitter, which Kenma is grateful for, but the words still hang heavily in the air between them.

“…Do you blame me? For not sharing everything with a _demon_?” Kenma asks in a small voice.

“I think we have a bad reputation. I haven’t eaten a single spirit since I’ve been summoned, and aside from scaring a couple of people, I think I’ve been rather tame,” Kuro points out. He sits up completely, elbows resting on his knees, and ducks his head to try to look Kenma in the eye. “I only made the contract to, you know, not die. It’s not like I’m the one who wanted to be here. And I’m not really happy to hear that I’m stuck here and the world’s gonna end.”

“I was going to sacrifice you to summon an angel so I could steal its grace,” Kenma blurts out before he can talk himself out of it.

“… _That’s_ what you wanted the angel for?”

“Um. Yeah. Normally you can’t summon an angel unless it’s during an eclipse and you have enough people, and it requires a sacrifice anyway—a person, usually. But I figured out that demons are the magical inverse of angels, or at least share enough of a relationship that I could use one as a summon. Actually, the magic itself isn't the difference between them, but how time functions in their creation, and the fact that they have more magic—”

Kuro puts his hand over Kenma’s mouth and the witch stills, eyes wide. “Right. Fascinating. Turn all of that mental power toward writing that spell for the glasses ghost now.”

He speaks against his hand, but it comes out muffled until he releases him. Trying again, Kenma mumbles, “That won’t help us.”

“Us? I’m glad this plan has already been upgraded. How sweet of you, Kenma.”

“I was talking about Lev.”

“That’s even sweeter,” Kuro says, unperturbed, grinning widely. Kenma feels his cheeks heat up and he turns away from him again. “And I’m glad you told me about the end of days thing. Nice to know what I was almost angel bait for. But this doesn’t affect the fact that you should be writing a spell for that spirit.”

“You should find a new hobby beyond trying to make me work.”

“And you should find a new hobby beyond that game of yours.”

“My new hobby is finding a way to stop demonic blood loss,” he deadpans.

 

\--

 

Suga has stalked the bookstore for the past two days trying to catch Tadashi at work. Kiyoko hasn’t said he’s stopped in, which gives him mixed feelings, but he _really needs to talk to him_. It’s Halloween and he has just a couple hours until sundown. He’s already restless and feels ready to climb the walls with nerves; normally by this point he’s locked safely in his own apartment with music blaring and Sunshine to soothe him.

But no, this Halloween finds him out on the streets, jumping at every other costumed person, ignoring the overly active spirits overhead. He finally makes it to the bookstore—one last check, and if Tadashi isn’t there he’ll just make Kenma scry for the kid or try to shake down Yaku for his address—and two beacons of shining joy greet him: Daichi and Tadashi, both working.

In costume.

Suga has to brace himself against the counter with how hard he’s laughing when he sees Daichi’s Halloween costume. Daichi sighs dramatically, long and loud enough to be heard across the store, and calls over, “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up.”

“You’re a—you’re—” Suga can’t even get the words out. He can hardly breathe between peals of laughter, and when he looks up, tears in his eyes, Daichi’s made his way over, trying very hard to keep a straight face. He prods him with his neutrona wand and Suga eagerly grabs it to look it over. “You’re a ghostbuster? C-Can I take a picture?”

“It was Tanaka’s idea,” Daichi grumbles. Suga could kiss Ryuunosuke for his wonderful idea. “His first idea was the powerpuff girls.”

Suga loses it all over again. He’s definitely going to kiss Ryuu for his brilliance. “Which one—oh my god, who would you have been? _Please_ tell me you’d be Buttercup.”

“Where’s your costume, hm? Not that you ever buy anything, but we’re offering discounts to people in costumes.” Daichi crosses his arms and taps his proton pack’s wand against his bicep.

“I told you, I don’t do Halloween.” Suga snaps a picture of him with his phone, since he didn’t say no, and happily sets it as his background. What a cute, grumpy ghostbuster. “And I’m surprised you’re going out tonight, considering your usual tired old man routine.”

“Ennoshita and Tanaka are a terrifying team. And this way I can say I’ve filled my quota of socializing for the year. Can I ask what brings you in, if not to buy anything and not to try asking me out after work?”

“You know, I’m going to buy something out of spite tonight.”

“What’s your costume?” Daichi asks, eyebrow raised, smirk playing at his lips.

Suga looks down at himself. Jeans, sweater, coat. “Uh. Ghostbuster on his day off.” Not a lie.

Daichi sighs and shrugs off his prop backpack. He holds it out, and Suga takes it with a gasp of delight. “Wear this for a little while so my coworkers can’t complain. Don’t break anything with it.”

He really wishes he could go out tonight, if only to giggle with Ryuu about being ghostbusters all night with them. He salutes with the wand and Daichi leaves him to shop on his own, since he knows where pretty much everything is in the store already. He’ll have to come up with something to buy, but that won’t be hard. The trick, he realizes too late, is how to talk to Tadashi at length. _Please let him get off before sundown_ , Suga prays, and makes a beeline for the freckled associate.

Tadashi is wearing cheap cat ears with a matching tail, whiskers drawn on his cheeks, but the winning bit is the bell collar around his neck. He actually smiles at Suga when he approaches, partially shy and partially conspiratorially, and the ghost beside him frowns as if to offset that. “What are _you_ doing here?” he asks rudely.

“I’m a customer, so behave,” Suga tells him, finger to his lips. “Why didn’t you wear a costume, too? You can change your clothes now, so don’t say you can’t.”

“I spent all day trying to get him to match with me,” Tadashi groans and sets the box he’d been reshelving from down. “Tsukki, _please_ do the ear thing again?”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” he snaps and turns away from them both.

“He can make actual cat ears, like Morisuke’s! They were really cute, but he doesn’t believe me.”

Ooh, he is so going to ask Asahi to do that. “What time do you get off work tonight?”

“ _Why_?” the ghost demands.

“I have to talk to you two about something. A little urgently. And I think we sort of—I don’t want to fight with you, either of you. I think you deserve some information and some answers, and I can give them to you. Just not here,” Suga explains with a little wave to the store.

“Are you dating Daichi?” Tadashi asks bluntly.

“Uh, w-well, that is neither here nor there. Regardless of my intent to do so, your boss is unaware of things like Tsukki here, and—”

“Don’t call me that.”

Tadashi sighs, but he’s smiling. “His name is Tsukishima. Only I get to call him Tsukki, because he’s haunting me and I guilt him about watching me shower.”

Suga has vastly underestimated Yamaguchi Tadashi. Tsukishima blushes furiously and turns from them again, going so far as to cover his face with his sleeve under the pretense of adjusting his glasses. “Well, nice to meet you, sort of. I’m Sugawara, but you can call me Suga, and I really hope our future meetings aren’t as bad as our first few have been.”

He holds out his hand to shake, but Tadashi just stares at the bandages wrapped around it. He awkwardly folds his hands behind his back. “What did you want to talk about that’s so important? Um, not that I’d mind having some questions answered, but what’s so urgent?” Tadashi asks.

“What time do you get off?”

“Six.”

An hour before sundown. Suga beams at them both. “Perfect. Meet me at the smoothie shop down the street. I’ll buy you a smoothie and give you some good news, for once. And answer any other questions you have about spirits, or magic, or anything. If you’ll excuse me until then, I’m going to go flirt with your boss a bit more so he doesn’t feel so bad about giving me a discount.”

He grabs a horror story anthology on his way out and regretfully hands back the proton pack. It’d certainly make his job easier if such things existed. Daichi tries, once more, to get him to come with him to the party tonight, and Suga tries to offer a counter-date, but he doesn’t know his schedule for the next week yet. “Everything’s been kind of pushed back around here, since we actually had to close for two days during that really bad storm. And y’know, I _still_ don’t know what you—or Tanaka—do. Every time I ask him, he changes the answer, but you two have awfully free schedules yourselves.”

Daichi holds his purchase back, making it clear he expects an answer. Suga reaches for it anyway. “You’ve forced my hand. We’re actually superheroes, and you’re going to ruin both of our secret identities if you keep pushing,” he warns.

“Uh-huh. So you have spandex on underneath that?” Daichi asks and breaks into a grin as he graciously hands Suga’s book over.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He mostly just has a lot of slowly-healing bruises from getting hit by a dragon, but he supposes he has the frame for a skinnier superhero. He’d probably look pretty good in spandex. “Not going to ask what my superpower is?”

“No, I got distracted imagining what you and Tanaka’s costumes would look like. I’m thinking a lot of pastels for you.”

“Ha-ha, no, it’s all neon. Ryuu’s the one in lavender and pink.”

“Going to have to imagine _something_ being your day job, since you keep dodging the question,” Daichi says lightly, and Suga tries very hard not to feel too bad about that. He doesn’t sound mad, or disappointed, but he still made a point of saying it.

“I’ll tell you whenever I get to take you out, just the two of us, ‘kay?” Suga uncomfortably realizes that he's not used to having friends who are unaware of the supernatural; he doesn't have a cover at the ready. 

“I’ll hold you to that. It just seems a little strange that I know next to nothing about you outside of your drinking and sleeping habits.”

 _That_ brings back more guilt than he anticipates and he fidgets with the plastic bag before stowing it in his messenger bag. “Uh, well, I like spicy foods and my favorite color is spring green. And you have my number, so text me whenever you’re free next week.”

“Will do. Be careful out there, with all of your not-partying and superheroing.”

Suga grins, and allows himself to push away the guilt for another time. “Go bust some ghosts for me later tonight!”

 

\--

 

“Why do you think _he’s_ being so friendly all of a sudden?” Kei asks. His mood has not improved with the addition of Sugawara. All day he’s felt strange, agitated for no reason, and it’s been a struggle to not take it out on Tadashi. Sugawara provides a good target.

“Don’t be rude, we’ll be able to ask him a lot of stuff tonight.”

“What about Kenma’s offer?”

“What about it? I don’t see why I can’t talk to him. We just won’t mention that part.”

Tadashi seems to be in high spirits, which honestly only grates on Kei’s nerves further, though he does his best to restrain that, too. He has no idea why he’s so pent up. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened, aside from Tadashi winning another couple of scratch cards on the way to work, and Kei _refuses_ to believe his uneasiness is because he _misses_ Halloween. He was a teenager when he died; he was already too old for all of this.

 _Even if Akiteru still asked to take you out every year_ , he thinks, betraying himself, and growls at himself for it. Tadashi shoots him a confused look, locked into a conversation with his coworker (who is only in a witch hat he’d borrowed; Kei can respect that kind of unwillingness to participate). Kei thinks for a moment, and then wills the cat ears back onto his head. Tadashi gasps in starry-eyed delight, earning a baffled look from Kunimi.

Kei snickers as Tadashi scrambles to explain that he was very excited to see a certain cookbook in stock.

The boys end up betting that Tadashi can’t meow every time he talks for the rest of his shift (Tadashi eagerly bets that he _can_ ), and Kei watches them with the lonely sort of feeling he’d grown accustomed to whenever he’s out in public. With just Tadashi, it’s not so bad, but here, he’s simply reminded that he’s an outsider looking in.

Tadashi wins the bet, although at the cost of embarrassing himself in front of a group of cute girls in matching Sailor Scout uniforms. His face is still red beneath his freckles and whiskers by the time he ducks into the back room to hang up his lanyard and grab his stuff. “Worth it?” Kei asks lightly. The door feels mildly uncomfortable to phase through, and he tries not to give it a dirty look. Some things are harder to interact with than others, but he has a special distaste for that door.

“Let’s just go,” Tadashi groans.

“Your ears are crooked.”

Tadashi waves goodbye to his coworkers, smiling brightly at them even while he takes a fistful of candy from the bowl on the counter. “Trick or treat!” he calls as he darts out of the store to Daichi’s exasperated laugh. “D’you miss candy, Tsukki?”

“What a question to ask,” he mutters.

“Oh come on, you _have_ to miss some foods. What about smoothies? Milkshakes?”

He’s not going to admit to his massive sweet tooth, so he stays moodily silent, and ends up tapping his fingers against his arm as he goes. Tadashi hums and pops a chocolate kiss into his mouth just before they walk into the smoothie shop. Sugawara is falling asleep while trying to read at a corner table, head bobbing, but he straightens and smiles when he sees them. “Pick something and we can walk and talk,” he says, standing and gathering his things. Kei tries not to be too obvious as he peeks into Sugawara’s open bag. “A little chilly today, but at least it’s not raining again. This probably won’t take too long.”

Tadashi gets a strawberry milkshake—and yes, Kei _does_ miss sweet things now, thank you Tadashi for reminding him—and follows Sugawara while sipping at it. Kei follows them both grumpily. He wishes Tadashi would be a little more confrontational at times, considering this man tried to exorcise him. Twice.

“So, today is Halloween, or All Hallow’s Eve. Tsukishima, have you been feeling itchy today?” Sugawara begins.

Kei arches an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain ghosts _can’t_ be itchy.” Tadashi chuckles around his straw.

“You’ve been tugging at your hoodie strings since you got here, which, by the way, ghosts also don’t need. There’s nothing wrong with imitating living human behaviors. So long as it doesn’t get out of hand.”

“What was so urgent that you _had_ to talk to us?” Kei says snippily, and doesn’t feel bad, because Sugawara started it.

“You mentioned good news?” Tadashi adds hopefully.

“You remember that thing you asked me about?” He makes a vague hand gesture, and both boys nod, prompting him to continue, “Technically, I lied. There’s no _permanent_ way you two will be able to interact, definitely no safe way, but Halloween is a special day for spirits, and those connected to magical realms. Which means you two, this year.”

“What do you mean?”

Sugawara checks the clock on his phone. “In about a half hour, at sundown, Tsukishima will become tangible. Or tangible to anyone with a connection to any spiritual things, like I—”

“I’ll get to _touch_ him?!” Tadashi demands, loudly, and a couple passersby turn to stare. He reddens and hides behind his cup with a whine.

“I’m absolutely _not_ giving you two the safe ghost sex talk, so keep it above the waist,” Sugawara sighs, and Tadashi reddens further and looks ready to melt into the sidewalk.

“I-I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” he says faintly.

“Did you ask us out here just to explain something we’d figure out in an hour on our own? Or do you derive special joy in embarrassing teenagers?” Kei asks flatly.

“I derive special joy in embarrassing _everyone_. I’m also here to answer questions, remember, but there’s also something else to tonight. Sundown to sunrise, spirits are a little more present in this realm. Everyone basically gets bumped up one stage of presence. But at moonrise, which is about eleven-thirty tonight, then the _Danse Macabre_ starts.”

“…The what?” Kei asks.

“I have no idea how it will affect you, since you’re not fully a human spirit anymore, but you’ll likely feel some sort of draw toward the spiritual center of this city. It’s a shrine near a cemetery across town, just so you know. The _Danse_ itself is harmless, and is essentially just a big ghostly party. You can go if you like, but just be aware that you’re sort of locked in if you do. If you’re able to resist it and want to stay in with Tadashi, feel free. Just try not to be outside after moonrise in that case, either of you.”

So go to a dance party full of ghostly strangers or stay in and finish the audiobook of _Jurassic Park_ with Tadashi, whom he apparently can newly touch. “What a dilemma,” he deadpans.

“I figured you’d think that way. But it may not be your choice. The _Danse_ is a compulsion, and you won’t know if you feel it until moonrise,” Sugawara replies with a shrug. “Just stay inside if you both want. There’s always horror movie marathons on this time of year.”

“We’ll make do,” Kei says, crossing his arms. He glances down at Tadashi, who’s remained silent since his outburst, and he’s mildly alarmed to see that his face is _still_ red. “Didn’t you want to ask him questions?” he prompts, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

Tadashi jumps and comes back into the conversation. “What’s so dangerous about what _you_ did to touch ghosts?” (Good; Kei doesn’t like carrying conversations.)

“A lot. It ended up killing two people, for starters.”

“Oh. Um. What about that other guy who can touch the beardy ghost…?”

Sugawara grimaces, looking like he hadn’t wanted to answer that particular question. Also good. “That involved a lot of questionably moral decisions and even more necromancy,” he replies vaguely. “You don’t want it, trust me.” Something uneasy flits across his expression, though, and Kei narrows his eyes at him. “Next question!”

“Are you a witch?”

“Me? No, never.”

“But you can use magic.”

“A witch is defined by how much magical talent they have, yes, but also by how fast it regenerates. And most humans have a _little_ bit of magical talent, it’s just a matter of discovering it. I think Kiyoko used to offer lessons on that…” Suga rubs at his chin with a thoughtful air. Tadashi takes in the information with round eyes, and Kei can practically see the gears turning in his brain.

“What’s the difference between a spirit like Morisuke and one like Tsukki?”

“Well, there’s a hierarchy of spirits…”

Suga’s explanations continue as they walk, and Kei distantly notes that they’re steadily returning home. The sun has set while they spoke, and while the agitated feeling has returned—no, doubled, at least—Kei doesn’t want to interrupt them. Tadashi happily absorbs all of the information he’s given like a sponge. Kei _wants_ to reach over and see if the man was telling the truth ( _what would he stand to gain by lying now?_ he wonders) but he’s also afraid to. It seems inappropriately intimate. But he craves contact again like the worst kind of drug.

Sugawara gives them a beaming smile outside of Tadashi’s apartment complex. “Hopefully your parents aren’t too mad about you being late.” Before he can be corrected, he’s digging around in his bag and pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen. “Here’s my number if you need anything else. And let me know if you go to the _Danse_ tonight or not, okay?”

He waves goodbye to them, all smiles and friendliness, and Tadashi waves back with matching levels. “See? He’s nice, Tsukki.”

Kei stops himself again from reaching out to touch him. “Sure. He still tried to banish me.” He follows him up the stairs, still itching to see if it’s true or not, and by the time Tadashi’s unlocking his door, he has to demand, “Have you already forgotten what he first wanted to talk to us about?”

“ _Are_ you going to that dance thing? I, uh, didn’t think you’d be into that.”

“The other thing, Yamaguchi.”

With a gasp, Tadashi whirls around, nearly tripping over his end table as he does so. Kei squints at him, not buying that he legitimately forgot, but his suspicions are promptly tossed out the window when Tadashi seizes him by the shirt collar and tugs him down.

The panic of _oh hell he’s going to kiss me_ mixes with the wonder of _well fuck he actually can touch me_ and Kei isn’t sure where he ends up on the emotional spectrum when Tadashi brings their faces in close. He’s so _warm_. He’s warm and present and very, very solid and all he wants to do is press against him for hours on end and relish in feeling things again.

Kei absolutely does not expect Tadashi to simply rest their foreheads together with a laugh. “I can actually touch you! Thank god, you’re actually real!” he exclaims.

That was not a kiss. He isn’t sure if he should be disappointed. Should he be? He’s mostly too caught up in the whole physical contact thing to be anything but overwhelmingly content. “You didn’t think I was real?” he mumbles.

“It’s nice to be reassured that you’re not a hallucination.” Tadashi moves his hands up from the front of his shirt, briefly cupping his face, and that same will-he-won’t-he thrill goes through Kei. Tadashi looks up at him, expression earnest, eyes questioning. Kei still doesn’t have an answer for him.

And _again_ , he’s thoroughly shocked when Tadashi plucks his glasses off of his face with a victorious cry. “I can touch your ghost glasses!”

“For fuck’s sake, Yamaguchi!” He grabs for them, but the shorter boy ducks under his arm, and slides them onto his face. He pokes out his tongue for good measure. Kei stubbornly ignores how well he wears them (despite the dumb cat headband and dumb whiskers drawn on his face that have already smeared).

Tadashi hops over the back of the couch, keeping it between them, and Kei tries to phase through it to catch him, only to end up tripping over it himself. He faceplants onto the cushions, legs kicking briefly, before he twists and looks up with a shock that matches Tadashi’s own. “…Are you tangible to _everything_? I thought he said it was only to people!” Tadashi squeaks.

“He _did_ ,” Kei replies and runs his fingers over the couch. It’s ratty and rough and lumpy and he wants to spend at least an hour just _touching_ it. Oh, he could get used to this.

Tadashi whips out his phone and hurriedly texts Sugawara, and Kei is content to lay folded across the back of the couch. It’s been a long time since he’s had a genuinely good day, but this takes the cake.

 

\--

 

Suga chuckles to himself when not ten minutes later, he gets a text from Tadashi. ‘ _TSUKKI CAN TOUCH OTHER THINGS TOO IS THIS NORMAL IS HE OKAY_ ’.

It’s not normal, but not entirely unexpected. It means Tsukishima is further from a human spirit and closer to a luck spirit than even Suga had thought, and he’ll have to discuss it with Kiyoko. He’s not out of the woods yet, but for the moment, he allows himself the relief. ‘ _just don’t let him eat or drink anything. he’s fine. he’s not completely a ghost anymore remember?_ ’ he texts back, and hardly hits the send button before his phone lights up with an incoming call. Tooru’s number. Suga really wants to ignore it and go home and curl up, because it’s getting late and _he’s_ not feeling too great, either, and the nightgaunt has been following him for a couple blocks now. He picks up against his better judgment. “Hello?”

“Sugawara, I need your help.”

That is not Tooru’s voice. “Who is—Iwaizumi? What are you doing with Oikawa’s phone?!” He stops in his shock, gripping his phone tight, and prays he imagined the tension in his voice. The nightgaunt stalks closer, but Suga shoos it away.

“Look, I need you to come over right now. I have a situation and I can’t really handle it on my own. I don’t know the etiquette for hiring people and I don’t have the time to care. I’ll pay you whatever Oikawa pays you.”

He really should have phrased that differently, because Suga’s last paycheck had been _obscene_. “What is going on? What happened to him?” He flaps his hand at the nightgaunt, which is inching toward him again. Since he has a physical form right now, it’s nothing more than a very creepy nuisance, something he’s used to ignoring every year.

The nightgaunt shuffles closer, faceless head drawing up to peer blindly up at him. Suga wrinkles his nose and tries to circle around it to keep walking again, but it blocks his path with a bony wing. “ _Ya ah grah’n_.”

Suga gapes at it, because in three years, the nightgaunt has never spoken before. He’s never known it  _could_ speak. It doesn't even have a mouth.

He’s dimly aware of Iwaizumi talking in his ear. The black figure in front of him speaks again in its same halting, rasping tone. “ _Ya ah shuggoth_.”

“I’m gonna… have to call you back,” Suga murmurs, eyes on the nightgaunt.

“He’s gotten himself possessed, didn’t you hear me?!” Iwaizumi barks.

“He _what_?! What happened?!”

 

\--

 

Here is what happened: Iwaizumi happened.

In his defense, it was all an accident. He was entirely unaware that the human realm had a night when borders were thinner. He wasn’t exactly _ignoring_ his master, not quite, but he certainly wasn’t going out of his way to contact it again. He wasn’t sure what he’d do, actually, since Oikawa had delivered on his end of the deal. Iwaizumi now has a dragon pelt to work with. So he has to give back the egg. He’s leaning toward the owls, because Oikawa is nothing if not persuasive, and he’s sure he can steal another one from another clan given enough time. Which means he’s out an egg for his actual assignment.

So he may have been a little flakey.

He had not expected a _visit_.

And, what do you know, while talking to an unexpected Great Old One, who should walk by but an infected psychic.

So now Oikawa’s possessed by Ptar-Axtlan, he doesn’t know how to break a possession, least of all a powerful one, and Iwaizumi is certain he’s moments from being fired _and_ killed. By both employers. Oikawa’s body is bound, gagged, and locked in the bathroom. Iwaizumi can’t stand to look at his black eyes. He sits against the door, scaly pelt draped across the hallway floor, and puts his head in his hands. A new skin hadn’t been worth this. He’s made sure Oikawa can’t hurt himself, at least not physically, but all Ptar-Axtlan would have to do is overload his brain on its way out.

Sugawara bursts into the house out of breath and looking pale. He marches three steps in and promptly freezes at the dark teal skin across the carpet. He recognizes it.

“You’re a skinwalker,” he says evenly. More calmly than Iwaizumi would be in his situation, he’s sure.

“Yes,” he replies.

“That’s what Oikawa promised you?” Sugawara asks, nodding down to the pelt.

“Yes. And he kept the seal skin as insurance.”

“That sounds like him. What did he get out of this? Besides possession?” He crosses his arms, looking for all the world like a disappointed parent. Iwaizumi’s not in the mood to deal with more bullshit tonight.

“A bodyguard. Entertainment. Information. Hell if I know what goes through his mind.”

“You better start sharing that with me if you want me to fix whatever you did.” Whatever _you_ did. Iwaizumi sneers at the wording, teeth bared, but Sugawara doesn’t back down. “First, how the actual hell are you a skinwalker? They’re all dead.”

He doesn’t bother asking how _he_ knew what he was. Now’s not the time. “I’m not from around here. Can we discuss this after fixing the dumbass in the tub?”

“What or _who_ is possessing him?”

“You’re not gonna like this.”

Suga sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then before you tell me, at least tell me you have that pelt up to par. Or whatever you were planning on doing with it.”

“It’s almost useable. I got understandably distracted.” There’s another heavy sigh, so Iwaizumi figures it’s a go-ahead. “Oikawa _might_ be possessed by my, uh, boss. The thing he infected himself with. You, too, right?”

“The leopard thing? _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_.” He groans and Iwaizumi nods, tiredly. He’s used to the feeling. Its title is a memetic infection itself, but its actual name is far worse to say aloud, so he’s not about to correct him.

“Yeah, that. So it’s a minor deity, and it jumped between realms tonight, and it caught us unawares. I don’t know how to break a possession without killing the host. I’d rather not kill my new employer _and_ my old one in the same night.”

“Why did it possess Oikawa? And what kind of possession is it?”

“There are kinds?” Iwaizumi asks cluelessly.

“…Right. I guess we’ll just go through everything.”

Sugawara opens the bathroom door, armed with a broom, and it’s almost comically reminiscent of their first meeting. Oikawa is still bound in the bathtub, sock stuffed into his mouth, and it looks like his nose has stopped bleeding. His eyes are still pitch black. They exchange a nod, and Sugawara carefully holds Oikawa’s head back while Iwaizumi removes the gag. Before he can speak, Sugawara empties a small vial of holy water into his mouth. He coughs and splutters, but his voice is still not his own when he growls, “ _Are you trying to exorcise me? I am older than your religion, shuggoth_.”

Iwaizumi clamps his hand over his nearer ear and Sugawara flinches badly at his voice. “O-Oh, so you can talk,” he exclaims and releases his head. “Good. That makes this easier. If you try to harm Oikawa in anyway way, I’d like you to know that I’d rather kill him than loose you on the city tonight.”

Ptar-Axtlan laughs. It sounds bone dry and inappropriately echoey. “ _You are not good at persuasion, are you? All I want to do is talk, since yhri was late. All I want is that egg_.”

“Why do you want a tengu egg?”

“A tengu First egg,” Iwaizumi quietly corrects. Sugawara gives him a _look_ out of the corner of his eye. He’ll be lucky to get out of this alive himself, even if his master doesn’t kill him. “Get out of his body. Or we’re going to make you.”

“ _Give me the egg, or I burn your skin tonight_.”

“If we give you the egg, will you leave?” Sugawara asks cautiously, and Iwaizumi doesn’t let his surprise show on his face. He’d pegged him as a stubborn goody-goody. He’s not sure if he’s trying to appease it or bluff a deity.

“ _I am surprised at how you roll over and show your belly so quickly to protect this one, yhri_.” Its voice is dipping lower still, into registers more like tremors than words, and Sugawara can’t help but to cover his ears that time. Oikawa’s head tips back and the laugh is more of a screech. “ _Shuggoth is a psychic, yes? What a pleasant mind to reside within_.”

Suga throws a handful of purifying salt on Oikawa. It, unsurprisingly, does nothing.

“ _What amusements this realm offers. It has been so long_.”

“You’ve already made it here, so why bother possessing him?” Iwaizumi asks, to keep its attention focused on him, although it doesn’t seem to care that the would-be exorcist is digging around in his bag. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It’s just for tonight,” Suga answers for him, and Oikawa nods jerkily before his head lolls back against the edge of the tub. Sugawara ends up dumping most of his bag out onto the tile, and Iwaizumi’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the amount of shit he managed to keep in there. Granted, he only spots two weapons, but he’s seen some absolute fuckery go down with the right mixture of ingredients. Hopefully something in there can salvage this situation.

“ _Thank you for giving shuggoth my name_ ,” Ptar-Axtlan drawls, almost sounding like Oikawa for a moment, if not for being several octaves lower. “ _Both of them_.”

Sugawara pauses, brow furrowed, in mixing together what looks like salt and ash. “I wish I had sagebrush to shove down your throat. I hadn’t thought you could be _more_ annoying about stuff, Tooru.”

“ _Mean, Koushi!_ ”

Both Suga and Iwaizumi snap up to gape at Oikawa, who lets out another hollow laugh. A fresh drop of blood rolls out of his nose and down his lip. He licks it off with a satisfied smack. _It’s going to burn through him_ , Iwaizumi realizes, suddenly afraid for him. He doesn’t even think it’s doing it on purpose. Ptar-Axtlan hasn’t been in the human realm for eons, and it’s entirely possible it’s unaware how fragile humans are. _We need to speed this up_.

He turns and leaves the bathroom as Sugawara begins painting a circle around the bathtub with his dark red mixture. Iwaizumi hopes he has a hell of a plan, because his is very, very stupid.

He grabs the dragon pelt and bundles it up in his arms. Magic thrums within it, loose and unfocused, but there’s no time to work anymore on it. It’ll have to do. “Please, work with me,” he murmurs against its scales. He pricks his fingers on its claws and draws runes in the free spaces on his arms, burning the marks into his skin, hands shakier than he’d otherwise like for this.

He has dragon runes on both biceps soon enough, and that’s good enough. Iwaizumi throws his pelt on over his back, and predictably, it fights him, fights against his form and his presence like it’s still living. He doesn’t bother trying to fully transform. When he reenters the bathroom, he knows he’s a monstrous mixture of features, but the important thing is that he has dragon scales from claw to shoulder.

Suga starts at the sight of him. “What are you doing?”

“ _Is that what shuggoth promised you? How hungry you are. Do you want new instead of old?_ ”

“Dragon scales nullify most types of magic in this realm,” Iwaizumi answers, and brings his arm up over Oikawa’s body. He’ll probably survive this. It’s better than the alternative.

“Wait!” Sugawara yelps and Oikawa’s black eyes go wide with _fear_. That’s what he focuses on, because it’s a good sign, but Sugawara drags him back with arms around his middle. “Holy shit, you’re plan B. Give me one more minute.”

“Then hurry it up!”

“Maybe if a half-draconic skinwalker didn’t march into my workspace—!” Iwaizumi shoves Suga back down to the circle he’s writing. He only recognizes a few of the runes.

“ _Why kill this body, yhri? Why betray me now?_ ”

“I’ll give you your damned egg, but I’ll leave you there if you hurt him further, no matter what you do to me.”

“ _A new skin can not replace lost ones_ ,” the demigod warns, voice now more a feeling than anything truly audible. Iwaizumi presses at his ear and his claws come away with blood. “ _Why have you gone from me, yhri?_ ”

“ _Ya naflah hri!_ ” Iwaizumi snarls and Oikawa recoils from him.

“You are literally making my ears bleed, and if I drip any more blood onto this circle it’s going to go terribly,” Sugawara complains and leans away from the completed circle. “Step back.”

“ _What are you_ —” Ptar-Axtlan is cut off by its own shrill scream as Sugawara activates the magic. Iwaizumi steps back, claws covering his nose and the smell of burnt blood, and Oikawa thrashes in the bathtub, fighting against his bonds. The screaming climbs higher and higher through the octaves and the other two clamp their hands over their ears with their own shouts of pain.

With a flash of light, the sound stops, or at least drops down enough that the ringing in his ears drowns it out. Iwaizumi cracks open an eye to find a great, cat-shaped hole in space before them. It’s not black, not any color, but just _nothing_ save for distant motes of light twinkling within its fur. Ptar-Axtlan turns empty _nothing_ eyes on Iwaizumi.

“ _Lloignyth. Naehye. Hai, ftaghu fm’latgh_ ,” it tells him, and he nods, accepting that. He knows it was coming. _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_ blinks out of their realm.

Oikawa coughs in the tub, wet and rough sounding, and Sugawara wastes no time in marking him with more of his mixture. “Oikawa Tooru, we are going to have the world’s longest goddamned talk about learning to trust strangers.”

“I feel like I’ve, urgh, been gargling glass,” he rasps, and wriggles in his bonds. Sugawara leans down to begin untying him.

“You were almost gargling dragon scales. Tell your bodyguard not to kill you and not to get you possessed.”

“Iwa-chan…? No, he didn’t.”

“Hate to break this up,” Iwaizumi gruffly interrupts and draws the pelt’s head back off of his own like a hood. He flexes his arm, testing the wear of it, then shrugs the rest of it off. “We don’t have much time. The egg is safe, in a glass at the bottom of White Lake—”

“Why don’t we have more time? Is there _more_ bad news?” Sugawara demands, and puts his arms around Oikawa’s shoulders protectively. (Oikawa responds by coughing wetly into his shoulder. And then wipes his again-bloody nose on his shirt.)

“People are trying to summon Great Old Ones into this realm. Terrible rogue demigods and actual gods. There’s one I know of for sure, and I’ve seen traces of preparation for a second, and then there’s me. Don’t say any of their names aloud, but Oikawa knows which they are. Try to slip under the radar as much as you can—”

“What’re you talking about?” Oikawa asks. He pushes away from Sugawara, evidently done using him as a tissue, and gets shakily to his feet. “You were so secretive about this before, why drag him in now?”

“You’ll need help, dumbass! Find out who’s stealing the tengu First eggs. Oikawa has the list of shit I was ordered to get, try to—”

“Why are you talking like _you_ won’t be here to help me?! I hired you, I got you the damned dragonskin!”

Even several dimensions apart, Iwaizumi feels the exact instant his other skin begins to burn.

 

\--

 

“I am _not_ going to heal your horn!” Misaki Hana is having one hell of a night. Halloween is always an especially busy time, and really, she _should_ just close up shop and take the night off like everyone else in the human realm. It’s not even moonrise yet, so the _Danse_ hasn’t started, but that just means most spirits are out causing trouble.

Or fauns.

Like the one sitting in her shop, glamor off and pretending to weep over his broken horn. “I’ve been working on growing these out for _years_!”

“I really don’t have any sympathy for you, Terushima,” Hana tells him. First it was the kids needing a glamor for a tengu, then it was the werewolf bite, then it was three consecutive cases of possession by frisky human spirits, and she does _not_ want to deal with Terushima’s drama tonight on top of everything else. “It’ll grow back. I can loan you a saw if you’d like to cut the other one to match.”

She’s not even sure why (or when) humans started thinking she’s some sort of healer. She certainly didn’t ask for it, even if they’re sort of cute when they shyly ask her for a rejuvenation potion or advice on how to care for their pet plants. Hana is doubly confounded when spirits and magical beings began thinking she’s a healer, too, but it’s most of her business now. And gratitude _does_ go a long way with certain species…

Fauns are not one of those species. “You’re such a cruel nymph!”

“It’s human tripe that we’re supposed to be kind,” she sniffs and tosses her hair for good measure.

Terushima lays pathetically over her table, disrupting her writing, and sticks his bottom lip out. “I’ll bring you some _raskovnik_ ,” he offers. At least he has the good sense to switch tactics away from trying to appeal to her better nature.

And that is tempting.

Before she can answer him, he sits up again, ears pricked. Hana looks up in time for her door to be kicked (rather rudely) in, and her night does not get better when a blood-soaked Oikawa Tooru stumbles into her shop, helping to support someone with another man. She _really_ should have closed. “You and your skinny psychic ass can turn right back around, Oikawa—”

Terushima slides off of her table to help them lay out the man they’d been practically dragging, and with all three of them now in her shop, the smell catches up with her. She gags and grows a large leaf to clamp over her nose before she can even _look_ at them.

“Shit, what happened to him?” Terushima asks curiously, crouched over what appears to be a burn victim.

“And who reeks of necromancy?” Hana adds.

The pale-haired man accompanying Tooru looks like the guilty party, judging from the frown he tries to hide.

“Misaki, please—” Tooru begins, and wow, he sounds _terrible_.

“I don’t treat psychics,” she tells him, like she always does.

“It’s not me! I’m fine now!”

The ‘now’ part of that concerns her. Why does Halloween always have to be such a mess? Terushima prods at the unconscious man and she smacks him with an ivy vine. “Please,” the foul-smelling one says in a surprisingly soft voice. Hana regards him over her fan-leaf. “He needs help, badly.”

“What is he?” Terushima asks.

Tooru and his friend exchange a _very_ unsubtle look. “A selkie,” they chorus.

“I’ve never seen a selkie this big. Did you two scorch his pelt or what?”

“Terushima, _stop it_.” With a sigh, Hana kneels beside them, trying to ignore the reek of rotten magic. It’s very hard, however, and she nearly faints at her proximity to them. This close, though, she can tell that the selkie(?) doesn’t smell too great himself, and it’s not the charred smell. “I’ll do what I can, but most, um, selkies die when their pelts burn.”

“He’ll live,” Tooru says firmly, as if that decides it. Hana casts a skeptical eye over the man on her floor; from what she can see, it almost looks like he’d been in his skin when it burned. “I'm not done with him yet. He _will_ live,” Tooru repeats, quiet and desperate, and she resigns herself to doing her best to save this man. She needs to work on her ability to say no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( c'ee nog ep, ya thanarak gof'nn 
> 
> ([tumblr](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/)) ))


	9. Yaku Morisuke Is A Worrier For All The Right Reasons

_Oh my god, there are two of them_ , Daichi thinks when he’s introduced to Yamamoto, host of the party and Ryuu’s friend.

“Fuck, dude, _nice_ costume!” Yamamoto says and nearly spills his drink in his laughter. “Have you _ever_ busted a ghost in your life?!”

Ryuu seizes him by the front of his shirt and demands, “You wanna go?! Your ass is a tangible enough target for me!”

Somehow, this devolves into a drinking competition. Daichi and Chikara shake their heads when invited to join, and they’re left in a comparatively quiet corner of the house. “Would you ever want to fight ghosts?” Chikara asks conversationally.

“I can barely fight the spider in my shower. Why would I want to deal with spooky shit?”

“Most ghosts are actually very pleasant.”

“You’re so weird,” Daichi tells him, but he’s smiling. He shrugs his proton pack off and sets it beneath the nearest table before rolling his shoulders. “Pity Nishinoya couldn’t make it, but now, I’m sort of glad. I’m not sure I could handle that much energy in one space.”

“He’s probably busy with Asahi. His ghost friend.”

“Right,” he says. He’s used to Chikara’s weirdness. It’s a little weird to see childhood friend mixing with service friend, however, especially when he’s still mostly sober.

There’s a crash in the next room and they both wince. “I think they found the _Guitar Hero_.”

“I’m headed upstairs then. I may have to be social, but I’m not going to subject myself to that kind of torture,” Daichi announces and grabs his stuff and another drink. He doesn’t feel like going to the kitchen and getting something good, so he ends up with some sort of koolaid mixed with probably the cheapest alcohol in the world. Chikara follows him upstairs, and they get themselves inserted into a game of rummy with a couple other mostly-sober people.

Chikara makes a face after trying his drink. Daichi bravely tries his; it’s sugary and only slightly fruity. He can’t even taste what else is supposed to be in it. “Sugawara would like this,” Chikara mumbles, like he’s trying to let the drink down easy, and he sets the plastic cup on the bookcase behind him.

Downstairs, the music they’re _supposed_ to be listening to competes valiantly with the music Ryuunosuke and Yamamoto are _supposed_ to be making. One of the other players in their card game, a man with light brown hair and an increasingly annoyed expression, flicks his wrist at the open door and it slams shut. He gestures, drawing something squiggly in the air, and the outside noise dies down.

“Aren’t you supposed to do magic tricks with a wand?” Daichi asks, though he admits it had been cool. Although the guy’s costume seems to be something pulled from his closet rather than, you know, an actual _costume_.

“Yeah, funny, man. Wave _your_ wand next time you want to save yourself a headache. Cute couples costume, though.”

“I’m sorry Ryuunosuke has come between us,” Chikara says seriously, placing his hand on Daichi’s shoulder.

Daichi snorts and shrugs him off. “Pretty sure these aren’t magic wands. And we’re short a team member, anyway.” He can’t help but wonder if Suga would have volunteered (if he hadn’t been so adamant about avoiding the party).

“You guys are friends with Tanaka?” one of the other players, a young woman with an _actual_ costume (a pink ranger), asks them.

“We’re just here to keep him from drinking when he hits the Portuguese level.”

“I’m not unmuting the room,” the first guy mutters. The game’s other player, a freckled guy in a cowboy hat, nods without taking his eyes off of his cards.

“Fine with me,” Daichi agrees. He goes out first and Chikara groans, unable to lay down. “We’re playing for cash prizes, right?”

“Yeah, if you want. I was just betting a protective amulet.” The magician holds up a rather ugly crystal necklace. Daichi doesn’t want to particularly win it, but the woman points to her contribution, a bottle of (actually decent) beer, and _that_ he wants.

Chikara ends up winning the first round and Daichi glares at him when he opens and drinks it right in front of him. The pink ranger sighs and goes to retrieve another drink from her apparent stash, and when she opens the door, loud Portuguese floats up to them.

“I won’t judge you,” she says when neither Daichi nor Chikara move.

“Mai, see if you can’t steal a bottle of something else to drink on your way back up! I heard someone brought some Ægir ale.”

“Can I bet a jackalope?” the freckled guy asks in despair after patting down his pockets. “They make great pets, I swear. Decent stew, too.”

“The hell’s a jackalope?” Daichi mutters. Chikara smirks against his beer.

“They’re like rabbits, ‘cept with antlers and a mean streak,” the magician answers as he shuffles the deck.

Daichi wonders if this game isn’t as sober as he’d initially thought. The necklace had been one thing, but who the fuck bets a rabbit?  _Why do I attract weirdos?_

 

\--

 

Good news: Iwaizumi is not dead. Bad news: Iwaizumi is not waking up. The flower nymph Tooru brought them to has done good, fast work, but Suga was already resigning himself to an unhappy ending when the skinwalker had first collapsed. Yet he’s alive (although he shouldn’t be, because skinwalkers have been extinct for millennia), and Hana has rubbed healing salve over most of his body, so at least the burns themselves are probably going to heal.

Although large patches of his arms are already scarring, angry red marks replacing specific segments of his tattoos.

Tooru hasn’t spoken much, and Suga’s worried. But he’s not sure what to say to him. Everything he _wants_ to say comes out as accusations— _did you know what he was, did you know what he was sent here to do_ , and _how much do you actually know and why won’t you tell me Tooru_. Oh, and his personal favorite, _why the fuck did you blackmail-slash-hire him in the first place_.

“Are you alright?” he asks, instead of all of those other things. Because he tries to be a good person, even in the face of demigods and potentially being lied to.

“I have a migraine. Only half of it was from—it. You’re mentally screaming at me, Koushi,” Tooru replies.

“Don’t blame me for that.”

“Everything’s just a little harder to focus right now. Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

Suga doesn’t know precisely how much Tooru knows at any given point, which is concerning on a good day, but on Halloween, it’s a nightmare. “How much longer until moonrise?” he asks, and Tooru drops his gaze back to the comatose Iwaizumi. Bingo. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a talk. You should get some sleep, too. Possession isn’t anything to sneeze at.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. I think I lost most of my childhood memories and higher mathematics. …Among other things. Do you happen to remember what my favorite food is?”

“Salted mackerel.”

“Liar,” Tooru retorts and at least he smiles a little.

Suga doesn’t want to leave him alone, not after those revelations in addition to the possession issue, but he really has to get home before moonrise. “Do you want me to call someone?”

“I know Misaki, she won’t let me keel over here. I’ll probably sleep soon, anyway. You can get going.”

He regretfully leaves him there. He takes the long way home, careful not to get too close to the spiritual center of the city, and frowns at all of the ghosts prancing around town. Most of them seem harmless, and if it were any other night, he’d chase a few of the worse ones away. On his second train, however, as it’s leaving one of its stops, he catches a glimpse of something decidedly _not_ a ghost.

Suga hops off at the next stop, rides the other train back, and, after jogging up and down several blocks, finds Kenma and Kuroo, bundled up against the cold night. The witch sighs when he jogs up to them, but he and Kuroo both jump when they smell him. “Woah, _someone_ smells like black magic,” Kuroo cheerfully remarks, and leans forward to sniff at Suga’s hair. “How nostalgic,” he says and Suga bats him away.

“What have you been doing?” Kenma asks. He has his jacket pressed over his nose, and Suga rolls his eyes. It’s _not_ that bad.

“What are you two out here for? And you’re not wearing the concealment amulet Kiyoko gave you,” Suga says with a pointed look at the demon.

“I’m hungry,” Kuroo replies, shrugging. Kenma shoots him a glare. “Whoops. Just so you know, we’re only targeting spirits who’re already rotten or otherwise doing bad shit. Do you know how many possessions we’ve broken up already tonight?”

“How many have you already eaten?” Suga demands. He’d thought Kenma would know better, even if they’re trying to put a vigilante spin on it.

Kuroo whistles innocently. “He needs to eat, and he’s not healing from the injuries he received while trying to save _you_ ,” Kenma interrupts, stepping between them. “Unless you have another way to fix the demon _you_ helped pact me to—”

“Your blood,” Suga tells him. Had he honestly not known about that? “Contracted demons can be healed of minor wounds with the blood of who they’re connected to, and it can jumpstart their own healing processes otherwise.”

“You’re helpfully knowledgeable,” Kuroo says mildly. “And how do you know all this?”

“I’ve been around the block.”

“The block contains necromancy? C’mon, other father, I’m _very_ curious,” Kuroo says, slinging an arm around him, and Suga tries to shrug him off. He checks his phone’s clock again. He really needs to be getting home.

“Don’t call me that, and I had to banish a nasty possession in a friend. You two,” he says, pointing to each of them in turn, “don’t stay out late. Kuroo, don’t you _dare_ overeat, and only target _very bad_ spirits. Old ones, nothing fresh and stupid. And don’t go near the _Danse_ tonight.”

“You think I’d bring Kenma to something like that? I’m shocked and appalled.”

“You’ve been begging all night to go,” Kenma deadpans.

“You’re very rude at times,” Kuroo tells him. He releases Suga, laces his fingers at the back of his neck, and gives him something that is likely supposed to be an innocent smile. “But we’ll behave, I’m not that bad of a demon, am I?”

Kiyoko trusts them, and it’s not as if either of them have done anything particularly _bad_ , Kenma’s secretive nature aside. But then again, Suga should not be someone to judge someone else on their use of magic, all things considered. “Just don’t go overboard. And don’t get into trouble.”

“In a hurry home?” Kuroo asks, smile gone, transformed into a leer. “You don’t want to come to the _Danse_ with us?”

“We’re not going to it,” Kenma reminds him. Kuroo looms over Suga, ignoring his words.

“The _Danse Macabre_ is not for living souls,” Suga irritably tells him, and he hopes this is not the first time he’s heard that; he really doesn’t want a witch there. It’d be like tossing a steak to a pack of starving wolves.

Kuroo towers over him, uncomfortably close, eyes glittering gold even in the dark night. “But you’re not a living soul, are you?”

Suga freezes.

 _No_. No fucking way.

“ _Kuro_!” Kenma barks, and the demon reels back, eyes wide in surprise at himself. Suga hadn’t realized he’d gotten so _tall_ as he’d advanced on him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” Kuroo whines like a kicked dog. Kenma’s glare on him is positively venomous. “Touchy subject, I get it.”

“I’m, uh, sorry for his behavior. He probably is just hungry—”

“It’s the necromancy in the air,” he sullenly corrects.

“—and he’s, um. Never really been fed,” Kenma finishes with a pained expression. “We just wanted to come out tonight to see if he could eat to heal himself.”

With tremendous effort, Suga sucks in a breath and calms his racing heart. “Th-That’s okay. Well, no, it’s not, but it’s understandable—don’t go overboard tonight. I’ll, uh, talk to Kiyoko about seeing if we can start capturing spirits instead of banishing them.”

“That’s very charitable of you,” Kuroo mumbles. “I didn’t mean it how it came out. And for the record, it’s not like I can judge you or anything. Demon and all that.”

“Right. Uh, thanks? I should. Get, um, going.” Suga backs away from them. He can’t help but retreat after that, but really, he needs to get home before moonrise. Kenma offers a little wave and Kuroo slinks behind him still looking guilty as hell. Suga distantly hopes they don’t get in trouble tonight.

But the demon’s words echo in his mind. He’s wrong, he tells himself. He’s… technically wrong. But he’s never been outed before like that, he’s always been careful and cautious and _how did he know_? Sunshine welcomes him home with loud, insistent meowing, and he robotically feeds the needy cat. Yui’s needy cat. He sits down on the kitchen floor next to the food bowl.

No Yui here now, just her old familiar. She’d know how to break demigod possession without resorting to necromancy. …Okay, no, she would have been first in line to banish it like that. Suga almost envies Yuu and Asahi (not something he indulges in often). No, he shouldn’t at _all_ , because that’s cruel. To himself and to them.

“Sunshine, what is papa going to do?” He can’t write a new contract spell for them on his own, or even repeat their current one. And, oh yeah, gods trying to break into their dimension. That sounds apocalyptic. He sincerely hopes the sky-ripping claws are a coincidence, but he hasn’t been very lucky lately.

He checks his phone. Moonrise in twenty minutes. It’s already been a hell of a night.

As he’s looking at the screen, a text pops up, from Daichi. ‘ _I actuly. managd to win a game of cardss. this guy managed to gett a littl antler hat on it tho.. Cute!_ ’ His spelling is atrocious and Suga smiles despite the situation. The party must be going well. A picture comes after a few moments, blurry and dim, and Suga is quite certain that that isn’t a rabbit.

‘ _go get daichi and take the jackalope away from him NOW!_ ’ he texts Ryuu.

Right, angry deities, _Danse Macabre_ , too-clever demons. Those are still issues. But it’s easier to focus on the little things.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima _growls_ every time Tadashi tries to move. Don’t get him wrong, he’s greatly enjoying laying together in a heap on the couch, watching horror movies and shouting together and throwing popcorn at the fake blood, but Tsukishima being clingy comes way out of left field and he _really_ needs to pee. It takes a solid ten minutes to detach himself, and he only succeeds because he tickles him. Who knew ghosts could be ticklish. Truly a night of miracles.

When he returns from the bathroom, Tsukishima’s face is buried in one of the blankets (the fleece one). Tadashi sits on his legs. “Do you wanna go to that dance thing?” he asks as the credits roll. “Or I think I have _Hocus Pocus_ bookmarked somewhere.”

The spirit squints at him over the edge of the blanket. Since he’s normally so tall and glare-y, it’s not often that he looks so childish, and Tadashi’s not sure it’s supposed to be that endearing. It’s actually sort of bratty. (And it’s still endearing.) “Why would I want to?” Tsukishima demands.

“You’ve been really restless and twitchy tonight. Didn’t Sugawara say it’s a compulsion?”

“For _ghosts_. He also said I’m not a ghost anymore.”

“Not completely,” Tadashi allows. He wedges himself in between Tsukishima’s legs and the couch, his knees up around his shoulders, feet dangling over the edge. “You’re not curious? I mean, ghost party, Tsukki. That sounds a _little_ cool.”

“Can you even dance?” he asks archly.

Not really, but Tadashi is (privately) quite sure that Tsukishima can’t, either. He’s not mean enough to point that out, however. “I can’t believe you’re not a little curious about it. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“It died.”

Tadashi smacks his leg, because bringing up death is unfair. He still can’t navigate that minefield by himself, even if Tsukishima is getting more comfortable mentioning it. “Well _I’ll_ go check it out, then. You can stay here and bum around online or whatever.”

“Sugawara said we’d be locked in to going—”

“No, he said _you_ would be. I’ll probably just be caught and kicked out.”

“You don’t think going to a large gathering of spirits who can suddenly touch you is a bit of a bad idea?”

Tadashi pauses in pulling his hoodie back over his head. “Okay, but that’s why you should come.”

They end up going together. The night has gotten colder, and Tadashi can see his breath with every exhale. He wishes he would’ve grabbed gloves, but his pockets work just as well. (He also wishes Tsukishima gave off body heat; it had been very strange to feel human skin that was hardly warmer than room temperature.) Just a few blocks from home, Tadashi realizes he has _no idea_ where they’re going, but Tsukishima takes over as navigator with a tug on his sleeve.

Right, it was a kind of drive. Tadashi wonders how long the blond had been fighting following it. There are a few other people that he thinks _might_ be spirits once they start heading uptown, and he’s starting to wish they had taken the train or bus or something. His feet are starting to hurt—he did come off of a work shift all on his feet, thank you—and his nose is already numb.

They’re almost there when the sky brightens, illuminated by a shaft of light touching down between buildings somewhere east of them. The clouds reflect it like a dark ceiling, casting the entire city in a soft glow, and Tadashi is pretty sure that’s where they’re headed. He turns to find Tsukishima glassy-eyed and stock still, however. “Tsukki?”

It takes some prodding before he reacts, blinking back to attention. He hurriedly takes off his glasses and scrubs at his eyes. “I-I don’t think we should go near that, Yamaguchi,” he mumbles, but he’s already walking again. “I really… don’t think we should…”

Tadashi is torn between curiosity and worry, but only briefly, because he is nothing if not a worrywart. “Okay, Tsukki, let’s go back. It’s cold out here and my feet hurt.”

Tsukishima doesn’t reply, just keeps walking, and Tadashi has little choice but to throw his weight against him to try to drag him backward. It slows him, just for a moment, but then _he_ ends up the one being dragged. Around them, others begin walking in the same shambling manner, gazes fixated on the light, standing out in stark contrast to the few late teens in costume or drunk adults stumbling home.

Tadashi has seen enough zombie movies to be concerned about _all of this_. “Tsukki! Let’s _go_!” He digs his heels in, once again succeeding in making Tsukishima’s steps falter. The ghost is taller than him, but not by a _huge_ amount, and he’s skinny. Tadashi is pretty sure he can win this fight if need be. He swings around to stand between Tsukishima and the light—which looks to be only a block or two away—and holds his arms out.

Tsukishima blinks down at him, and his eyes regain a bit of their usual yellow glow. He’s leaning forward, dangerously, and Tadashi is quick to prop him up so he doesn’t fall on top of him. “We should…” He pauses, mouth working like he’s forgotten how to speak.

“We should get home again,” Tadashi says firmly.

“We should go to the _Dance Macabre_ ,” Tsukishima hisses against his ear and Tadashi jumps, startled by the pitch of his voice. His eyes are flat again, dark, _dark_ brown, nearly black, and even his hair looks a little darker than usual. He pushes Tadashi away and starts walking with purpose toward the light. Others on the street are breaking into jogs, some of them letting out whoops and shouts of joy, and Tadashi has little choice but to follow him.

He pulls out his phone and taps out a text, because boy, did he fuck up. Okay, maybe Tsukishima would have been compelled to go, anyway, but Tadashi wouldn’t have to see the beginnings of a zombie apocalypse, and he’s _worried_ , deeply worried about Tsukishima himself. ‘ _are you SURE the dance thing is okay???_ ’ he messages Sugawara.

When they turn down a street, Tadashi realizes he _recognizes_ the cemetery. His mother’s grave is here. He hasn’t been back to visit since the funeral, and his legs lock up, refusing to budge another inch. Tsukishima is leaving him, disappearing into the cemetery—which is _packed_ with happy spirits, and what the fuck, there is _actually_ something like music, and definitely a ton of singing—and Tadashi can’t follow him.

He looks down at his phone. Suga hasn’t responded. He starts typing another message, but hands clamp down on his shoulders and he yelps, dropping his phone. Tadashi leaps away from the person and finds a puzzled older woman. “You’re not dead,” she tells him, gaze unfocused, but sounding fairly lucid.

“Um, no,” he replies, backing away from her, but he ends up running into another ghost. The old man scowls at him and hits him with his cane. Tadashi has to retreat, especially because being so close to the beam of light is making his chest hurt, but he feels bad dragging Tsukishima out just to leave him here. This close, he hears that it’s not all singing and music; others are shouting, too, calling names. Calling for others. It’s a reunion party.

“You’re still alive?!” another ghost asks, shocked, coming over to investigate. Her call brings a few other glassy-eyed onlookers and Tadashi is beginning to sweat despite the chill of the air. She reaches out to him, and her hand goes _into_ him. It feels like an electric shock and he scrambles into a sprint.

“ _Tsukki_!” Okay, running screaming through the night in a cemetery full of clingy dead people is not the smartest decision of the night, but it’s not the dumbest, either. (That would be dragging Tsukishima out in the first place. God, they should have stayed on the fucking couch all night.) “Tsukki I’m sorry, let’s go _home_!” he shouts as he runs, trying to stay on the path, but the crowds are getting so thick that he has to branch off several times. More and more spirits are grabbing at him, touching him, going _through_ him, and he’s worried he’s going to end up having a heart attack one of these times. He’s never felt it before when he and Tsukishima interacted, but he has to say, he’s not a huge fan.

Someone snags his hood and it effectively clotheslines him; he goes down with a strangled wheeze. “Why are _you_ still alive?” his assailant, a man in a rumpled suit, asks and leans down into his personal space. His breath smells like sour milk and Tadashi rolls out from under him, tripping over himself to get moving again.

Most of the spirits around him are dressed normally, but there are a few in white robes, some of them splattered with red in various places. The noise of the _Danse_ is growing louder as well. Tadashi can pick out specific names from others, and more than a few childlike cries of _Mama_ or _Daddy_. He’s getting weirdly good at dodging the ghosts, since most of them are still pretty slow, but the cold night air is beginning to hurt his dry throat. He spots the nearest tree and with a running start, hauls himself up onto one of its lower branches to catch his breath.

So now he’s stuck up a tree. Curious and suspicious spirits circle around the trunk, most of them reaching for him, a couple even jumping. Tadashi coughs as he tries to get his breathing back to normal. He scans the crowd and really wishes Tsukishima was still glowing his usual gold.

Instead, he finds his mother staring up at him near the edge of the crowd.

Her hair is up in its usual loose bun, and she’s wearing her favorite sweater, and even with her somewhat vacant expression, it’s clear she recognizes him. “ _Tadashi_?” he sees her mouth. His heart must stop, because even being introduced to the world of ghosts and magic, he had never expected to see her again.

“M-Mom!” He nearly falls out of the tree trying to move down the branch. _Oh my fucking god—she’s going to kill me for being so stupid tonight_. He looks forward to a dressing down.

She begins pushing through the crowd, voice rising until he can hear it over the other noise. “Tadashi! _Tadashi_! Move, move out of the way, that’s my _son_!”

He drops down from the branch, nearly landing on a wrinkly old man, and they fight through the crowd until they reach each other. Tadashi unabashedly bursts into tears as soon as her arms wrap around him. The moment is ruined almost immediately, though, but someone reaching their hand through his stomach. He jerks in her arms and she snarls wordlessly, tearing him away from the interloper.

“That is my _son_ you are trying to steal!”

He laughs through his tears at her anger, because she used her mom tone. Shit, he had _missed_ that, more than he’d even realized.

“He’s alive,” the other ghost replies and swipes for him again. Others echo the phrase in agreement and more hands are suddenly grasping at him, pulling at clothes and hair and trying to dig _inward_.

“You shouldn’t be here,” his mother whispers hurriedly, clutching at him tighter.

“But you—you’re here, how are you here? I thought you had—you weren’t haunting anywhere, I looked at the hospital and you never came _home_ ,” Tadashi says, and he doesn’t mean it as an accusation, he really doesn’t. But Tsukishima found him. Tsukishima haunted him. Tsukishima _stayed_.

“Tadashi, sweetie, I passed on,” she says, reaching up to smooth his bangs back, like she always did. “We’re not supposed to stay here once we die. We’re—let _go_ of him!” His mother wrenches him away as another arm goes through his chest. “Ghosts who stay aren’t happy ghosts, Tadashi. I love you so much, but I couldn’t do that to you. I saw your grandparents, and your cousin, and I only came back for the _Danse Macabre_. _You_ shouldn’t be here!”

She tugs him through the crowd, although it isn’t long before he’s outpaced her and he’s the one pulling her along. It’s nice to have some space to breathe again. “Mom, hauntings aren't so bad! I can—I’ve figured out how to see ghosts now, and I think I know a way to be able to touch them all the time!” Tadashi turns and takes her hand in both of his, then grins up at her.

“Tadashi, you can’t get something for nothing. What have you been getting into?” she asks reproachfully, using her angry mom tone again, and _god_ has he missed it.

“It’s nothing bad! There’s another ghost haunting me, he’s my friend! And—”

“You have someone _haunting_ you?” she gasps, then lowers her voice to whisper at him, “Tadashi, he’ll turn into a demon! You get rid of that thing _tonight_.”

“What? No, mom, he’s going to be a luck spirit—”

“Ghosts don’t change, Tadashi. If they change, they become demons.”

Now’s probably not the time to tell her that there’s a demon helping them. “Listen to me, mom, I have friends who are helping me with all of this magicky stuff. Really smart friends, and we’re going to figure out a spell so we can—”

A ghost reaches over his mother and thrusts his hand into Tadashi’s head. He must black out, because the next thing he knows, he’s sprawled on the ground with his mother screaming, his head hurts like fuck, and he tastes blood.

“—if you try to possess my son again I will drag you into hell myself!”

Tadashi sits up and wipes at his mouth. His nose is bleeding. Huh. His brain feels fuzzy, like it’s blanketed in layers of cotton and he can’t fight his way through them all. He turns to look at his mother—the movement makes him dizzy all over again—and everything snaps into sharp relief when he notices her hands are _claws_ , black and long and sharp.

“Mom—?!”

“What are _you_ doing here?!” Another voice breaks into the din and without further warning, Tadashi is scooped up and thrown over someone’s shoulder. He twists in their grasp and finds them tugging his mother along behind them. It’s a man, tall, but not Tsukishima.

 _Tsukki_. Holy shit, he’s forgotten about the reason _why_ he went screaming into a cemetery on Halloween. Tadashi is set down in front of another tree, and his savior ghost is hurrying him up to climb it again, then kneels to help his mother climb up behind him. “Um, Asahi, right?” Tadashi asks, and the ghost smiles up at him, though his expression is wobbly and his hands are trembling.

“Thank you,” his mother adds. She looks down at her claws with resignation.

Tadashi reaches down and helps Asahi climb up after them, and he doesn’t want to question ghost weight when a single branch is successfully holding all three of them up. “Once you pass on, you shouldn’t become a demon,” Asahi murmurs, taking his mother’s left hand in both of his, and gently strokes over the black skin. After a few passes, Tadashi can see her returning to normal. He heaves a sigh of relief. “You have more spiritual energy, so you’d probably turn into an archdemon.”

“Thank you,” she weakly repeats. Her normally dark, healthy complexion is pallid.

“D-Don’t thank me, I’m just as scared as you are,” Asahi says with a nervous chuckle.

“My mom wouldn’t turn into a demon,” Tadashi mutters defensively and he’s pretty sure she rolls her eyes at him.

“Um, okay,” Asahi allows, and when he switches hands to her other one, her skin has faded back to normal. “What are you doing here? Is Tsukishima here?”

“Yeah. I don’t know where he went—”

“I heard him shouting for someone by the shrine earlier. I hadn’t thought you’d be here as well, I mean, w-weren’t you almost possessed? I’m not sure anyone could save you if you were possessed in the heart of the _Danse_ , and especially this early in the night. They’d walk you into the Door and—and I don’t know what happens to living bodies who try to pass on, but it would probably be bad! I mean, you’d die. For sure. And b-being a ghost isn’t _so_ bad, but you’re still very young, and—”

“And what he’s saying is that you should leave,” his mother flatly finishes. Asahi nods gratefully. “And leave behind that ghost who’s haunting you.” She turns to Asahi and asks, “You know who it is? Show me him. We can make him pass on tonight.”

“Mom, _no_! He’s a luck spirit now!” Tadashi cries.

“Hauntings turn bad, and I’m _not_ letting my son be haunted.”

“Um, he isn’t quite a human ghost anymore, ma’am—”

She fixes him with a look and Asahi quails at once.

“Mom, I love you, but you’re wrong. Tsukki isn’t trying to possess me, and he’s being a really nice ghost so far. Well, okay, not _nice_ , but he’s a luck spirit! He’s made me super lucky since we met, and he’s pretty much just like a roommate right now.”

“Sweetie, ghosts _can’t_ change.”

“She’s right,” Asahi traitorously agrees. Tadashi glares at him and he shrinks back. “B-But, um, he has had help from a higher spirit, so he could—”

“My son is going to end up possessed or eaten by a demon!” his mother exclaims.

“I’ll just stay in the tree all night,” Tadashi argues and kicks his feet for good measure. A couple spirits beneath him jump for his shoes and miss. “I won’t get possessed or eaten.”

“Everyone gets more active as the night wears on,” Asahi warns and his mother nods. “No matter what, you really should leave here, Yamaguchi. I’m sure Tsukishima will be fine.”

“I’m not leaving unless you _promise me_ that you won’t try to do anything to Tsukki.”

“I promise,” Asahi says at once, which isn’t what he wanted because he’s pretty sure Tsukishima could win a fight against him with a single look. His mother, on the other hand. He got his stubbornness from her, and his worrying, and he _knows_ she just wants him to be okay—but he really didn’t want to reunite with her just to argue about his choice in friends. Tsukishima wouldn’t hurt him. And he’s not going to turn into a demon.

“Tadashi, you’re being bullheaded,” his mother scolds and he holds his ground. “You can’t possibly know that much about spirits—”

“I’ve been living with one for two months! I’m sitting here in the middle of the _Danse Macabre_! I’m friends with an exorcist now and _he_ says Tsukki’s good to go.” It’s a stretch, and Asahi gives him a disappointed look over his mother’s head, but her gaze softens.

“We still need to get you out of here,” she mumbles, not quite agreeing with her son, but at least she’s dropping the subject. The mass of ghosts beneath their tree is even larger than before, and a couple are attempting to climb the trunk with increasing success. Asahi squeaks and kicks a woman in a robe and she flops back to the ground.

“I’m still faster than them.”

“But we can touch you now.”

“I can’t stay in this tree all night. Apparently. What can scare ghosts off?”

“I have been _waiting_ for some way to interrupt this back-and-forth!” a new voice declares and the tree branch shakes as someone else lands on it. Actually, it shakes, and then cracks, and Asahi falls out of the tree with a screech. Tadashi whirls around to find Kuroo peering apologetically at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” The branch breaks completely and Tadashi instinctively grabs his mother to try to cushion her fall.

It isn’t like they were very far up, but the wind’s knocked out of him when he lands on the ground with an _oof_. The branch digs painfully into his back and Kuroo hauls him up to his feet, despite the fact that he’s still struggling to suck in breath. “Tadashi, are you alright?! Who is— _why is there a goddamned demon here_?!”

Tadashi laughs (wheezes) at hearing his mother swear. It’s still a hell of a lot tamer than what he resorts to, but the novelty is nice. Other ghosts are shying away with large, glassy eyes, none of them volunteering to go near the demon. His mother is pulling on him, but Asahi gently detaches her and says, “He’s contracted to a friend of ours.”

“You are hanging out with _demons_ now?! I haven’t been dead half a year!” his mother roars.

“No one’s ever happy to see me,” Kuroo laments.

“You stay the hell away from my son!”

“I was called in to rescue him, and didn’t you just ask for a way out of here?” He gestures to the wide berth the other spirits are giving him. “Kuroo Tetsurou, reporting for the escort mission, ma’am.”

“Wh-Why are you here?” Asahi demands, voice faltering but resolute in the wary expression he shoots Kuroo.

“A certain cat spirit babysitter dragged me and Kenma out here to grab you two. Well, Freckles and Glasses, not you, unless you want to hitch a ride out with us.”

Asahi quickly shakes his head.

“Thought not. I don’t want to try pulling an actual spirit away from the _Danse_.”

“Where’s Kenma? He would be even more at risk than Yamaguchi!” Kuroo shrugs, and Asahi narrows his eyes. “How are you so far from him?”

The demon shrugs again. “Practice, I guess. Now I’d rather get going before someone gets ballsy, because I’m supposed to be behaving, and I also don’t like leaving Kenma alone tonight. Start with the goodbyes and I’ll give you two some space.”

Goodbyes.

Oh.

Tadashi looks down at his mother, re-realizing she’s _dead_ all over again, but she reaches up and cups his face before he can even work up a sniffle. “I am so glad I got to see you tonight, Tadashi,” she tells him, and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “Just, be careful, alright?”

“Of course I will be.” Does he tell her the same? She’s passed on already, but what does that _entail_? …Does it hurt?

“The _Danse_ is a happy time for spirits, so don’t you worry about me. I’ll always be watching over you, even after tonight, Tadashi. It’s not so bad after you pass on—but I better not see you there for a _long_ time, you hear me?”

He nods, and the tears come again. He doesn’t regret going out tonight, not anymore, but he hasn’t prepared himself for saying goodbye to his mother for a second time. They embrace each other, and he hugs her so tightly he’s sure it’s bordering on painful, but if anything, she just squeezes him back tighter. Around them, even with the minimal space Kuroo and Asahi have given them, spirits are edging closer again.

“I love you, Tadashi. And don’t open your birthday present early.”

He hiccups out a laugh as he wipes his nose. “Mom, I found that months ago.”

“Well—just remember that it _had_ been wrapped and hidden. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your birthday this year.”

“It’s okay, mom. I’m, uh. G-Going to go now. But I love you, and I miss you.”

Kuroo takes his cue and walks back over, scaring the advancing spirits back. Tadashi wipes his eyes with his sleeve as they begin walking away. The tears cool rapidly on his cheeks, and god, he thought he had done a remarkable job at coping. But no, now the floodgates are released again.

Tadashi nearly gets possessed again when he ducks back and hugs his mother all over again. She’s crying, too, ghostly tears shining on her cheeks, but she’s also smiling and telling him that it’s fine, that she’s okay and that’s great but he’s _not_. Kuroo picks him up with inhuman strength and tosses him over his shoulder, and even better, getting manhandled while sobbing like a little kid.

But his mom’s okay. She’s not stuck haunting anyone or anything, and even if she’s not with him anymore, she’s at peace, right? He tells himself that.

He’s still sniffling pathetically when Kuroo deposits him next to Kenma, half a block from the cemetery and halfway up on a fire escape. The metal is freezing and Tadashi hurriedly shifts to avoid touching it. He draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them. Kenma hardly bats an eye at his presence, his own legs dangling over the edge, completely focused on a game on his phone. Morisuke, in cat form, is laying on his shoulders, and gives him a sympathetic look.

Tadashi’s not really much of a crier, and certainly not a long one, so he’s left to stew, dry-eyed, with his numb and runny nose and unwanted feelings. He’s _very_ glad he doesn’t have work, and he’s long since resigned himself to skipping school, although now it’ll probably be due to emotional hangover. He’s sort of glad Kenma is quiet while he tries to shove all of those feelings back into the box he’d locked them in. He’s fine. He is fine. Once he’s all cried out, Morisuke jumps over and lands on his shoulder, and curls around his neck with a purr.

…He will be fine.

 

\--

 

“ _There_ you are!” Kuro crows triumphantly when he spots Tsukishima. Not that it’s hard to find someone so tall and light-haired in a crowd, but he’s in a portion of the cemetery that’s even more crowded than Tadashi’s little corner had been. Though ghosts are still scrambling to get out of his way, there’s simply not enough room this close to the light.

He’s practically on top of the kid before he notices him. Tsukishima swivels around, movements clunky, and Kuro figures out that this is a bad idea when he sees the distant look in his eyes. “Have you seen my brother?”

“You have a brother?” he asks in surprise. “Wait, is he dead too?”

“He was trying to make something. For me. But then he died, and I don’t know where he went,” Tsukishima replies blankly and forces his way through the crowd toward the light.

Kuro catches him by a shoulder. “Woah there. I never expected someone so grumpy to get caught up in the festivities like this, and I’m all for family reunions, but I’m very, very certain that you should _not_ go toward the light.”

“The Door is open tonight, so why didn’t he come back?”

“Maybe he couldn’t make it.” He’s momentarily caught between helping him look for his brother (he’s not heartless, alright) and trying to knock some sense into him and drag him back to Tadashi. …Well, it’s not as if there’s much danger for a ghost here. “What’s this brother of yours look like? What’s his name?”

“My brother is…” Tsukishima falters, then shuffles off, away from Kuro like he forgot he was even talking to him. Rude.

“Hey! I’m either helping you or escorting you, so don’t walk away from me—!” He grabs at him again, tugging him backwards, and tries to put both hands on his shoulders. But he’s jostled from behind, and he ends up knocking his hand against the bell collar. It _dings_ , and Tsukishima _lights up_.

Kuro jumps back like a startled cat. The blond looks down at himself, frowning severely, and drips gold dust onto his feet with a raised finger. A little belatedly, Kuro realizes that it’s luck he’s dripping, generating, glowing with. Tsukishima adjusts the collar and tugs his hoodie back up around it as best he can. He only pauses to spare Kuro a disdainful look before turning and stalking off into the throng of comparatively dull ghosts. Now he sticks out even more, an actual lantern in the dark.

“Oh, come on, a _thanks_ would be nice.”

“Thank you,” Tsukishima tosses back over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

“Still looking for your brother?” Kuro asks.

“He’s not here. He’s gone.”

“Testy, testy. How d’you know, hm? This place is packed.”

“He would have found me by now, and I was _there_ when he died, alright? He didn’t leave a spirit behind. He was just— _gone_ ,” Tsukishima bursts out, turning on him, eyes flashing. He’s taller than him, sure, but Kuro grins easily up at him. “Weren’t you here for something useful?”

“Probably. You don’t want to hang around any longer with any of the other ghosts? Any other dead relatives?”

“I’m relieved to see hell has a great sensitivity training program.”

“Is _that_ where I’m supposed to be from?” Kuro asks lightly. Tsukishima is entertaining to tease, now that he’s not acting like such a wet blanket.

He’s also making an awful lot of assumptions. Kuro doesn’t particularly assumptions.

“Thank you for your help, now kindly fuck off to your owner again.”

“Hey now, let’s remember the hierarchy here for just a moment,” he says cheerily, claws coming out when he catches Tsukishima’s wrist and drags him backwards (yet again). “Keep in mind who you’re dealing with. First, I’m your very nice friend who is doing you several favors. Second, I’m a _demon_. So, unlike literally everyone else we know, I’m the one who _doesn’t_ care if you’re a luck spirit or just a human ghost.”

“What favors do you think you’re doing me?” Tsukishima asks flatly. He looks down at the blackened hand wrapped around his wrist. He doesn’t try to get away.

“Okay, would you stop scowling at me if I said I’m doing Tadashi those favors? The big one being that spell—”

“Which _Kenma_ is writing.”

“—the second being returning you to him, since you don’t have any family issues to take care of and he’s rather attached to you. So. C’mere.”

“What are you—?!” Tsukishima’s gold eyes go wide when Kuro scoops him up. Kuro is momentarily surprised at how heavy he is—that is not the weight of a simple ghost.

Kenma’s going to have to pinpoint just how far along he is in his change before he can get into the detail work of his spell, which means they’re going to have to give Kenma some of that potion and spend a long afternoon getting to know each other. Perfect. The little shit doesn’t know how lucky he is.

The ghosts shuffle even closer than ever, reaching out to try to grab the luck spirit, and Kuro supposes there’s a reason why Yaku stayed away from here. Still, they’re easy enough to avoid, and it helps when you can jump three stories in the air. It’s a pity he missed out on wings, though. (He’s pretty sure only archdemons have them.) And demons aren’t meant to be changing beings, either, so his chances for promotion look slim.

By the time he sort of drops Tsukishima next to Tadashi (not his fault; the kid was squirming and kicking), Kenma’s on another game, Yaku is purring on Tadashi, and Tadashi himself is dry-eyed once more. Kuro feels for him, he really does. Okay, sure, he may not understand things like familial attachments or grief in general. He’s still working on the whole stable emotional awareness thing. But he understands loneliness and he _thinks_ he understands the look that Tsukishima gives Tadashi when he notices his puffy eyes and runny nose.

“You’re glowing again,” Tadashi tells him, like he hasn’t noticed. He flicks the bell on the collar and both Tsukishima and Yaku jump. “Sorry for dragging you out tonight, Tsukki.”

“It was _your_ idea?” the cat asks, ears flat.

“It looked like Tsukki was on his way out, anyway, so I doubt he could’ve stopped him,” Kuro points out.

“Don’t call me that,” a very ungrateful Tsukishima says. Such a rude child.

Kuro plops down onto the metal grating next to Kenma and lets the boys talk quietly, pretending not to hear them. Kenma’s playing a Pokémon game now, volume off, apparently level grinding. “I got you another present,” Kuro tells him quietly. The witch doesn’t respond. He’s used to it. “Apparently the kid’s birthday is sometime soon.”

 _That_ catches Kenma’s attention. He looks up at Kuro first, expression open in his surprise, and then quickly turns to Tadashi. “Is your birthday this month?”

“Well, on the tenth. Oh, I guess it’s after midnight by now… Why?”

“What time of day were you born?” Kenma continues, ignoring his question. Kuro hums happily at seeing Kenma focused again.

“Um, sometime in the morning, I think? It wasn’t long after midnight—”

“Find out,” Kenma orders.

“ _Why_?” Tsukishima icily demands.

“Someone’s magic is stronger during the hour in which they were born.”

“In other words, that’s when we’re gonna do your spell,” Kuro translates. A time limit to kick Kenma into gear, and it sounds reasonable enough.

“O-Oh. We can’t, uh, do it any sooner?” Tadashi asks.

“It depends on how long you want it to last,” Kenma replies. His burst of enthusiasm is already fading, and he glances down at the menu screen on his game.

“I’m sorry, but what are you talking about?” Yaku interrupts. The witch freezes. “What spell are you going to cast?”

“Kenma’s working on a spell to help me, uh, see Tsukki all the time without having to use that potion constantly,” Tadashi explains, leaving out the more dangerous details. Kenma slowly, as to not draw Yaku’s attention further, returns his attention to his game, head bowed low to let his loose hair cover his face.

“You’re going to try using magic on a _spirit_?!” Yaku practically yowls, tail fritzed out, and he jumps onto Kenma’s lap and glares up at him. “Kenma, I know you’re clever, or you’re _supposed_ to be, so why the hell are you going to try casting on a spirit?! Even if he’s not fully human anymore, that’s dangerous!”

“It’ll, um, technically be a spell on Tadashi, so…”

“Look, I’m all for getting Tadashi off of that potion. I know it’s taking its toll and—don’t give me that look, it’s written all over your face,” Yaku says pointedly and Tadashi quickly hides his face behind his sleeves, the picture of guilt. The cat huffs and looks back up at Kenma, ears flat and tail lashing in agitation. Kenma tries to move his phone so he can keep playing, but Yaku bats it out of his hands. (Kuro thankfully catches it. Kenma doesn’t notice.) “Kenma, why are you doing this? It’s dangerous for you all.”

“Sugawara did it,” Kuro chimes in.

“He _what_.”

“Yeah, go talk to _him_ about setting bad examples for the children. We ran into him earlier, just reeking of necromancy, and who do you think spelled the loud, short one to be able to touch Asahi?”

“He’s not a witch,” Yaku replies, but he sounds unsure himself.

“Necromancy is more reliant on wards and shit. Outside magic.” Kuro doesn’t mention the other things about Sugawara, because he’s not going to throw the guy totally under the bus. Just enough to get a certain bakeneko off of Kenma’s back.

“Does that mean you’re trying to use _necromancy_?! On a _spirit_?!” Yaku hisses at Kenma. Whoops. “You’re going to turn him into a demon! He’s already gotten so far, and I don’t want to see him turn after all that.”

“Hey now, we know it’s possible to do. Asahi’s not a demon, is he? Furthest thing from it,” Kuro butts back in.

Yaku goes as far as to swipe at him, claws out. “I don’t want a _demon_ to have input on this conversation.”

“Yaku,” Kenma interrupts, tone calm despite the way he’s digging his fingers into the hem of his coat, “trust me. Why would I want an uncontracted demon around?”

 

\--

 

Suga has slept for almost fifteen hours. And he still feels like shit.

The only missed messages on his phone are texts from Daichi, a couple more drunken ones, and a single one from about nine that morning that only says ‘ _Please ignore all of the previous messages._ ’ Suga saves every single one. (Especially the one that contained a barely coherent rant about Ryuunosuke taking his supposed rabbit away. He’d apparently gotten attached. He’d compared it to Suga.)

Suga checks in with Tooru first. He and Iwaizumi are both still at the healer’s, and while Tooru’s back to his normal flirty, showy self, it’s not hard to see that he’s barely slept. Hana takes him aside and tells him that she doesn’t know what else to do for Iwaizumi, since she’s never treated a selkie before, and it’s clear she knows he’s not one. “Normally, I’d recommend just giving him some time in his other skin, somewhere dark and otherwise suited for his habitat, but if it’s been burned…”

“His habitat?” Suga repeats, eyebrow raised.

“Well, he’s,” she cups her hand around her mouth and lowers her voice, “a swan maiden, right? Or, well, a swan… man?”

Under different circumstances, Suga is positive he would be in stitches with the mental images. Tooru would love this. “…Yes?”

“So maybe some place damp, and cool? But with fresh air. And dark. If he’s going to recover—at this point, it’s all up to him. He won’t die from any of his actual injuries. He’s just in shock and… I’m not really good with shapeshifters, sorry,” she tells him sympathetically. “I’ve already talked to Oikawa, and they’ll be going back to his place tomorrow.”

“Alright. Thank you. Keep an eye on him, would you please?”

“Someone has to. Psychics are magnets for trouble.”

It’s late afternoon by the time he makes it to Kiyoko’s shop. He’s still feeling tired and draggy, and the noise he finds inside does little to soothe him. There’s a surprising crowd there today, and not just the usual suspects: Kenma and Kuroo, sure, but Hitoka as well, and she’s busy checking over Lev, Tadashi, and Tsukishima. Suga edges around them and perches on the edge of Kiyoko’s desk. She wordlessly slides over a mason jar of foul-smelling restoration potion. Because his stomach isn’t already in knots.

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko calls.

“I’m fine,” Suga says at once. “You don’t have to do this every year—”

“It’s no trouble!” Hitoka declares with a brave smile. It’s the cute sort of thing he’s powerless against, and Kiyoko knows that.

While she checks him over, her magic gentle and nearly imperceptible, and Kiyoko calmly sips at her own mixture in a coffee mug, Suga watches the others. Yaku has slunk out from beneath some desk or shelf and is trying to explain something to Lev. Tadashi is shamelessly listening in. Tsukishima, predictably, looks to be in an especially bad mood, but Suga knew it was coming; he had gotten to be present in this realm again last night, and at dawn, it was taken away.

It’s cruel of him, but he’s hoping that it may swing Tsukishima into deciding to pass on without taking any more risks with himself.

Kenma, however, is in a similarly bad mood, and openly at that. Suga watches him—hoo boy, he does _not_ want to start a conversation with them after last night—until the witch catches his eye and huffs when he looks away. _Did I do something?_ he wonders and idly sips at his terrible drink. He amazingly does not spit it back out onto Hitoka’s head.

“He’s mad at _me_ ,” Hitoka mumbles, quiet enough to just be heard by him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kenma, evidently, doesn’t trust healers,” Kiyoko says thinly.

 _I could understand with Kuroo, but Kenma is just a witch_ , Suga thinks. _Does he think there’s some way to tell he’s pacted?_ There isn’t, not any as far as Suga knows, and he knows more than the average person about contracts. He doesn’t like letting Hitoka have the impression that _anyone_ dislikes her (because such a feat is surely impossible), but at the same time, he doesn’t exactly want to go talk to them himself.

But trusting Kiyoko to do it?

“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding,” Suga tells her.

“I’ll just ask him! I’d like to see how his burns are doing, anyway—”

“Er, wait, maybe—” Sending her over to talk to an unsociable witch with an overprotective demon may be a bad idea. Not that he particularly expects them to lash out at her, but she’s not exactly made of steel herself, and if Kenma thinks he has a reason, then—and she’s already nestling in on the floor between Tadashi and Kuroo. Tsukishima shoots her a glare as he slides out of her way.

“She gets stubborn only when it suits her,” Kiyoko remarks, “like some other people I know.”

“I’ve never known her to fail when she sets her mind to something,” Suga allows, ignoring her other comment.

Interestingly, Tadashi’s cheeks are pink at her proximity. Poor boy, he’s barking up the wrong tree entirely. Even more interesting, however, is that Kuroo doesn’t seem at all sympathetic toward Kenma and instead has his golden gaze fixed squarely on Suga. Well, he can guess what that’s about, and he has no desire to tackle that right now.

If Hitoka’s volunteered to keep them busy… “Kiyoko, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

They go upstairs to her bedroom and ward the door for privacy. Suga sits on her bed, and with a heavy sigh, gives her an abridged version of what he knows: Tooru stuck his nose too deep into trouble, and now they know that someone’s trying to kickstart an apocalypse via summoning.

All in all, she takes it well. Kiyoko is as stone-faced as ever, but her hands have tightened in her lap, and her voice is hard when she replies, “Alright.”

Well, he supposes there’s not much else to say about it. Suga runs a hand through his hair. If someone had just told him about a coming end of days scenario, he’s sure he’d be freaking out. Okay, so that happened last night and he’s _still_ reeling. (Reeling underneath a layer of exhaustion.) “Yeah,” he says. Not much else to add.

“I haven’t been able to see anything clearly for months. This is likely the cause,” Kiyoko murmurs. She takes off her glasses and rubs at her eyes. Slipping them back on, professional air back after her brief moment of human weakness, she announces, “I will think this over tonight. Does Tooru have any other leads?”

Despite how far into terrible shit he’d gotten, Suga doesn’t want to completely out Tooru. He knows the value of privacy. “I think we have a list of ingredients to work backward from. The tengu eggs, tengu _First_ eggs, are on there, so we can potentially ask them for any more details. Hopefully they’ll be a little more friendly if we give them back one.”

When they return downstairs, they’re missing Hitoka and Kenma (but not Kuroo) and have gained Yuu and Asahi, plus an argument. Perfect. Kiyoko purses her lips and Suga resolves to slink past them and simply return home for the night, but it turns out that the argument isn’t so much an _argument_ as Yuu trying to make Tadashi die of embarrassment. “You can’t tell me two curious teenage boys didn’t _do_ anything all night. I was in high school once, and let me tell you what I got up to—”

“I don’t think that’s suitable talk for minors,” Suga interrupts and smacks him.

“Oh, Suga! I was wondering where you’d run off to. How was your night?” Yuu has the twin gifts of knowing all of the terrible shit that actually goes down within their group on Halloween as well as not being directly affected by it. As far as Suga knows, every Halloween, he says bye to Asahi and spends the night happily playing cards with Kiyoko.

“Just fine. And I already talked to them about that, so don’t try embarrassing them about it now.”

“I’m not embarrassing them, I’m just wondering! _You_ never want to talk about ghost sex—”

Suga shuts that down real fucking fast. “My god, Noya, we are _not_ having this conversation—”

“Yuu, _please_ ,” Asahi begs, face crimson.

“Look at how red they’re turning, those are faces of guilt—”

“You did _what_?!” Yaku bursts out, scandalized, and it’s a minor miracle it’s taken that long for Kuroo to break into laughter. Lev looks between him and Yaku, caught between delighted and confused.

“W-We didn’t!” Tadashi squeaks, sounding near tears, and looks desperately to Tsukishima to help him. (Tsukishima looks as if he’s contemplating passing on right then and there to avoid the indignant disapproval of Yaku and hopeful approval of Yuu.) “Tsukki, tell them we _didn’t_! We were quiet all night, we just watched some movies and—”

“And went _dancing_ instead, right?” Kuroo snidely asks between his snickering.

“You did _what_?!” Suga exclaims, because he hadn’t heard about that and _shit had Tadashi gone too_?

“I was an excellent chaperone,” Kuroo replies for them. Tadashi looks like he’s trying to actively sink into the floor.

“You took _Kenma_ to the _Danse_?!” Suga demands.

The demon blanches. Yaku intervenes again with an angry lash of his tail. “I was with them for that part, precisely because of what a shit idea it was.”

“ _You_ went to the _Danse_ —”

“Seems like we missed quite the party last night,” Yuu comments to Kiyoko. He looks rather pleased with all of the unfolding revelations, chin in hands as he watches with bright eyes. “Asahi, you had to have seen _some_ of this, right?”

“Um, only a little.”

Suga thanks every god he knows (aside from the ones trying to break into their realm) when Kenma and Hitoka come back from the back room. Hitoka is beaming and Kenma doesn’t seem so tense, so he has to assume it went well. She confirms it when she announces, “I’m going to teach Kenma some basic healing magic.”

“Can I learn, too?” Lev eagerly asks.

“You’re not magical,” Yaku tells him.

“You don’t know that!”

“C-Could I, um, try learning it too?” Tadashi asks.

“You two both need to figure out if you _have_ magical talent. If you go into this blindly, you’ll only end up hurting yourselves,” Suga tells them, not unkindly, and gives Hitoka a smile. “Would you mind waiting a couple days for us to sort these two out? Then it seems like you have a little class.”

“O-Of course!” she exclaims, starry-eyed at the prospect. She looks to Kiyoko, who nods back at her with her own small smile. “Um, I don’t have classes on Tuesdays, so how about next Tuesday? Kenma, I can teach you ahead of time, of course.”

“Let him enroll in the class with the other two,” Kuroo calls.

“I’m a witch. I don’t need my hand held.”

“We’re gonna be here anyway.”

“I can teach you now,” Hitoka says quickly, and Kenma’s pinched expression relaxes again. “These are the marks you should use if you try to heal your burns any further…” She tugs him over to the main table and rummages around in the shelves underneath until she comes back up with a notebook. She outlines two spells on a sheet of paper, Kenma nodding occasionally, and of course, Lev hovers over them both with a wide grin.

“You should just hire them,” Suga says, nodding over to the group.

“I don’t need much more help,” Kiyoko replies quietly.

“You get plenty of customers wanting healing magic.”

“I’m not a clinic, and Hitoka is still in school. She should pursue what she likes.” They both know she’d drop everything in a heartbeat at the prospect of working with Kiyoko. Not that learning just magic is a bad move for someone’s future, but she’s smart, and Suga lets the matter drop. Bigger issues at hand, anyway.

It’s just so much easier to focus on the littler ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( please don't be afraid to come poke at me on my [tumblr](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/) or throw any thoughts/questions/arts/things my way! there's TONS of beautiful fanart & things in my [bbac tag](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/bbac-feelings/chrono), too! ))


	10. Tsukishima Kei Is Not Particularly Driven

It’s nice to be able to do something. Suga realizes that they have a short list—Kiyoko is meditating and trying to force her way into future sight, and he and Tooru are trying to track down the egg—and they’re going to run out of things very fast, but for the moment, it’s nice to feel productive. Even if that something is watching Tooru guzzle warmth potions between stripping off layers. The November sunlight is weak and pale, hardly doing anything to combat the cold, and Suga shivers in sympathy.

“Are you sure—?”

“Koushi, stop it.”

He’s tried something like a dozen times to offer to dive. The stubborn psychic has shut him down each time. Sure, Tooru’s the stronger swimmer, and he has the ability to generate normal body heat, and he’s clairvoyant so he stands a chance at finding hypothetically (hopefully) buried treasure down there, but Suga’s unused to standing on the sidelines. He rubs his arms and shuffles his feet. Tooru stretches his arms over his head and approaches the frost-covered bank. Some of the water is frozen, slushy near the edges, but most of the lake is still sloshing merrily with the winter wind.

Tooru’s drank an entire warmth potion and Suga has another jar in the bag at his feet. He probably won’t freeze to death.

Before Suga can fret any further, Tooru wades into the water. He yips, jumping at the temperature, but turns back to his partner in crime with a bright (forced) grin. “Your worrying is going to give me a migraine,” he cheerily tells him.

“Forgive me,” he replies dryly. It’s just that he’s going for a swim in a rather large lake in November and _who knows_ what kind of charms are on the container, if he can even move it himself—

“It’ll be fine!” Tooru declares and dives into the water.

 _Just come back_ , he thinks, loudly, and resigns himself to waiting.

 

\--

 

“Kiyoko’s sweet on that healer chick, so you probably shouldn’t pick fights,” Kuro tells Kenma with a shit-eating grin. Because he _knows_ Kenma doesn’t pick fights. And he knows why Kenma didn’t like her. (Past tense, because perfect, he was outed. But now she’s backing off and offering to teach him magic as apology.)

“Don’t volunteer me for things,” Kenma replies. It’s easy to ignore him. He flips through a heavy, leather-bound tome with yellowed pages and a faint smell of blood to it.

“We were gonna be here anyway. We’re always here. Don’t you get bored?”

No, because Kenma doesn’t have a lot going on in his life these days. Spellwriting isn’t as time-consuming as everyone seems to believe, and Kenma’s not one to dissuade others from that idea. True, there’s a lot of research involved, research that he’s still ingesting and turning over in his mind, but the actual act of writing? He’ll get it done in an afternoon. Probably.

“Shouldn’t you be complaining about _him_ always being here instead?” Kenma asks. Kuro looks over to Lev (who is not bothering Yaku for once).

“He brightens the place up. And it’s cute how eager he is to learn, isn’t it?”

“It’s dangerous,” Kenma and Yaku reply in unison. Kenma looks down at the cat in his lap; he’d thought he’d been sleeping.

“And yet neither of you seem to do much to stop him,” Kuro hums.

“He still doesn’t know how to _use_ any magic.”

“Yeah, but he’s been reading every book he can get his hands on since we were hired. If he remembers half the shit he’s trying to read…” He trails off meaningfully.

“I’ll remember all of it, don’t worry!” Lev calls without turning from his book.

“I wonder if Kiyoko realizes that if she opens that particular Pandora’s box, she’ll be stuck babysitting him so he doesn’t set stuff on fire all the time.”

“Not interested in fire magic!” Lev calls again.

“What _are_ you interested in?” Yaku asks suspiciously. He jumps up onto the desk Kenma’s using and, after a stretch, pops back into a human form. “I’m not normally one to discourage education, but the demon’s right. You’re more of an accident waiting to happen than Tsukishima.”

“I’m trying to figure out Kenma’s spell I saw. The circle thingy,” Lev answers and Kenma’s head snaps up to look at him. Kuro bursts into laughter.

“You promised me you wouldn’t try to do anything with demons,” Kenma reminds him, swallowing down his panic.

“I take it back, I’m going to discourage the hell out of this,” Yaku says and pulls Lev’s book away. He snaps it shut and tosses it to Kuro, and he can’t catch it properly due to laughter. Kenma picks it up off the ground, and finds that it’s the written-in book with Sugawara and Michimiya’s names on it.

“Why are you _rereading_ this?” Kenma asks, trying to sound casual. He knows he fails.

“I was trying to find that one symbol you used. I’ve found a bunch of the other ones I remember, but not that one you freaked out about.”

Kenma would be doubly freaked out if Lev had found something about it. Yaku looks between them, and Kuro reaches over to grab Kenma’s shoulder to bury his cackling in. Some support he is. The scene is mercifully broken up, however, by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Kenma hurriedly stashes the book and Lev just as quickly dives for it again and shoves it under his shirt.

Yaku sighs and rolls his eyes at them.

Kiyoko comes downstairs, holding her head and looking tired. “We don’t have any appointments today, do we?” she asks.

“Nope,” Kuro replies.

“Ah, good. Yaku, we’re going to the goblin market, if you’d like to join us. Lev, I’m closing the shop, so I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

“Can I come?” he asks.

“No.”

“Think I’ll pass too,” the bakeneko says, tail swishing, “someone owes me a Russian lesson.”

“Пропуск,” Lev moodily replies. “Why can’t I go to the goblin market, too? I can carry things just as well as Kuro can—”[1]

“Fat chance,” Kuro mutters.

“—and much better than Kenma can.”

“That’s true,” Kenma agrees.

“Lev, I appreciate your enthusiasm about the world of magic, but it can be an unsafe place for humans, especially new visitors,” Kiyoko replies. Despite her somewhat unsteady walk, she doesn’t bother sitting down, and instead goes straight out the door into the hallway. “Kenma, could you refresh the charm on Kuro’s amulet?”

Nevermind the fact that he technically isn’t supposed to know what the charm _is_. Kenma yanks his demon down to his level and prods at the crystal hanging from his neck. By the time Kiyoko returns with a five-gallon bucket in one hand and a wooden crate tucked awkwardly beneath her other arm, Kenma has figured out her spell (and a way to improve it). “I thought you were upstairs napping. You sure you’re up for a trip?” Kuro asks.

“Meditating. And I’d like to sell off the rest of the dragon parts today, and talk to a few people,” she replies vaguely. Lev and Kenma peek into the bucket, and Kenma has to stop Lev from reaching into it to touch the dragon guts.

“Lev, c’mon,” Yaku says.

“What are these?” Lev asks instead, voice full of awe, and Kenma smacks his hand away again.

“Minor fire sacs, and if you touch them, your hand will freeze off,” he replies. It takes an embarrassing amount of bribery to lure Lev away from the dragon parts (the winning bid: Yaku offered to let him scratch his ears, which Kenma is _insulted_ to know that it beat his offer of watching that demon anime with him). Kiyoko transfers the organs into a better traveling container and adjusts the spells keeping them frozen, and despite the way she keeps fighting yawns and rubbing at her bloodshot eyes, they set off to the market.

The tengu stall is closed today, to Kuro’s disappointment, but it’s the kitsune table next to its usual spot that catches Kenma’s eye. There is an array of crystals and jars laid out, but one section of the table is enclosed in a glass dome to prevent touching, and within it are twin jars of pitch black and a softly glowing, milky substance. Kenma’s steps falter and he stops completely in front of the table.

“Something interest you?” asks the kitsune. Even with a mostly-human appearance, and a normal one at that—brown hair, parted to the side, matching brown eyes, and only a slightly larger than average build—Kenma can tell there’s a reason that he’s displaying such goods with such minimal visible protection. It’s a dare.

Even knowing that he’s about to get cheated or tricked, Kenma has to ask, “Is that blood?”

“You have a discerning eye for such a little witch,” the kitsune says with a sharp-toothed smile. He gestures to the sealed-off section to the table. “Those are my rarer wares, and not anything for the faint of heart. Also, not anything for anyone without a permit to deal with such things in this city.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kenma mumbles, eyes on the slowly swirling white jar. Even if he didn’t have Kuro, he’d recognize the black one, so that means the white one _has_ to be—

“Hey, don’t fall behind.” On cue, arms still full with Kiyoko’s goods, Kuro pops up behind him. “What are you looking—oh _shit_.” The demon reels back, nearly losing his grip on the box he’s holding, and that confirms it for Kenma. “Is that _demon blood_?”

“Harvested and aged almost two dozen full moons now,” the fox spirit proudly tells them.

“So this is angel blood,” Kenma says and points to the white jar. Kuro shrinks back even further.

“A truly discerning eye,” the kitsune concedes. “That was harvested almost fifty years ago, just south of here, during the last successful angel summoning. To my knowledge, this is all that remains that’s on the market in this part of the world.”

With angel blood, he wouldn’t need a demon. He could rewrite his circle to just use that as the anchor and use a goat as the sacrifice. He’d actually have to rewrite most of his circle, but he’s alright changing strategies if he can get to the same endgame. Kenma stares openly at it, mind working with the possibilities. _I wouldn’t need a demon. I can summon my own angel, I can_ do _something, I don’t have to just wait and die_ , he realizes. He wouldn’t have to give up.

“You two shouldn’t get separated,” Kiyoko says as she comes up beside them. She casts a cold eye over the kitsune and his wares, and then inclines her head toward their path. “We should get going again. Please.”

Kuro points mutely at the jars. He looks somewhat distressed.

Kiyoko raises an eyebrow. “Where did you get angel blood?”

“I’m so pleased to have so many knowledgeable customers today,” he replies brightly, tails wagging behind him. “I also don’t have to answer you. With ingredients of this rarity, you should understand a basic need for privacy.”

Kenma doesn’t notice the way Kiyoko glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “Futakuchi. How much?” she asks.

“Do you have a—”

“I have authorization from the Foxglove Coven to purchase and handle class A materials,” Kiyoko says and, after digging around in her bag for a moment, she sighs and simply just waves her hand. A piece of parchment floats out and unfurls itself in front of them.

“You have a coven?” Kenma asks, surprised and uneasy. She doesn’t answer him. He steps away from the jars of blood and Futakuchi breaks into more tail-wagging and grinning. _What is she doing?_ She certainly doesn’t seem the type to impulse buy things, much less expensive and dangerous things. Kiyoko is still one of the few people he can’t read well. He’s unsure—afraid—of her intentions and as he backs into Kuro’s chest, he reaches back and tugs on his shirt.

She ends up trading away nearly half of her stock for half of the angel blood. Futakuchi promises to have it ready for them by the time they’re finished with their other errands, and they’re out of earshot before Kiyoko _finally_ answers him. “I _had_ a coven. I left it a couple years ago, but we’re still on good terms. I take it you’re not fond of them?”

“No,” Kenma replies tersely.

“Did you move to this city because witches are free to choose whether or not to affiliate?”

“If I didn’t want to, I just wouldn’t. It’s not that hard to avoid people if you’re smart,” he mumbles.

“Are you still trying to avoid people?” Kiyoko asks, tone neutral, and he peeks up at her. She’s not looking at him. He doesn’t respond.

They drop off the rest of their dragon parts (save a single mason jar of blood) at what looks like a greasy pawn shop, one of the few places with an actual building. Kenma tries not to touch too much of anything. The ceiling drips on him anyway. Kiyoko is still in a hurry, however, so he figures their main errand is something else.

It turns out to be a stall with a man with freckles across the bridge of his nose and a small, hooded cockatrice on his shoulder. He cocks his head curiously at their approach. “Hello, Kiyoko. I don’t often see you in this part of the market.”

“I need a favor, Hayato. I need a list of any customers you’ve had who have, in the past six months, purchased qilins, nguruvilus, or bunyips, or any of their—”

“You’re asking for information. On my _customers_ ,” Hayato repeats in disbelief, eyebrows raised.

Kiyoko nods and waves Kuro forward. She pulls the last jar of dragon’s blood out and sets it on his table. “I’d very much like that information.”

“…Are you trying to _bribe_ me?”

“I am _going_ to bribe you,” she confidently tells him. Kuro snickers into his hand.

“You know I literally own a dragon. I could go get some blood on my own at any time,” he points out, smiling apologetically.

Undeterred, Kiyoko haggles with an increasingly baffled rancher over the price of his information. It’s clear neither of them actually know what they’re doing, but she’s plowing ahead anyway, and just when it’s beginning to get awkward to watch and Kenma wants to leave them and their secondhand embarrassment behind, Hayato gives in.

Kiyoko walks away triumphant, a small smile playing at her lips. Kenma squints at her. “You just bought a unicorn from him,” he says, in case she’s forgotten. All in all, she wound up giving up a powerful love potion, a powerful sleep potion (guaranteed to work on dragons, derived from the tranquilizer used on Saeko), and the promise of someone helping Hayato with a job in a week or two.

And she bought a unicorn foal.

“A unicorn around the shop wouldn’t knock over anything more than Lev manages,” Kuro reasons.

“Oh, I’ll probably give it to Hitoka. It should be bonded to her properly by the time she finishes her schooling,” she replies absently.

“Oh, of course. A unicorn in a dorm room makes a lot more sense.” Not even that gets much of a reaction from her, so Kuro leans down and stage-whispers to Kenma, “Is this some sort of witch courtship thing?”

“No, it’s not,” he replies.

So Kiyoko has purchased angel blood and a unicorn foal today. Kenma doesn’t know what to make of it. Is it desperation, or is something else wrong? _Weird._

 

\--

 

Lev’s hand shoots up into the air. “Do we call you professor or sensei?”

“U-Um, just Yachi is fine. Isn’t it? I guess you could call me Hitoka, but I don’t need any special title or anything, really!”

“Do we get robes?” Lev continues.

“Robes?” Hitoka squeaks, but then realization sparks in her eyes and she laughs sheepishly. “I don’t think I’m qualified to teach a Charms class, so this is just healing magic after Kiyoko is done testing you.”

“Slytherin house is over here,” Tsukishima says, surprising Tadashi, because he _made a joke_.

Tadashi eagerly scoots over off to the side with him—they briefly jostle each other, and the momentary _touches_ are happening more and more frequently since Halloween—and thanks the stars that he wore a green shirt today on sheer luck. _Luck, huh?_ “Slytherin’s over here!”

“We’ll be Gryffindor!” Lev declares and grabs Kenma in an accidental chokehold before the witch can escape.

Kuroo pries him off and asks, “What are you guys talking about? I didn’t think you knew any magic.”

Several sets of eyes stare at him, aghast. Hitoka gasps softly. “Oh no, you’ve never read _Harry Potter_?” she asks, voice thick with sympathetic tears, and she hurriedly stands. “You guys stay here—Kiyoko, you can test them without me, right? I need to go to the library!”

“Please take me with you,” Kenma wheezes.

“What’s _Harry Potter_?” Kuroo asks, giving him a betrayed look as he slinks off with the healer.

“The Ravenclaws will be in the library, checking out books! You stay here with Kiyoko,” Hitoka declares and, grabbing Kenma’s hand, they march out of the borrowed classroom. A bewildered Kuroo scrambles after them, tossing Kenma’s bag at Lev.

“D’you think a demon can be in Gryffindor?” he asks.

“He better not come near us,” Tsukishima mutters. Tadashi doesn’t bother repeating him for the others and instead tries to poke at him. They can never figure out _how_ to touch each other; it seems to happen by luck, and not luck the spirit can manipulate. Almost always, it seems to happen when they aren’t trying, but it doesn’t mean they don’t try. Tadashi has to think it’s a good sign overall.

 _He’s slowly becoming tangible, right? Because he’s turning into a luck spirit?_ he wonders. He hopes.

Kiyoko, seated toward the back of the small classroom, stands up and shuts her book. With a wave, the blinds draw closed and she walks up to the whiteboard. “Measuring someone’s magical ability isn’t very difficult, and if both of you have decent amounts within you, Hitoka will continue teaching you today.” She writes as she speaks, in neat, uniform handwriting, and it excites Tadashi until he realizes that it’s _math_. “I also understand that she isn’t charging for these lessons. So I will be charging you both on her behalf.”

Lev groans but Tadashi just nods in understanding.

“There’s no real method of discerning where your magical talents may lay, so I’m afraid that will be guesswork for you both. Normally, I would offer some basic lessons in various types to see if you could discover it, but some personal issues have come up,” Kiyoko continues, still writing, and she’s filled almost a quarter of the whiteboard already. Tadashi sincerely hopes she doesn’t expect him to fill that out, because he will not hesitate to point out that he’s still in high school (even if they are on a college campus right now).

“I’ll figure it out on my own, no worries,” Lev tells her and she pauses to regard him over her shoulder. He shrinks back from the chill in her look. “O-Or I can ask Kenma…”

“…I would prefer if both of you asked Kenma, if you can manage to talk him into helping you,” she says.

“Do you think Yaku would be able to teach you?” Tsukishima asks. He sounds bored, but he’s watching her equation with barely-concealed interest. The fact that he’s even pretending not to be curious despite the fact that Tadashi’s the only one who can see him (without Kuroo around) is even more amusing. Tadashi just shrugs back at him.

“My primary stipulation for testing you both is that you _do not_ fool around with magic on your own. It’s dangerous, and overuse can have consequences. I do not intend to give you this knowledge lightly.” Kiyoko caps her marker and turns to face them. The whiteboard is almost half full of only two equations, and Tadashi can’t even begin to comprehend most of the variables and symbols used. But there’s definitely numbers, too, mixed in with the maybe-magic sigils. So it has to be math, right?

“I promise not to summon a demon!” Lev declares.

“I’m going to need something broader,” Kiyoko replies flatly.

He deflates with a pout. Tadashi chuckles and volunteers, “I promise not to mess around with this stuff on my own.” He doesn’t even have to cross his fingers behind his back.

Tsukishima smirks, chin in hand. He nudges Tadashi’s shoulder with his own, and for the tiniest moment, it almost touches him. “I count as not being on your own, hm?”

Like hell he’ll respond to that and give himself away. He’s pretty sure Kiyoko hasn’t exactly _forgotten_ about the spirit, but Tadashi’s found that those who don’t see ghosts regularly tend to think in terms that don’t include them as a default.

Kiyoko spreads out a thin layer of water on what looks like a baking sheet and sprinkles some sort of powder over it. “Tadashi, you first.”

“Aw!”

“He promised first,” she tells Lev and takes Tadashi’s hand. Tsukishima hovers over his shoulder to watch.

She pricks his thumb and middle finger with a silver knife and instructs him to hold them together and squeeze out a dozen drops of blood into the water. It takes some doing, and he considers asking her to make bigger cuts, but he manages it and the water lights up. Tadashi jumps back in surprise, crashing into and then through Tsukishima, and both of them go down with undignified squawks.

“Are you alright?” Lev asks, peering over the edge of the nearest desk, eyes wide.

“Did you… touch him?” Kiyoko asks with a similarly shocked expression.

Tadashi sits up, rubbing his head. “Uh, maybe a little?”

“Please get out of me,” Tsukishima groans and Tadashi scuttles away, red-faced. What a way to phrase it. (If technically correct.) “We’re asking Yaku about this whenever we see him next.”

He nods and Kiyoko helps him to his feet. “I can’t really help with Tsukishima, but I’m sure Suga will if you’d ask. But now I can figure out your numbers.” She soaks a piece of thread in the glowing mixture, sets it on fire, and times how long it takes to burn completely.

“She’s bullshitting you. She just wants to put on a show,” Tsukishima says. Tadashi shrugs as he watches Kiyoko plug the numbers into her equation and begin working through it on the board.

“So you don’t think math exists in magic?”

The blond makes a face like he’s bitten into a lemon. “No, I know it does. I just think the rest of it is smoke and mirrors to impress you. Lord it over your head that she’s a witch and you and Haiba aren’t.”

Tadashi wonders if Akiteru had done any math-related things in front of him, but he doesn’t want to ask when the others can hear him. Especially when they can hear only him in their conversation. He pulls out his phone and checks his email while he waits, because honestly, watching someone write out math on a board in a classroom is only interesting for all of two seconds before it kicks in his conditioned desire to nap.

She finishes her math, double-checks it, and caps her marker with a triumphant smile. “You have about average magical ability for someone your age. It’s possible your capacity will grow slightly as you finish growing as well.”

“So I can use magic?” Even knowing it had been possible, the confirmation stuns him.

“Some, yes. Hitoka will help you figure out what kinds are best suited to you.”

“My turn!” Lev shouts. He practically vibrates in excitement while Kiyoko gets the next test ready. “I promise I won’t summon a demon or anything else.”

“A little broader, please,” Kiyoko replies.

She tests him anyway.

Lev has below average ability, with a slighter chance for future growth, and that absolutely does not deter him. He immediately grabs a leftover marker and starts scribbling runes on the whiteboard, and Tadashi watches him in awe at how many he throws down before getting frustrated. “They’re not _doing_ anything.”

“I haven’t actually shown you how to _use_ magic,” Kiyoko replies, amused. “I would have been very surprised if you had been able to do anything with only confirmation. Have you been memorizing marks these past few weeks?”

“Of course. I’m going to be able to cast all of these,” he announces and points to each in turn, rattling off their definitions by memory. Tadashi is both impressed and a little intimidated. He’s supposed to be the one with more talent, and he has no idea what any of those squiggles mean.

Just as Kiyoko looks like she’s second-guessing unleashing Lev onto an unsuspecting public, the other three return, Kuroo with a stack of books in his arms. Hitoka appears happy with herself. “Now he won’t be bored during our lesson. Oh, are you done here?”

“Yes, and you have two students. Good luck,” Kiyoko says dubiously, eyeing Lev’s string of runes again.

 

\--

 

Tooru sits cross-legged, tengu egg in his lap, and drinks coffee straight from the pot. Suga tries not to look either too sympathetic or too judgmental. “You’re broadcasting again,” the psychic says anyway. Ever since his possession, he’s been unable to filter anything out, which has only fueled his poor mood.

“How are those mental walls coming?” Suga asks, because a pissy Tooru means a pissy him.

“It takes awhile, and are you really one to talk? You haven’t been doing so hot on keeping your brain to yourself, either.”

“Let’s just figure out the next step in our plan,” he quickly replies. Tooru shifts the egg and uses it as a rest for his forearms as he leans over the list between them. “We need to return the egg to the owl tengu, but they’re not going to give us both. We have to decide.”

Ask for information or ask for Iwaizumi’s other pelt back. Suga doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know what Tooru’s thinking. But he doesn’t want to vocalize it, and he can’t blame him for it, because the arguments (for both sides) are on the tip of his tongue. Neither option is the easy or best one. Suga isn’t heartless; Iwaizumi risked his life to help them. And he can see how upset Tooru has been about the still-unconscious skinwalker.

They’ve been using both the seal and dragon pelts as blankets for him, and on his second day after leaving the medic’s, he’s taken to tossing and turning, instinctively burrowing into them. But he still hasn’t woken up. Suga hopes he doesn’t have any others, because they’ll be making sacrifices just to get his third skin back.

“…We need to find out more about the others,” Suga murmurs. Iwaizumi had mentioned one or two other people or teams working to bring one or two other gods into this realm. That’s a lot of grey area. And there’s still the matter of the one who had stopped in on Halloween.

“We have his list,” Tooru petulantly mutters back.

Suga nods. They do have his list, which helps. But so many of the ingredients are vague and not easy to track—Kiyoko is following a couple leads with some of the creature parts, and two of the supposed ingredients are spirits, one higher and one lower; anyone trying to fight, kidnap, or steal a higher spirit is going to cause a ruckus. But everything else would be sheer luck if they found any connection.

 _I suppose we do have access to one and a half luck spirits_ , Suga thinks, and Tooru gives him a hard look. “We are not going to literally rely on luck spirits to help us do this, Oikawa. If a Great Old One is trying to jump realms, that’s not something we can fudge.”

“Iwa-chan could give us more information. He could help us,” he sulks.

This decision would be so much less aggravating to make if Tooru didn’t act like such a _child_ about it. “You know what’s at stake here. You know, the _world_? At the very least, a good chunk of it. And we don’t even know that his other pelt would help him.” He softens his voice for the last bit, but Tooru still narrows his eyes and looks away.

He takes another long drink from his coffee pot. No wonder he can’t get any sort of mental walls back up. “What if the tengu don’t know anything else? Most of their information would be on him.”

“Others are looking for First eggs, too. Those aren’t exactly common, and they’d keep an eye on them. It’s the easiest route to follow to try to find anyone else in on this mess.”

“What even _is_ a First egg,” Tooru spits and glares down at the one in his lap.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Suga sighs. “It’s the first egg any tengu creates. They have a lot more magic in them and are very special in their culture and blah blah blah. It’s a big, unique kind of magic battery and tengu are _incredibly_ protective of them. I’ve heard of them fighting to the death to protect them in the past, and if any of them knew we were just sitting here with one…”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll return it soon. We just have to figure out how to play this.”

Suga knows they’re going to end up trading for the pelt. He fucking _knows_ it. Tooru is stubborn and Suga can’t help the guilt whenever he thinks of Iwaizumi, even if he doesn’t fully trust him. And there are certain answers they could only get from him. _But which is necessary to stopping this?_ More information about the deities or information about the other agents?

Lost in thought, Suga doesn’t notice Tooru gaping at something behind him at first. He jolts back to attention when he hears the refrigerator door open. Suga twists around and peeks over the couch to see Iwaizumi shuffling around in the kitchen, wearing both pelts like capes, movements stilted. He rummages around in the fridge with his back to them.

Suga briefly wonders why Tooru isn’t screeching for joy and opens his mouth to call out, but a sharp tug on his sleeve stops him. Tooru shakes his head and presses his finger to his lips. Suga turns back to watch Iwaizumi clumsily grab something and rip it open, still crouched in front of the fridge.

“Grab your knife,” Tooru whispers.

Well shit. Suga leans over the arm of the couch and digs around in his messenger bag as quietly as possible. Iwaizumi doesn’t pay any attention to them as he loudly eats something. “What’s wrong?” Suga whispers back.

“I can’t read him.” Tooru, who can’t block anything _out_ , can’t read him? That doesn’t bode well and Suga wonders if he should be readying anything other than a simple knife. “Iwa-chan?” Tooru calls before Suga can do anything else. Iwaizumi doesn’t respond or seem to notice. “Iwaizumi?” Still no response. Finally, in a tentative voice, Tooru calls, “ _Yhri_?”

Suga clamps a hand over the ear nearest Tooru; the word _burns_. Iwaizumi snaps to attention like he’s been shocked. Since he’s facing them, Suga can see that he’s even worse than he’d thought, which is just great. Large patches of him are inhuman, alternating a dark, mottled sealskin or the teal scales of dragonskin, and there’s some sort of raw meat clutched in the claws of one of his hands.

“Are you eating my bacon?” Tooru asks, offended.

Iwaizumi stares at him, uncomprehending.

“He’s eating it _raw_ ,” Suga points out. He really hopes this doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.

“…What do dragons eat?” Tooru asks. Iwaizumi, not hearing anything else that interests him, goes back to picking bits of raw meat out of the packaging and scarfing them down like he’s starving.

“Have any other uncooked meat?” Suga asks, and Tooru shakes his head. “You may want to start buying fish. I’m not certain about dragon diets, but I know that’s what seals eat and more meat shouldn’t upset him.”

“More to research. Yaaaay,” Tooru cheers weakly and buries his face in his arms on top of the egg. After a beat, he straightens, downs the rest of the coffee, and clambers to his feet. “Suga, find out what _yhri_ means because I don’t want to be calling him some sort of mean or weird demigod pet name.”

“Yeah, you only want to call him _your_ weird pet name. _How_ am I supposed to—”

“The important thing is that he’s awake! He’s awake and _moving_ , and he’s definitely not dead.”

He’s just potentially shell-shocked enough to have reverted to something more feral while maintaining a partial dragon form. No big deal. Hopefully he’s not too hungry. Suga doesn’t say it aloud, but the way Tooru’s expression falters means he must read it off of his thoughts.

“Set something up with the tengu! You’ll be my go-between, I hope, because we’re asking for favors and I’m not sure they like me or Iwa-chan, and because you’re the nicest, sweetest, most refreshing person in the whole world.” Suga had already assumed he’d be the one doing it, so he’s not sure why the flattery is necessary. “And you are going to get Iwa-chan’s other skin back, and then talk our delightful Kiyoko into asking the crow tengu for help.”

“ _That’s_ your plan?”

“My plan right now is figuring out how to get my bodyguard back to paying attention to me.”

“You’re going to get eaten.”

“Does psychic blood—”

“ _Don’t._ ”

 

\--

 

“Nice to, um, meet you,” Kenma mumbles, eyes on his bare feet. Tsukishima towers over him. Kuro had warned him that Tadashi’s ghost was a little prickly, but he didn’t expect him to look intimidating and _young_ on top of it.

“Tsukki, be nice,” Tadashi hisses and smacks him. His hand makes contact for a moment before passing through his shoulder.

“Has that been happening often?” Kuro asks, brow raised.

“I guess so. Since Halloween, anyway. We can’t really do it on purpose, and apparently he can touch me if I’m sleeping— _don’t_ laugh at that!”

“Kuro, stop laughing.”

“What a well-trained demon,” Tsukishima says when Kuro falls silent. “Though I suppose he must have _some_ kind of value beneath the poor sense of humor and reek of demonic magic.”

“At least I can shower. How long have you been dead now?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you’re my elder. How many years have you been wagging your tail for anyone stupid enough to summon you? I’m sure you must have had a very fulfilling afterlife playing pet for your various meals.”

“Tsukki, stop!” Tadashi exclaims. He tries to tug him away, but there’s not even a hint of tangibility and his arms go straight through him. The blond shudders and steps away from him with a sneer.

“Um, I don’t really want a fight in here,” Kenma interrupts, gesturing to his small living room. Not that he’s particularly attached to this apartment, but it’s served him nicely for the past couple of years and he doesn’t want anything to break.

“Then can he wait in another room or something? Magic shouldn’t mix with demons, right?” Tsukishima asks.

Kenma gives him a blank stare. “I know two different ways to banish you without writing runes. I have a malnourished demon contracted to me. And he’s not the hazard in this room. So if you could stop picking fights, I’ll get him to stop, and we can get on with this.”

“He doesn’t mean it,” Tadashi says defensively, stepping between them. Kenma reflexively steps back. “We’re, um, nervous about this entire thing. Everyone just keeps telling us that it’s dangerous and not much else. We’ll be getting more information today, right…?”

“Oh. Yes.” Kenma’s not very pleased he said that, in hindsight, but it’s not like he can take it back now. And they’re probably better off with Tsukishima thinking Kenma’s a little tougher than he actually is than trying to apologize. “You haven’t really been able to use any magic yet, right?”

“Ah, no,” Tadashi says, hanging his head.

“That’s fine. It’s irrelevant to what I’ll be doing, anyway. Did you figure out when you were born?”

“I asked my aunt and she said she thinks it was about one in the morning.”

He wants a more specific time, but he also doesn’t want to push the subject. Kuro told him about Tadashi’s mother in the graveyard. An emotional teenager is the last thing he wants today. “We’ll aim for that then. We can do it here, and—”

“If Yamaguchi’s not going to be using magic, then why do you want his magic to be powered up?” Tsukishima cuts in.

“ _He_ won’t be using his magic. I will,” Kenma evenly replies. The other two stare at him.

“Is… that allowed?” Tadashi asks after a long, confused moment.

“He’ll be using you as an anchor. More magic, better spell. Longer spell, too. Which reminds me, how long do you two want to be buddy-buddy?” Kuro asks with a winning smile. Kenma resists the urge to sigh at him. He still wishes he’d tell him how long _they_ would be ‘buddy-buddy’.

Realization dawns over Tsukishima’s face. “You’re writing a contract. You’re going to contract me to him like…”

“Like a demon, go ahead and finish it.”

“Wait, that’s what this spell is?!” Tadashi asks, alarmed, looking between them. “Is that safe? Does that mean Tsukki’s gonna be bound to me? I don’t want him to be like, a servant or whatever you are—uh, no offense, but I don’t want—”

“It’s more of a simple binding than an outright contract,” Kenma tells him. “But yes, it is based off of a demonic contract.”

“Is that going to be an issue?” Kuro asks with another smile. He’s enjoying this, the ass.

“What exactly does that mean for us? I’m still new to this stuff, so I need details. On, like, _all_ of this.”

Kenma really wanted to avoid long explanations. He sinks into his favorite chair, a plush, overstuffed thing, and waves at Kuro to do it for him. He knows enough of the plan to handle it, and the demon happily does so. “It’s normally impossible to bind any sort of being to another that already exists in this realm. So that’s a big part of why we’re using a demonic contract as a base, but that means that you get some related issues—the main one being a built-in time limit. And if one of you croaks, the other’s going down, too. Sorry, I guess. I don’t think there’s really a way to avoid that one.”

“I-Isn’t there some way to avoid this? The contract thing? This seems like a, um, a big commitment?” Tadashi asks and wrings his hands.

“It’s not as big as it sounds. There’s no distance thing, and you can still lie to each other to your hearts’ contents. We’re only using a demonic contract as a _base_.”

“You can’t lie?” Tsukishima asks, astonished.

“Don’t worry, I can lie to you. Two plus two equals seven, I’m wearing yellow socks, I’m a dog person,” Kuro rattles off, and then points over to Kenma. Tsukishima’s expression returns to a mild glare. “Him, I can’t lie to. That’s how it works. Summon a demon yourself sometime and enjoy all those benefits.”

“No thank you,” Tadashi quickly replies. “Uh, so I can understand using something like that as a base, and I’m not saying that’s inherently _bad_ —”

“You’re thinking it. We both are,” Tsukishima says, under his breath but still plenty audible.

“Shush. The question I wanna ask is—Morisuke and Suga don’t know about this, do they? They wouldn’t be happy about this. But won’t they figure out what you’ve done and be mad anyway?”

“Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?” Kuro says.

“And Sugawara has done something like this himself,” Kenma adds. “You don’t have to do this. But you wanted a problem solved, and this is my solution. You can go elsewhere, or give up. I don’t care.”

“We’re already getting close to contact again,” Tadashi says excitedly.

Kuro smirks and Kenma momentarily feels sorry for them. “Yes, but after the _Danse_ , isn’t someone getting rather lonely being _just_ a ghost again? I can’t imagine being tangible again for just a few hours and then having it taken away again—”

“You’re being awfully presumptuous,” Tsukishima says coldly.

“…It wasn’t that bad, anyway,” Tadashi quietly adds. A clear lie.

“The temptation is there. Most ghosts don’t stick around after Halloween because of that,” Kenma tells them. “That sort of envy leads to unstable spirits. Possession, poltergeists, bad hauntings.”

“And demons.”

“Sugawara still doesn’t trust you, which means Kiyoko might not, either. You’re a walking hazard.”

“Someone’s certainly pressing hard for this,” Tsukishima drawls. Kenma averts his eyes and turns so his hair hides his face. “Is there a reason why _you’re_ so invested in this idea? Not that I’m one to question the goodness in others’ hearts, of course.”

“There’s another side effect,” he replies instead of answering the question. Tadashi makes another nervous hum. “If you do this, you really will become a static being. If the spell is successful, you won’t face any further risks of becoming a demon.”

“…But he won’t become a luck spirit, either,” Tadashi finishes. He looks up at Tsukishima, whose face is unreadable.

Kenma nods. “You’ll be stable, but you’ll be forever caught between the two. The _Danse_ will probably continue to affect you in future years, you’ll still be able to make luck like you have been, and you’ll never become tangible to the rest of the world outside of the _Danse_.”

“So you have to ask yourself—is ‘good enough’ good enough for you?” Kuro asks.

Tsukishima’s expression remains shuttered. Tadashi looks up at him, his own expression edging toward desperate, but oddly enough, Kenma isn’t certain which side of the fence he’s on. He had expected Tsukishima to be leery, and that he would be ultimately swayed by whatever Tadashi pushed for. Kenma had thought that that would be in favor of the spell, but looking at them now, he thinks he may have misjudged him.

“Can we have a little more time to decide?” Tadashi asks.

“Okay. But I still need to test a few more things if you want this to be ready by the tenth.”

The rest of the tests take about fifteen minutes, save one. He expected no less. It takes almost two hours (filled primarily with Mario Kart) but Kenma manages to touch Tsukishima himself. This proves that it’s not just Tadashi, which Kenma had been worried about, but most interestingly, it hadn’t happened when he’d been _trying_. (Kuro, reading the second _Harry Potter_ between watching Kenma choose Rainbow Road, got a little too into it and leapt onto the couch, across all of their laps. Kenma was jostled and fell against Tsukishima’s shoulder, just for a moment.)

His tangibility being an unconscious thing is curious, and frankly, Kenma thinks it’s a good sign. But he also surmises that it’s defaulted to that because Tsukishima has stopped trying entirely. He’s further along than he thinks. Kenma isn’t sure, however, if sharing this information would sway him toward or away from the spell, so he stays silent on the matter. He _wants_ them to want the spell.

Plans may have changed, but Kenma is nothing if not adaptable.

 

\--

 

“D’you wanna talk about it?” Tadashi mumbles, not meeting Kei’s eye. He very clearly wants to, body radiating tension, just like it has been since they’d found out. How the teen hasn’t worried himself into an ulcer is beyond him. Kei just clucks his tongue as an answer. “I, uh, was surprised when you could touch Kenma. But I shouldn’t have been, right? I mean, just this morning that door slammed in your face—”

“What do _you_ think I should do?” he asks, biting, because Tadashi is fishing for it so obviously it hurts him.

Not that his tone bothers him at all. “Fucking—how should _I_ know? You were already breaking the rules, and I’m pretty sure these new rules wouldn’t _be_ breakable. You’d be stuck like this—you’re already stuck like this, shit, I mean you’re a ghost—”

Kei tells himself he does _not_ flinch at that.

(If Tadashi is tense, then Kei is about to explode or implode. He hasn’t decided yet.)

“— _ohh_ my fucking god,” Tadashi groans, hands tugging at his dark hair. He tilts his head back and growls at the overcast sky. “How are we—you—how does _anyone_ decide this sort of thing?!”

“He said it would hurt you,” Kei says. He can barely rein in the agitation simmering beneath his skin. _How_ do _you decide something like that—_

“Only during the casting, no lasting damage.” Of _course_ he’s not worried about that. “That’s not something to get hung up on. Not compared to, well, _everything_. Oh jeez. No more risk of being a demon, huh? …Have you ever actually been worried about that?”

Kei squints at him, but Tadashi doesn’t notice as he tries to buy a train ticket and instead finds one leftover in the slot. “I will not become a demon, but I’ve been cautious. There’s technically still the chance I could become one during the spell. Worried about that?”

“Shit, _now_ I am. But afterwards you’d be out of the woods…” Tadashi lapses into more agonizing over the choices, interspersed with the cussing he only uses in private despite not being alone on the train car, and Kei can’t help but tune him out in favor of his own thoughts. They both have to work out what they’ve just been presented with.

Column A: They accept the spell. Kei is stuck as he is. A misplaced, collared ghost. He’ll be able to interact with Tadashi and little else. No more people trying to banish him based on unjust demon accusations. The spell hurts Tadashi. The spell increases the risk of becoming a demon. He can’t figure out why Kenma is so nonchalant about the risks or why he’s pushing for it.

Column B: They turn down the spell. Kei tries to push on toward becoming a luck spirit. Something similar to Morisuke, which means there has to be true tangibility somewhere in the fine print. There’s a constant threat of becoming a demon, until— _until what?_ He doesn’t know what the endgame is. He doesn’t know how long it will take. He doesn’t know if it’s _possible_.

 _Do I want ‘good enough’? Do I want stability? Do I want to take the risk for the greater reward? Do I want to try again?_ Ever since Morisuke intervened, he hasn’t been as diligent. Which is to say that he stopped as soon as he hit ‘good enough’ territory and let the rest of it coast. Arrival at that conclusion is an uncomfortable experience.

“…What do _you_ want?” Kei forces out and Tadashi falters in his stream of consciousness. He blinks up at him, processing the question—processing how he should react. “You haven’t taken a side yet.” Come to think of it, he’s been very careful not to mention anything that could be construed as bias ever since they got more details about it. He’s sure it’s just because he’s worrying, but honestly, why is _he_? It’ll barely affect him. The spring inside him winds tighter.

“It’s a big thing, isn’t it? I mean, you wanted to become a luck spirit so badly—”

_Had he?_

“—and this feels like settling. A consolation prize, and you always struck me as the kind of guy who didn’t settle. Or maybe I should say you _shouldn’t_ settle? You’ve already come so far! Probably. I’m not sure how this all works.” Tadashi eases off of his own pep talk with an uneasy laugh.

Kei forces himself to stop grinding his teeth. “If it were you, what would you pick?”

“Uh, well, I’m not sure I’d have been strong enough to get this far. And can you imagine me haunting you? You would’ve called an exorcist yourself the first time you saw me.” Another fake chuckle. Kei coils tighter. And he hadn’t answered the question.

“Yamaguchi. Which option do you want.”

“…You haven’t told me what you want, either, y’know,” he mumbles and rubs at his arm. He turns to pretend to look out the window, but Kei catches him peeking up at him through his bangs.

 _Because I don’t know_ , he thinks viciously, and hates himself for arriving at that. He _doesn’t know_ what he wants. He hasn’t known since Akiteru died and disappeared. He’d been afraid to pass on because it had seemed like a permanent solution. Haunting was an easy, temporary choice. Yamaguchi Tadashi was an easy, impersonal target. Did he _want_ to become a luck spirit? No, but now he was committed, and it was as good a choice as any.

Did he want to settle now? Did he want to tie himself to Tadashi, drag him further toward himself? Did he want to risk his non-life further for the sake of finding something more independent? God, he didn’t even want to _have_ this choice. He would have been perfectly content just dealing with a single route to follow.

“I don’t know,” Kei confesses, hardly audible, “what I should do.” Which choice is the _smart_ one? Normally, he’d jump at the more secure option, but that one isn’t his to make. That one affects someone else, a boy he’s grown attached to, who’s still _alive_ and who has a future that could be unrelated to ghosts and magic if he’d want.

But risks aren’t his style, either. Even though he already misses touching that dumb fucking couch in the cramped living room, and he misses the feel of Tadashi’s dumb pajamas, and he wants to smell more than just the tang of magic again.

“It’s your decision,” Tadashi tells him gently, backing off for his sake. Which is the last thing Kei wants right now. He doesn’t know what he wants, and he certainly doesn’t want this all to come down on him.

“Well.” He stands up, drawing Tadashi’s curious eyes, and Kei turns from him. “I don’t want to make that decision.”

“We could do the spell later. They said how long it’d last depends, but it’ll just last less time without the birthday magic or whatever. No big deal.”

Column C: Do nothing (again), which is Not An Option because Tadashi is slowly grinding himself down to nothing without sleep and with that damned potion. He’s going to learn magic and who _knows_ what kind of dangers that brings.

Magic made Akiteru disappear.

The side of the train gives immediately to his hand. Tadashi is the easiest to touch, and there are the odd instances of doors or walls or Kenma, but most of the world is still _nothing_ to him.

Column D: Remove himself from the equation. And since the equation was for his sake, no more equation.

The tension in his body comes to a head when Tadashi grabs his arm. “Tsukki, what are you doing?”

His fingers go through him after that same usual single second of blissful contact. “I’m done with this. Too much effort for too little gain. Goodbye, Yamaguchi.” He phases through Tadashi, ignoring his frantic cursing, and out the moving train.

 

\--

 

Tooru finds a dragon in his bedroom.

 _Okay. What the hell_. He knows immediately that it’s Iwaizumi, because the dragon is double-winged, blue-green with dark points, and he’s seen that same skin dragged around his house for the past two weeks after buying it from Kiyoko, but this is the first time he’s a _dragon_ instead of something half-turned. He hadn’t known the pelt was wearable.

Iwaizumi raises his head, regards him for a moment, then yawns at him.

Tooru concentrates, focuses on him, but there’s still just that rattling _nothing_ he gets from him. “You finished working on it? Or turning it into something useable? I don’t know how these things work, since you don’t tell me,” he says and manages to keep his voice light despite the way the static he feels from Iwaizumi makes him want to push his head into a pillow and scream. He’s building back his own defenses brick by mental brick, and it’s taking _ages_ , but his actual skills haven’t been dulled. He should be able to read him just as easily as ever.

Iwaizumi rolls around on the bed he’s dwarfing, making it creak ominously, and Tooru hears something rip beneath him. With another dog-like wiggle, he sits up abruptly, and Tooru actually blinks and misses it; he sits up, human-shaped, with dragon scales pooled around his waist like the world’s most expensive sheet. Iwaizumi stares blearily at him. He opens his mouth, and Tooru holds his breath, but he closes it again with a scowl at his own lack of sound.

It’s been difficult to get a read on him, and not just because he’s an empty echo right now. Tooru just isn’t certain how much of himself he is currently. Him having worked on the dragon pelt enough to get it working for himself gives him hope, but until he’s talking again—or until Tooru can get through the strange mental block (because he refuses to believe that there’s simply _nothing_ , there can’t be nothing), he knows they’re not out of whatever woods they’re stuck in.

Or until Iwaizumi stops eating nothing but raw meat. That he could do without.

“If you can turn into a dragon, does that mean you can fly?” Tooru asks.

Something like annoyance flits across Iwaizumi’s face before he yawns again and clambers out of bed, dragging his other skin with him. Tooru really wants to get that annoyance back, because it means a return to normalcy.

“Where’s the sealskin? Because I will be _so_ pissed if you choose to take it and run now.”

“ _Bugah nageb? Yathg, lloig. …nghafh’drn_.”

His voice is low, rough from disuse, and okay, maybe outright a _growl_ , but Tooru is so delighted to hear him that he hardly pays any mind to the ringing in his ears from the words. He throws himself at Iwaizumi with a cry. Iwaizumi hardly moves, but puts one hand on Tooru’s waist to steady him. “Keep talking, keep talking! I hate having to fill the silences, and god, I was so _worried_ , you ass, how long have you been able to talk again?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t respond. Tooru can’t bring himself to hope that he’s doing it just as another mean little thing. Instead, the skinwalker brings up his hand to Tooru’s cheek—his heart stutters out of time and he fearfully thinks _what the hell is he_ —and pulls it away again with blood on the pads of his fingers. From his ear. Right.

“Maybe having a conversation wouldn’t hurt if you could speak _not_ -devil tongues again. Or whatever that’s supposed to be,” he suggests.

“ _Ya nnncagle, lloig. Fhtagn_ ,” Iwaizumi murmurs, clean fingers moving to draw little circles in the small of Tooru’s back.

Except those weren’t circles.

Despite all of the caffeine in his system and despite realizing what he was doing, the magic overtakes Tooru and he slumps in Iwaizumi’s arms.

He doesn’t dream. Most psychics learn not to, since dreams can lead down terrifying paths, but part of why he’s been downing coffee like he’s getting paid lately is because he can’t stop himself from dreaming. Most of it’s harmless. It’s the nightmares of Ptar-Axtlan that have put him off sleeping for quite some time.

But this is neither. Tooru has never learned to properly lucid dream, so it’s surprising to float down through snow and water and stars and land gently on downy, fluffy baby seal fur with the knowledge that _he’s dreaming right now_.

He’s dreaming right now and Iwaizumi put him to sleep with a sleep spell. The absolute jackass.

“Call me a jackass again and I’ll kick you back out,” comes a voice to his left. Tooru whirls around, movements slowed by all of the fluff, and the nice softness pops like a balloon when he finds what his mind tells him is Iwaizumi. It doesn’t look like him. Nor does it look like a seal, or a dragon, or anything else. He doesn’t look like much of anything, not formless but not solid, and Tooru’s brain hurts trying to rationalize it. “Stop it, you’re going to kill yourself. Turn back around and think of whatever made you so happy before.”

Happy? Sullen but obedient, he turns back around and plops down. The ground has become smooth scales, half-solid, like jello. They’re pleasantly cool to the touch and he runs his fingers over the edges as he settles in. “You used magic on me.”

“Not so loud,” Iwaizumi snaps and the ground shakes, scales rattling.

But he was talking, so why couldn’t—

“Just that is fine. Don’t make so much noise, we don’t want to attract attention.” Tooru senses more than feels Iwaizumi approach him from behind and sit down as well. He settles back against him with a happy sigh, and something allows it, because he feels something to lay on. Dreams are weird. “I don’t want you to spend too much time here, so I’ll be kicking you out before long. Especially if you go and cause a racket like some lost kid.”

Tooru frowns. He was _not_. Psychics are just skittish around dreams, and lucid dreaming is something new. Novel. Not to mention the fact that he’s apparently sharing it.

“Well, don’t hold your breath on the lucid dreaming part, because that’s not what you’re doing. I dragged you into the Dreamlands so we can talk and I don’t have to keep watching you turn into a vibrating ball of caffeine and poor life choices.”

That should be a movie tagline. The movie of his life.

“And that’s why I’m stopping you, dumbass,” Iwaizumi chides, but there’s amusement lurking beneath his rough tone. “Ask Sugawara about the Dreamlands and the general shit. I’m just here to tell you that I’m… well, okay, I guess. Surprisingly.”

If his definition of ‘okay’ was ‘live off of raw meat and wander around like a zombie’ then Tooru can agree with that.

“I’m alive, aren’t I? And I’m just—well, for the most part, I’m _here_ , dodging certain parties and resting. Hibernating. In your realm, I’m mostly just trying to heal. …It hurts to be there right now,” Iwaizumi admits and Tooru feels his arms come around him with a soft sigh. “So stop worrying, Shittikawa. I don’t know how, but I didn’t die, so I’ll be back in your realm full-time before you know it. Probably.”

Yeah, because that’s reassuring. Tooru hums and kicks his legs in the scales, gently scattering them. They float upward around them, sinking slowly into the fuzzy grey sky.

“You still have my list. Find out who’s trying to summon the others. And stop buying me venison, I’m going to get sick off of it.”

Tooru knows for a fact that dragons eat deer.

“First off, you are the pickiest human I have ever met, so you don’t get to complain. Second, my burned pelt was my stag skin. And, on that note, I _know_ you’re going to ask the tengu for my other one back. They’re going to hate you.”

But he doesn’t say no, so Tooru smiles. “Who’s the worrier now?” he says, voice as soft as he can make it, and still Iwaizumi jars away from him. Tooru falls over with a _fwump_. He rolls over, and the jiggly scales have become hard and sharp. He looks down and is alarmed to find broken glass beneath him. His panicked jump sends him through it like it’s water, and he looks up to find Iwaizumi peering down at him, nebulous silhouette distorted further through the jagged spikes.

“I think you should go now. You’re causing a stir because you can’t control that ego of yours.”

Tooru reaches up, clawing ineffectively at the now-solid glass, trying to get back to him. He has _not_ been babysitting a questionably feral half-dragon for a week just to lose him after a single, disappointing conversation. He’s very tempted to call out to him, but there’s a pressure beneath the glass, something dark and _waiting_.

“And don’t call me _yhri, lloig_ ,” Iwaizumi deadpans and Tooru wakes up.

He finds himself in his scratched-up bed and the clock on the nightstand tells him he’s slept for almost seven hours. Iwaizumi is seated on the edge of the mattress, robotically flexing draconic claws, expression blank.

“…So you’re the autopilot, huh? What am I supposed to do if I need you for something?” Tooru asks as he draws his knees up to his chest. Iwaizumi doesn’t reply. “That’s what I figured. What a hopeless bodyguard you are.”

He throws the seal pelt at his face.

 

\--

 

“Absolutely not,” Suga says flatly.

Kenma tries very hard to seem like he’s not eavesdropping, but could they _be_ any louder? Lev isn’t even trying to hide it, watching openly, and offers, “I could do it.”

“You don’t know tracking magic,” Kiyoko tells him.

“I _could_.”

“I don’t, either,” Suga reminds her. He pushes off of the table, winces at Tadashi’s sniffle, but still crosses his arms. “I’m not a tracker.”

“You found him before,” Tadashi points out.

“I found him through _you_ and it was sheer luck.”

“He’s a paying customer,” Kiyoko says calmly. “If you won’t do it, I’ll ask Yuu and Asahi—”

“ _No_ , the kid’s probably halfway to a demon by now!” Suga hisses. Tadashi flinches and Suga visibly bites back a curse. “I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry. I’m sure he’s still fine. Can’t Yaku track him for you…?”

“Yaku hasn’t been in. I personally doubt he would be so inclined.”

Suga gives Kiyoko a dirty look. “We have enough on our plate as it is, and you want me to leave. Really.”

“He deserves a chance,” she tells him. She gives him a cool look in return, pausing in rubbing at her temples, and adds, “Everyone deserves a chance. That includes young people who make questionable magical decisions and who want to help their spirit friends.”

Suga looks as though he’s been slapped. Kenma half-wishes Kuro was in the room with them so they could parse this out later, together. (He, personally, had always been under the impression that Sugawara had dabbled in necromancy with Kiyoko’s knowledge and approval. Apparently not.)

“I-I can do it on my own, if you just tell me how,” Tadashi volunteers though his voice wavers.

Suga sighs heavily. “No, no, I’ll help. Come on, before it gets any later.” He pulls on his coat and Tadashi jumps out of his seat with the first expression other than Trying To Hold Back Tears Kenma’s seen out of him today. As they go out the door, Suga asks, “I don’t suppose you happen to have anything that belonged to him when he was alive…?”

Tadashi makes some sort of negative noise as the door swings shut behind them.

“Usually it’s Kuroo who eavesdrops, isn’t it?” Kiyoko asks plainly. Kenma buries his nose further in the recipe book he’s reading.

“Is there eavesdropping magic?” Lev asks. Like _that’s_ what he needs. When neither of them answer him, he continues, as dauntless as ever. “I bet there is. Seems handy. Why d’you think Tadashi’s ghost friend ran away?”

Kenma wonders if he should feel guilty. He _doesn’t_ , but he’s pretty sure he had a hand in it. But all he did was offer an option. _Did he think the risk of turning into a demon during casting was too high?_ Probably due to his relative ghostly age, but Kenma hadn’t thought Tsukishima was all that afraid of demons or becoming one.

“What else is on your plate that’s so bad that Suga didn’t want to leave? Normally he doesn’t like to hang around here but lately all you two do is talk in private and then look really serious. Tadashi’s been buying enough of that one potion that I think he’s pretty much paying for this place himself, but are you guys going bankrupt?”

“Maybe he doesn’t stay around because you keep bothering him,” Kenma says. Sugawara doesn’t seem as used to Lev’s constant asking about magic as he or Kiyoko are. (Though he’s aware that it’s also entirely possible that he’s avoiding _him_. Or rather, Kuro.)

“Someone’s trying to start the end of the world,” Kiyoko says simply and Kenma accidentally rips the page he’d been trying to turn. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, Kenma?”

“The end of the world?” Lev echoes, head cocked. He swivels on his stool and pokes Kenma’s shoulder.

“Why are you asking _me_ that?” Kenma stalls. He keeps his back to her, but he can already feel himself break out into a cold sweat. _How did_ she _know?_ Psychics can’t scry, and while _that hand_ during the dragon migration had been big, he’s not sure people immediately go from seeing it to thinking end of the world. Except, of course, him, because he had known.

“What did you want the angel blood for?” Kiyoko asks. Her voice is as calm as ever but it still makes his heart rate skyrocket.

“ _Angels_ exist?!” Lev squawks.

“Not many people know that,” she replies. “I would ask if Kuroo told you, but I have the feeling you’ve known a lot more than we’ve thought for awhile now.”

He hears her stand, and Kenma’s shoulders hunch as he tries to stave off the inevitable confrontation. _Why does Lev have to be here? Is she doing this in front of him to make a point?_ he thinks, but no, she wouldn’t try to use Lev against him. Would she? She’s too soft, surely—

“I’ve tried to be patient, Kenma. I’m sorry I can’t any longer, but you may have information I need or could use,” Kiyoko says. “This isn’t to say I distrust you. I think I’ve been fair in my treatment of you and Kuroo both.”

“Hey, can we slow down for a moment?” Kenma catches movement out of the corner of his eye as Lev stands, too, moving to cut Kiyoko off. He wants to pull him back, because humans shouldn’t be caught in a witch fight, but his hands are fisted in his sleeves and he _can’t move_. “Kenma might act secretive but that’s just ‘cause he’s shy. Don’t be—whoa, what’s _that_?”

“Angel blood,” Kiyoko answers simply.

Kenma finally turns around. She’s holding out the glowing jar to them both.

“I’ll give this to you, Kenma. In exchange for information.”

“Wh-What information,” he stammers, voice unexpectedly hoarse, and he swallows. His mouth is still dry and he can’t keep his eyes off of the white jar.

“Do you know anything about _who_ is trying to end the world, or the methods they’re using?”

He shakes his head without moving his gaze. This close, in a container with less warding, he can _feel_ the magic rolling off of it in faint waves. It makes him a little dizzy.

“Do you know anything about the tengu or their missing eggs?”

He keeps his expression impassive at the mention of tengu. _Shouyou_. “Not really. Just that there are missing eggs and the tengu are upset. …I figured out that they’re probably after First eggs, though.”

“If I were to give this to you, what would you use it for?” Kiyoko asks.

“I’m not going to help end the world.”

“I hadn’t suspected you of that. Now please, answer my question.”

He swallows again. He knows she knows the answer to it, because why else would she bother asking? But summoning anything sentient is usually a capital offense, and he’s not about to admit to planning it _twice_. He has no idea _still_ why Kiyoko didn’t hang him out to dry after the first time. It would’ve been preferable to playing shop with half the hunters in the city.

“You wouldn’t be trying to summon an angel, would you?” she asks quietly.

“Hey, princess.” Kiyoko turns, surprised, and Kenma jumps, too, when Kuro manages to sneak up behind her. He blows a handful of sleep soot at her and she crumples. He catches the jar and quickly hands it to Kenma. “Mind telling me why I thought you were in here having a heart attack? _My_ chest was hurting.”

“Why did you do that?” Lev asks, eyes large, but he doesn’t necessarily sound upset, just concerned. “Are angels bad? _Why_ would angels be bad?”

“Why’re we talking about angels?” Kuro asks uneasily.

“She knows,” Kenma whispers. He looks down at the jar in his hands. “She knows about the apocalypse and she—she didn’t think it was _me_ , but she thinks I’m doing _something_.”

“Are you?” Lev asks.

“…No.”

“A pity, considering you’ve been lusting after that stuff since we saw it,” Kuro comments, and Kenma doesn’t have the energy to be irritated with him. He looks down at the unconscious woman. He can’t bring himself to be bothered about that, either, beyond the obvious _she is going to be mad when she wakes up_. Any hope he had of continuing to fly under the radar just went out the window.

 _…She won’t let me be_ , Kenma realizes. _Now_ he looks up at Kuro with narrowed eyes. “She’s going to think I’m doing something—”

“Something worse than summoning an angel?”

“ _Why_ did you do that?! Answer me.”

Kuro sighs. “In my defense, I honestly thought you were about to have a panic attack, or worse. I have a vested interest in staying alive. To otherwise answer your question, they were going to figure out the Tsukki thing sooner or later. Yaku’s going to point fingers if Tadashi doesn’t squeal.”

“That wasn’t my fault,” Kenma mutters. His fingers are slowly going numb from holding the jar so tightly mixed with the magic leaking out.

“Are you in trouble? Beyond the obvious?” Lev asks seriously, nodding down to Kiyoko. “And, uh, aside from the apocalypse. …Was she serious? Is that a thing, Kenma?”

“Uh, yeah. It sort of is. This is going to help me with it. …Probably.”

Except Kiyoko’s never going to let him near it ever again, even if it had been purchased as a bribe. And he’ll be lucky to get out of this unscathed—or at all.

But then again, this was always supposed to be temporary. He didn’t _like_ it here. Kenma only stayed because he had little else to do, no future to speak of, but now he’s holding onto a jar that can fix that for him. Though his heart is still hammering in his chest, he smiles. He’s good at leaving places.

“So what now?” Lev asks, sounding nervous for the first time.

He’s good at leaving places, but normally alone. Kenma looks at the two staring down at him and realizes _damn_. Whether he likes it or not (he really doesn’t, he tells himself), this is still a team effort. Just a smaller team.

“We’re leaving. Kuro, here’s what I want you to grab. Lev, head to my apartment, and, uh, start packing my things. _Carefully_. If you don’t break anything I’ll teach you a spell.” Hefting the white jar, Kenma begins his new plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( 1Пропуск = "Pass."  [ return ]
> 
> also please don't be afraid to throw thoughts/arts/literally _anything_ [directly at my face](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/). i'm bad at finding things by myself (thank you to those who pointed me in the direction of fanart i missed) but i am tracking my username as well as "fic: bbac" and "fic: bell book and candle" on tumblr too if you wanna try usin' those to slide things covertly my way ))


	11. Tanaka Saeko Is Not To Be Ignored

“Ideally, in order to track someone, you use finder’s magic on something they own or are attached to. Witches can scry if need be, but it’s trickier to scry for something specifically,” Suga explains. Tadashi remains worryingly quiet beside him. It’s not as if he’s in hysterics, but he’s normally a bit of a nervous talker, and while Suga is, too, he feels bad just filling the silence himself. But what choice does he have? “Finder’s magic is unfortunately one of those types that you pretty much have or don’t. There’s not much you can _learn_ about it.”

Suga doesn’t even know what Kiyoko expects of him. He’s not a tracker. Finding spirits is already a headache, and without something that belonged to Tsukishima, they’re going to be looking for a needle in a haystack.

And if he _really_ didn’t want to be found, if this situation is as bleak as Tadashi makes it seem, then Tsukishima could simply pass on. They’d never know. They’d never see him again.

Suga sincerely hopes Tsukishima cares enough about Tadashi—if nothing else—that he wouldn’t simply leave after that. While passing on is ultimately best for ghosts, the boys deserve a proper farewell. “I’m sorry about earlier,” Suga tells him, because Tadashi also deserves a proper apology, “about implying Tsukishima would become a demon. Barring some large, magical catastrophe, it’d be impossible for him to turn so quickly in the state he is now. I was worried, yes, but that’s no excuse.”

“Oh. It’s okay… I know a lot of people are worried about Tsukki,” Tadashi mumbles. Good, he’s talking again. “And all of this is…” He flaps his hand in a vague manner. “Dangerous.”

“It’s safer if you know certain tricks. Hitoka’s taught you some protection wards, right?”

“Mm. Uh, a locking one, and a general type of one. We’re still working on getting healing spells to work.”

“That’s good!” Suga says with a beam he doesn’t have to force. “I’m pretty bad at healing magic myself, so you’d be lucky to have a talent in it.”

Tadashi snorts at the word lucky. “If I were lucky, I would…” His steps falter and then he stops completely on the sidewalk, eyes wide with realization. Suga pauses, just ahead of him. Yes, Tadashi is lucky, incredibly so, but he hadn’t figured out a way to use that in their search. He hopes he doesn’t get his own hopes up— “How do you test someone for tracking magic?”

Well. That would… certainly be lucky. “I don’t know anyone personally, but—I know someone who knows someone else.” He chews on his lip, momentarily debating whether he should bring Tadashi there, but it’s not any riskier than what the kid’s already been dropped into. “Okay, we can work with this. Honestly, I don’t know what else we can do, so this is worth a shot!”

Tadashi breaks into a wobbly smile. Suga pulls out his phone and dials Tooru.

 

\--

 

Kuro moves Kiyoko into her bedroom and Kenma locks and wards the door. He sets a small alarm on the lock itself so he’ll know when she wakes up—or when someone finds her. Hopefully they’re long gone by then. “Bathroom,” Kenma says, giving the demon a shove down the hall.

“What? Why?” Kuro asks, craning his neck back to look at him, and his eyebrows shoot up when Kenma pulls off his shirt. Before he can ask, Kenma pushes him into the bathroom and rips the crystal amulet off of him. “Hey, don’t I sort of need that? What’re you—”

Kenma crowds him into the shower and fights to pull off his pants. “Take off your clothes and start scrubbing. Kiyoko could find her own magic, so we need to get rid of that. And you need to stop smelling like a demon long enough for me to make you a new one.” Normal people won’t be able to tell the difference, but she’ll definitely send people after them. It wouldn’t be hard to find a demon without covering charms on him.

“You’re literally going to try to wash the demon smell off of me,” Kuro says in disbelief. Kenma, down to his binder and his boxers, impatiently turns on the water on top of him. Kuro yelps at the cold temperature. “Fuck, Kenma, c’mon. And what about my clothes?”

Kenma climbs in after him and looks at the shampoo on Kiyoko’s shelf. It’s normal store bought stuff, but the shower gel next to it has a tiny cleansing mark carved onto the plastic top. Bingo. “I warned you.”

Kuro, grumbling all the while, peels off his soaked clothes and drops them off to the side. As soon as he sits down, Kenma dumps half the container onto his hair and shoulders, making him splutter and complain further, but he relaxes as soon as he starts working the suds into his hair. Kuro hums and leans against him like a contented cat.

“Did you gather up all the stuff I asked you to?” Kenma asks, because he’s beginning to worry about him falling asleep.

“Yeah, mostly. We can grab it on our way out. Hope you have a plan for walking around town in winter with wet clothes.”

Kenma huffs. Like he wouldn’t know how to dry some clothes. Kuro opens his eyes, despite the soap everywhere, and turns his head just enough to look at the mostly-healed burn scar on Kenma’s stomach. Kenma feels his face heat up—even with Kuro, he doesn’t like to show skin, much less the result of his knee-jerk attempt at stopping his bleeding—but the demon thankfully doesn’t say anything.

Kenma’s gotten so used to the smell of demonic magic that he can’t even tell what Kuro ends up smelling like. But his skin has been scrubbed raw and the poor drain is a mess of black hair. “You’re probably okay. I can enchant some soap later tonight, and I want you to shower like this before we go out. Until I make you a new charm.” He’s not the best at working with crystals, but he’s seen Kiyoko’s work, so he knows what to copy. The concealment spell is the easy part. Attaching it to a necklace is the tricky bit. _Should I use an amethyst again? No, it’s too general._

Kuro wrings out his clothes in the shower and then holds them up expectantly. He looks so different with his hair dripping into his eyes rather than the severe bedhead he normally walks around with. Kenma uses the water droplets on the shower wall to write a water movement spell and pulls most of the dampness from his clothes (instead of pursuing that train of thought).

“You wouldn’t freeze, even with wet clothes, would you?” Kenma asks.

“Probably not. But considering this is meant to be a fast retreat, I don’t think either of us want me to be distracted by frozen skin, right?”

Kenma gives him a flat look before he pads out into the hall, opens the closet, and returns with Kiyoko’s broom.

“Okay, yeah, that beats running like hell.”

They grab the other things they want, bundle them up, and tie them carefully to the broom handle. Kuro breaks one of the windows in the front, scatters a few papers, and breaks a couple of empty jars. Kenma raises an eyebrow.

“We’ve been hanging out with Yaku, too, so maybe we’ll be lucky enough to have Kiyoko’s memory of who did it be a little fuzzy. Or did you want to leave some money as apology for stealing half her shit and breaking some things?” he challenges, and Kenma looks away. He can practically feel his smug smirk. “That’s the spirit. Be a proper criminal!”

“This is self-preservation,” Kenma replies.

“You tell yourself that,” he replies, and Kenma would kick him if he didn’t have enough on his plate. He makes sure the things are safely packed, especially the angel blood, and they make their way outside. The residual moisture in their clothes makes Kenma shiver, but Kuro is warm when he wraps his arms around him when they mount the broom. Kenma ignores the memories of the last time he’d been on one.

No turning back now, but he has what he wanted.

 

\--

 

Tooru gives Suga the number of his tracker friend, cheerfully asks what the Dreamlands are, and Suga tries not to have a heart attack. He gracelessly sidesteps the question and hangs up soon after. Tooru’s lucky he didn’t hang up then and there, because holy hell, where did he learn about the Dreamlands? Suga and Yui had had to research for _months_ and were neck-deep in necromancy before they found anything concrete about it.

But should he _really_ be surprised? Tooru has a knack for sticking his nose into things, Suga’s still unlucky, and for all he knew, Tooru had gleaned it from his thoughts somehow. He’s going to have to get his own mental walls back up before seeing him again (or before some other ancient memetic deity decides to crash their apocalypse party).

Tooru’s friend can’t meet them until tomorrow, which is a disappointment, but not unexpected.

“If it’s okay, I’ll come over and ward your place with a couple of alarms,” Suga suggests to the teen beside him. They shouldn’t be too difficult to place, though he is slightly worried about creating something so specific. (Tadashi doesn’t need to know that.) “Just something that would wake you up if he tries to come back while you’re sleeping. We don’t need any weird _Twilight_ reenactments.”

It’s mostly a little thing to assure Tadashi that they _will_ work on this case and he’s trying, and it seems to work on that front. “Is there any way to make one that’ll tell me if he stops by while I’m out?” he asks.

“It’s possible, but a little trickier. Since these are wards, actually I could try and teach you them myself, if you’d like,” Suga offers. Tadashi nods emphatically, and Suga smiles. “The difference between wards and spells is that wards operate almost entirely on runes, and they’re normally passive, so they’re not as draining to make. It’s far safer to learn and practice with those instead. Hmm, hmm, what other ones could I teach you…”

He’s all for getting Tadashi’s mind off of things and it is especially charming to have such an eager student, but Suga banishes spirits for a living. Most of his knowledge (outside of the basics) is geared toward exorcism, necromancy, or protection. He’d have to see if Kiyoko has a book on basic marks… He sends her a text updating her on the search and asking if she does have one.

They make their way to Tadashi’s apartment, which is dark. Suga can feel a faint tang of excess magic around, likely the result of Tsukishima dripping luck everywhere he went, and he teaches Tadashi a locking ward before he’s even fully inside. “It will just reinforce physical locks, so don’t try to use _just_ this if you can, but it’s handy.”

“What about unlocking ones?”

“For physical locks or magical ones?”

Tadashi scratches at the back of his head. “Uh, both?” He seems to be taking to the distraction well, and Suga delights in showing him a couple others. He’s a good learner, too, and practices runes on his palm while Suga outlines the uses and drawbacks. By the time he’s actually taking off his shoes to stay inside, the front door is possibly one of the most charmed doors this side of the city. Nothing will be getting in or out without a lot of magical firepower _and_ Tadashi’s knowledge.

Suga looks around the dark living room, noting the normal teenager mess of things across the table and couch, and calls, “Your parents home?” He has no real issue with parents not in the know—he was the same way—but it’d at least be polite to pretend like he’s not sneaking around their home.

“Oh, uh. No. It’s just me here now, without Tsukki. Do you want anything to drink?” Tadashi asks, quick to change the subject.

 _Did I bring up a sore subject?_ Praying he didn’t, Suga shakes his head and tries not to snoop any further in his surveying of the apartment. _Not my business_ , he tells himself, but already, he can see that it’s clear Tadashi is used to living alone. It’s not exactly dirty, but it’s not meticulous, and things are scattered about based on frequency of use. _So all he’s had for company is Tsukishima…?_ No wonder they were such quick friends.

Feeling like a bit of an asshole, Suga can’t help but notice that the family photos scattered about are mostly Tadashi and a woman he assumes is his mother. The overall decor is sparse, but also looks more mature than what he’d expect from a teenager; picture frames line the hallway, the bathroom is color-coordinated, and he spies a closed door that he expects leads to another bedroom, based on the apartment layout.

Suga teaches him as many wards as he can recall off the top of his head, pushing down any further fretting. He makes note to visit Tooru’s soon to look over his bathroom door again, since he’s forgotten a fair few of how that was done, but by the time they’ve practiced on every door, window, and corner of the place, Tadashi has a good grasp on them all. “You’re picking this up pretty fast. Tomorrow I’ll grab one of my old notebooks to give to you, if you’d like,” he suggests, almost like a token of apology for his silent nosiness. (And he’ll only hand it over after ripping out the worst pages, naturally.)

“Thank you,” Tadashi replies, quietly, and as they make their way back out into the living room, Suga _knows_ he catches him looking at the extra bedroom. “Um, you can ask, if you want.”

Suga can’t help his wince. “Sorry. Is your mother…?”

“She’s gone. A couple months now.”

“I’m so sorry. …Can I ask how you’re affording this place?” God, if they had known, Kiyoko wouldn’t have charged him a cent. Hell, she probably would’ve offered him some sort of job herself. Suga knows what it’s like to be young and alone and new to magic, and he lucked out by befriending Yui, and then Kiyoko.

Tadashi rubs at his eyes and uses the movement to turn from him. “I’m working, and I’ve been win—uh, earning some money with luck. Nothing bad, I promise!”

Suga smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Kiyoko plays the stock market because she’s a psychic. During college, my friend and I used to use memory charms to skip out on bills from time to time. I hope we don’t come off as _too_ stuffy.”

“Memory stuff exists?” Tadashi asks.

“Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t teach you that kind of magic. Stick to your lessons with Hitoka.”

He averts his eyes again and asks, “Will you still teach me other things later? Um, I mean, even after we find Tsukki. I want to learn more about spirits, and you seem really knowledgeable, and I _really_ don’t want any more ghostly surprises.”

He has just the right amount of quiet confidence and shy hope that Suga _knows_ he’s going to end up teaching this boy everything he knows (minus a teensy bit of dark magic). “Of course! That wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.”

They agree to meet up tomorrow to see Tooru’s friend, and Suga really hopes they are indeed lucky enough to pull this off. He could use a little bit of good news.

 

\--

 

“What happened here?” Saeko asks loudly, pausing in front of the broken glass scattered across the hallway. There’s no response from inside. She shuts the door behind her, listens for a moment longer, and then picks her way carefully through the shop. “Kiyoko? Is everything alright? Oiiii, Kiyoko, where are you?”

She finds the other woman upstairs in her bathroom. Saeko heaves a silent sigh of relief and re-holsters her gun. “Oh. Saeko. Sorry, were you calling for me…?” Kiyoko looks more tired than Saeko’s ever seen her, with dark bags under her eyes and hair like she’s just rolled out of a bad nap. She’s hard-pressed to remember many instances where she’s seen Kiyoko so disheveled.

“You have some broken things downstairs. Did someone break in?”

Kiyoko tilts her head to the side, thinking. Saeko’s expression hardens. “…No, I don’t believe anyone did. I’ll clean it up in a moment, I just had to wash my face.”

Saeko can see small trails of pink in the water still glistening on Kiyoko’s pale skin. “Did you have another nosebleed? You _know_ you’re supposed to be laying off of the psychic shit for awhile.”

“It was just a bad dream that got out of hand.”

“A psychic dream?” she asks archly.

Kiyoko doesn’t reply and wipes her face with the towel next to the sink. She puts her glasses back on, and the shadows the lenses cast just about cover the circles under her eyes. Saeko would consider telling her to take a nap if she didn’t know that the attempt had just gone poorly. Saeko doesn’t pity often, but she does feel sorry for Kiyoko.

She helps her clean up the broken glass, and watches as Kiyoko makes note of what was broken. She’s pretty sure that things were stolen, too, judging from the way her eyes linger on certain shelves. “Anything I can help with?” Saeko offers. Kiyoko can be stubbornly (infuriatingly) private, and Saeko’s not a subtle person, but she’s learned to be a _little_ circumspect when trying to look out for her. Usually. (The big things, anyway; Hitoka doesn’t count.)

“If I tell you something, you’re not allowed to act upon it. Not as my employee, but as my friend,” Kiyoko says, and _shit_ , Saeko knows she’s in deep when she plays the friend card.

“Who do I have to kill?” Saeko growls.

“No one. I’m fine. My shop is fine. No one is hurt, and I don’t want anything else to come of this.”

“What the fuck happened.”

Kiyoko sighs minutely and adjusts her glasses. “Kenma and I had a disagreement. I don’t think he’ll be coming back. That’s all.”

“That’s _all_?” Saeko pushes, not quite gesturing to the broken glass in the trash can but damn well coming close.

“That’s all. If you were to happen across him, don’t punish him. I pushed something too far and I’m not surprised he reacted that way.” Kiyoko purses her lips, just for a moment, in the way when she’s saying one thing and thinking another. Saeko narrows her eyes.

“If you don’t want me tracking him down and dragging him back by that pudding hair to apologize, you best tell me what happened. The _truth_.” The thing with psychics is that they’re so used to talking in half-truths. And the thing with Kiyoko is that she hardly talks at all.

“It’s nothing, Saeko. Please, don’t worry yourself over this.”

“You think I won’t grab some of your own truth serum and use it? Why’re you protecting this kid, Kiyoko? Why’re you so keen on him?”

“He’s done nothing wrong—”

“Well, he summoned a goddamned demon, I’d say that’s _really fucking wrong_ —”

“He was scared,” Kiyoko bursts out in something coming close to a shout. Saeko falls silent out of sheer surprise. Kiyoko unclenches her hands and says, “He was scared and he ran, and that’s not something anyone should be punished for. I’d rather we minimize further drama.”

“What did he take, then?” Saeko asks, because Kiyoko is understanding and forgiving, so it’s her job to understand and _remember_. “Kid ran and grabbed a bunch of shit, right?”

“As far as I can tell, just a few general-use potions.” She smiles humorlessly. “The rest of my nail polish and soap.”

“So what the hell spooked him so bad?”

Kiyoko gives her a sidelong look, evaluating her, and Saeko tries hard not to be affronted. She knows Kiyoko mainly operates on a need-to-know basis, though she’s pretty fair when it comes to that. Saeko stares levelly back at her. “It’s the end of the world.”

“…Excuse me?” Saeko asks blankly. There is no way she’d heard her correctly there, but Kiyoko’s sense of humor isn’t like that, so _what the actual fuck_.

“I don’t know much about it, but there are other parties who are trying to summon Great Old Ones into this realm. If they were successful in creating a complete, free passage onto this plane, the upheaval would be so great, it would just simply…” She shrugs. “End things.”

Saeko whistles. Well. “Okay, so, shit. That’s why you’ve been going extra hard on psychic duty lately?”

“Yes.”

“And what have you got to work with so far?”

“A list of things they have to obtain for some sort of large-scale summoning. It’s not terribly useful. Suga has been helping me with a few leads, but there’s not much to work with right now. Which is why I hadn’t told you. I didn’t want to worry—”

“Do not even finish that sentence,” Saeko interrupts with a scowl, “because Suga is even worse at running himself into the ground than you are, and you let _him_ know?!”

“He let _me_ know,” she corrects.

“How the hell did _he_ know then?!” God, trying to get information from Kiyoko is like pulling teeth sometimes, but the news that the apocalypse is _apparently_ on its merry way has Saeko understandably jittery and _needing some goddamn information_. Not that this sounds like something she can shoot, but. Fuck.

She thought they’d been friends, not just coworkers. She can do more than just shoot, anyway, even if it’s her preferred method of doing things. It’s cleaner.

But Kiyoko hadn’t wanted to let her know because of _Peace_. Always keeping things quiet and calm and peaceful.

“Oikawa,” Kiyoko replies simply. But Saeko is already past this, annoyance bubbling over, and she snatches her purse off the counter and starts pulling her jacket back on. Kiyoko doesn’t stop her, but her mouth opens like she’s going to say something. She doesn’t.

“Let me know if anything else comes up, yeah? If you, y’know, think it’s okay for me to know.” Kiyoko doesn’t deserve that, but Saeko deserved helping them. Wait, fuck, she can still help them. She sets her bag back down and glares across the small shop. “Give me something to do before I storm out.”

“I can handle this,” Kiyoko tells her, sounding half-surprised and half-apologetic. It comes out very faintly. She clears her throat and says again, “I’ll let you know, but I _can_ handle this, Saeko.”

“Okay, but your idea of handling a thief is to let him go, and your idea of a nap was nightmares and nosebleeds. You don’t _have_ to shoulder everything in the fuckin’ world, ‘kay? You don’t have to grind yourself down to nothing for the harmony of the world or whatever. Give me something to do. Solo or with Ryuu, I don’t care, but I’m not leaving here without some way to help with all of this shit.”

Kiyoko averts her eyes and folds her arms across her chest. Not angrily, but defensively. At least she recognizes that it was a _little_ shitty not to share this information, and Saeko’s own anger is already failing her, but goddamn everything. She wants to remain pissed that she didn’t make the list of People Who Get To Know That They Have X Amount Of Time Left. She has so much shit left on her bucket list it isn’t even funny.

“There’s been rumors of some sort of creature in one of the lakes downtown. Near the market portal. If you could investigate that and take care of it—”

Saeko slams down her palm on the countertop and exclaims, “I meant something _important_!”

“Life goes on,” Kiyoko says in a small voice, and that tells her _I want life to continue going on_. Normal jobs won’t go away and Saeko isn’t going to ignore lake monsters just because of the world ending, but she wants to be included. Is that really so much to ask? “I’ll keep you updated on this situation. I promise. But right now, we’re grasping at straws. If you hear anything from other hunters about tengu First eggs or qilins, let me know. Otherwise…”

Otherwise they sit quietly on their hands. Saeko is irate at the very thought. _Is this what they’ve been dealing with?_ Okay, maybe it’s best not to spread the information that The End Is Nigh around, and maybe it’s even better to keep it quiet when they’re guessing, but more ears to the ground wouldn’t hurt. And she wants to remain annoyed that _she wasn’t told_.

“I’ll take care of mini Nessie and dig you up something on qilins. Have you gone to see Takeda or the tengu yet?”

“Not yet myself, but probably in a day or two.”

“I’ll play bodyguard for ya, okay?” Normally it’s her brother, and while she plans on calling him and updating him about this, she’s feeling oddly protective. “And hey, it’s okay if I tell Ryuu about this, right? I’ll make sure he doesn’t get on your case too bad, but he knows some people, so I think he could help.”

“Ah… Alright.” She knows Kiyoko sometimes gets embarrassed by the attention Ryuunosuke (and Yuu) give her, and while Saeko loves those guys dearly, she can understand her hesitance. They’re also not exactly known for subtlety.

“I’ll make them swear up and down to keep this quiet. Blood oaths if need be.”

“You really don’t need to go that far.”

“Blood oaths,” Saeko vows with a sharp smile. It earns her a tiny smile from Kiyoko in return. If Kiyoko wants her Peace, then Saeko will damn well make sure that she gets it.

 

\--

 

Tadashi pulls his hat down low over his face, but the damage has been done. Matsukawa Issei and Sugawara (Whatever) peer at each other, trying to place each other, a little slower than Tadashi. But how could he not instantly recognize one of his managers? He’s so fucked. Isn’t this supposed to stay _secret_?!

“Ah, you’re the one Sawamura’s always flirting with,” Issei realizes aloud, nodding to himself. Recognition visibly hits Suga and his face goes red.

“Oh my god, you work at the bookstore. You—You know Tooru?” Suga dances around the topic, and Tadashi pulls his hat down lower, hiding completely from the situation. His boss knows about magic. His boss is here with him and Suga and they’re talking about Suga flirting with another boss and—

“Went to school with him. You one of his little pack of magical people?”

“That’s, uh, one way to put it…”

Tadashi can _feel_ Issei’s eyes on him. He can’t completely hide behind Suga (try as he might), and winter clothes are only so much camouflage. He doesn’t want to confront the fact that one of his managers knows about magic and has apparently known _the entire time_. For years. He hadn’t noticed Tsukki, had he? No, _surely_ he would’ve said something. With the silence starting to become painful, he has little choice but to peek out from under his knitted hat and mumble, “H-Hi, sir.”

“Not on the clock, and I don’t like sir, anyway. I have to admit, you’re a surprise, too, Yamaguchi,” Issei says, one eyebrow arched. He gives Suga a sideways glance and then seems to dismiss him. “You’re the one who wants to be tested for finder’s magic, huh?”

No _wonder_ he always found things so quickly for customers. “Do you use magic at work?”

“You’ve been downing luck potions, so I don’t think you’re in a place to judge what I do or don’t do with my life. And no, I don’t usually, anyway. It’s a small store, it’s not hard to navigate.”

“Not potions,” Suga coughs, and Tadashi shoots him a betrayed look. Suga beams at his manager and says, “Your entire store should be fairly safe for awhile, but if you have any other supernatural or magical problems—”

“Fuck that, Tooru can take care of anything I come across. I’m more interested in why you’re dragging my coworkers into magic. Sawamura doesn’t—”

“No, he doesn’t! I separate out my professional and personal lives—”

“I try, too, but then you have situations like this,” Issei says with a wry grin. “Don’t drag me into this if anyone else I know finds out. Yamaguchi, that includes you, too. Oh, god, none of the other part-timers are magic, right?”

“Not that I know of!” Tadashi squeaks. He tries to imagine Sou with magic; he’d probably mirror Lev’s levels of enthusiasm and potential for chaos. (Akira would probably use it to avoid doing even more work. Somehow. Actually, he _would_ need magic to manage that.) “And I won’t tell anyone, I’m not sure they’d believe me, anyway. And I won’t do anything at work.”

“Just wait until April,” Issei says and his smile turns a little sharper, just for a moment, before he’s back to polite disinterest. Tadashi wonders what’s in April. “So let’s get out of this wind and see how much I have to protect your job security.”

As they make their way inside a homely little diner, Suga unwrapping his scarf and Issei’s eyes boring holes into the side of Tadashi’s head, Tadashi catches his mind drifting back to Tsukishima. Okay, not exactly an uncommon thing and totally understandable considering the circumstances, but. But he didn’t have anywhere else to go. _Could he have used magic when he was still alive?_ Akiteru had apparently used magic, and surely magical talent had to be a _little_ genetic. _Mom never said anything about magic in her family, though._ Maybe his father? Hitoka had said her mother was a witch, so it had to run in her family, but what about others?

He realizes he doesn’t really have much of an idea as to what he’s gotten himself into with the world of magic and the supernatural.

“What’s with your thinking face?” Issei asks.

“Why don’t more people know about magic?” he asks in return. Suga snorts behind a menu.

His manager gives him the flattest look ever worn on a human face. “Yamaguchi, I have _used magic in front of you_. You didn’t notice, did you?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Suga mumbles. Tadashi tries to think of _when_ he’d have seen magic, if not finding magic, but come to think of it, during Issei’s shifts, he’s never had to deal with many screaming children or obnoxious suburban mothers…

“I don’t do much in general, so who’ll believe you if you report me? Doesn’t mean magicky people are any better about believing shit,” he replies, a challenge in his voice, and Suga looks away.

“Report him?” Tadashi has to ask.

Issei raises his eyebrows and allows Suga to explain (which he does with a frown). “Legality is a tricky thing with the supernatural community, especially since we’re all self-policing. I don’t know how other groups do it, but I know most people try to keep an eye on who knows what. And one of the biggest rules is that you shouldn’t use magic in front of, or on, others.”

“It’s pretty much live and let live. Don’t step on toes, don’t summon shit, don’t kill shit. The witches and the monsters can sort out the detail work,” Issei adds.

Suga’s frown deepens. “There’s a little more to it than that. But don’t use magic in front of other people.”

“Because it’s not like Oikawa Tooru _ever_ flaunts his gift in front of people.”

“I’m not going to defend him.”

Tadashi wonders who this person is supposed to be. They both know him, but he’d thought he was supposed to be a friend of theirs. “If you do break the rules,” he starts, thinking back to Tsukishima (again), “how exactly are you punished?”

“Ostracization, kicking you out of the area, or death,” Issei answers before Suga can, and Tadashi flinches. His manager shrugs. “There’s a reason to avoid the magical community. So, on that note, I’m going to have to ask—if the kid doesn’t _want_ to participate in all of that, what are you going to do?”

“If he doesn’t want to avoid summoning demons and murdering people?” Suga asks incredulously.

“If he wants to avoid witches and getting forced into cleaning up after others’ messes—no offense to your career, of course.”

“I wanted this!” Tadashi breaks in and both men turn to him in surprise. He tries not to stutter or scowl when he tells them, “I asked to be taught magic, and I have my own things I want to do with them. I don’t need to be warned about it.” He doesn’t mention not breaking rules, because well, he’s fairly certain that Kenma’s binding spell might do that. _Kenma summoned Kuroo, so doesn’t that mean he’s in trouble…?_

“As long as you know what you want out of this. Just don’t drag me into this any further, because I don’t want everyone and their grandma trying to use me as their bloodhound.”

The server stops by and takes their orders, and Tadashi orders hot chocolate just to have something in front of him. Rule breaking seems a little worse than he’d anticipated, and he wipes his sweaty hands on his jeans. Tsukishima and Kenma seem smart enough to dodge trouble, but what about himself…? Sugawara is so nice and helpful, but he’s also the one who tried (more than once) to banish Tsukishima. Hitoka is super nice, too, and he wants to keep learning from her, but she also seems like the type to place a lot of importance on rules.

 _First, find Tsukki. Then worry about Kenma’s ritual_ , he tells himself. They still have the option to turn it down. Or, well, Tsukishima did, because Tadashi is not going to step on his decision, whatever it turns out to be.

“Alright, let’s see if you actually _have_ the stuff,” Issei announces and shifts in his seat to pull his keys out of his pocket. He tosses it onto the table in front of Tadashi. “I’m missing a key from that. Find it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to _test_ him for it?” Suga flatly asks. Tadashi takes the key ring and turns it over in his hands.

“What if I told you he had to follow his heart? Or something.”

He briefly considers playing along with that, saying the keys speak to him or something along those lines. But Tsukishima has been gone for well over a day, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer than he has to. “Okay, I’ll try that, but what else?”

Issei sighs, pushes up his jacket sleeve, and takes off a metal bracelet. “You write the runes and use a magnet. There’s something like three or four sets of runes to use, depending on what you’re trying to find, but I’ve found that if you just use one and act really stubborn you can find what you want.”

“Please show him all of them,” Suga says with his own sigh.

Issei, chin in hand and idly drawing runes that Tadashi only half-recognizes with his free hand, rolls his eyes. “Chill. Basic one first. Marks for _location_ and a weird one for _sight_ , then you pick up the magnet you’re using.” Tadashi obediently picks up the bracelet but keeps his eyes on the runes he’s drawing with his finger. Would it be weird if they asked for some crayons and a kid’s menu to doodle on?

As if reading his mind, Suga pulls his messenger bag onto his lap and pulls out a tattered notebook and a pen. Issei draws the runes for Tadashi with another epic eye roll.

“Those two first, then you grab your magnet and focus on it. I can’t really describe it any better than that, but you’ll probably know how to do it if you can. It’ll sort of click into place. If that works, then you hold that in your mind, grab the other item you have, and draw this mark for _connection_.”

Tadashi traces over the runes a couple times with his finger until he’s familiar with the curves and slashes. He already knew the location one, but the other two are new to him, and _god_ , there’s another three or something sets to learn? He feels like he’s learning Greek. He’s never wanted to learn Greek. He’s not stupid, he knows he’s not, but fast memorization has never been his strong suit.

The second time he traces over the second one, the magnetic bracelet in his other hand suddenly starts feeling _very_ warm. He blinks and looks down at it. How about that. Taking a chance, he hooks the keyring onto his pinky and tries to pull on his shaky magic to draw the third mark. It feels awkward, and the magnet just as abruptly loses its heat, but he feels a weird little tug somewhere near his sternum. “Holy sh—eeeuuuhh. Wow. I, uh, think I have tracking magic?” Tadashi stammers out.

Suga gives him a million-watt beam and even Issei’s smirk seems less teasing and more genuinely pleased. “Good job. Now go find my key.”

 

\--

 

“You actually stayed?” Lev asks, craning his neck to look at the cozy but nice hotel room. “Why a hotel? Can’t people track those? You always see it in spy movies, they’re the first place that anyone ever catches you. I guess you can just jump out the window on that broom before they come shooting inside—”

“I just imagined Kiyoko with that rifle you used in the space game. The big one. I think my heart skipped a beat,” Kuro says, pressing a hand dramatically to his (empty) chest. “It’s already been a day, though, Lev. I don’t think anyone’s gonna come shoot us if they haven’t already.”

“So then, why’d you move? And if you were gonna run away from home, why did I have to help you move all of your video games?”

Kenma struggles not to pout. “I like my games.” He’s spent the better part of two years building his collection back up, and since they had the time, he didn’t want to have to ditch them.

“Why a hotel?” Lev says, and if he were anyone else, Kenma would think his pressing for information were more nefarious.

“There’s no credit cards to track, if that’s what you’re worried about. I used a memory spell on the staff.”

“So you’re squatting? Or is this stealing?”

Kenma likes that tone of his even less. “I’m preserving my funds for more important things,” he replies coldly and Lev thankfully backs off. “We’ll be staying here for the foreseeable future, since I can use the building for the new summoning.”

Lev cocks his head to the side. He’s perched on the edge of the bed, long legs tucked up underneath him, and still in his clothes from work. Kenma has already graduated into torn baggy jeans and equally ill-fitting hoodies; he makes a point to change his style of dress whenever he has to run from someone. He already has to get more clothes for Kuro, and he figures he can grab more for Lev while they’re out, too.

Kenma doesn’t like to think of himself as a thief, but he’s gotten good at stealing.

He does pay for most of his games, though.

“Why’d you say ‘we’ like that?” Lev asks.

Kenma fixes him with a flat look. Kuro snickers into his hand. “The apocalypse is coming? I have preparations to make, and I need you and Kuro here so I can keep an eye on you.”

“Do I get to help with the summoning spell?!” Lev asks with what should be illegal amounts of excitement.

“Um. No.” That would probably cause _another_ apocalypse. He has to correct him, though. Kenma feels his face go red as he grinds out, “I need you two nearby so I can… protect you.”

Lev’s reaction is not what he expects—he expects starry eyes and gushing and teasing—and that knocks Kenma out of Uncomfortably Sensitive and into Growing Alarm. Lev tilts his head the other way and simply asks, “Why?”

“Because. Kuro is… You are…” Kenma makes a gesture. He’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean. Kuro is watching him with absolutely no sympathy, grinning in expectation, and Lev’s expression is still just politely confused. _He’s waiting for something too_ , Kenma realizes, and he scrambles to try to think of _what_. “Lev, you’re my, uh, friend. Aren’t you? I want to keep you safe from this—”

“What about everyone else?” Lev asks, face scrunching up. Kenma stares at him. Lev must take that as puzzled, because he sighs in exasperation and flops back onto the bed. “What about the rest of the world? Or area? What about my family, and your family, and everyone else? Yaku said you were just going to run and cover your own tail, but I told him you were better than that. I wanna hear your super awesome plan for _everything_ , not just making sure me and Kuro don’t die!”

With every word out of his mouth, Kenma’s heart rate rises. He had known Yaku knew more than he was strictly comfortable with, and he had spent some time trying to figure out how to swing that in his favor, but he never thought that Lev and the bakeneko would discuss _him_. Not like this.

And worst of all: Kenma doesn’t have a grand plan for everything. Kenma doesn’t _care_ about everything. He has exactly enough of a plan to cover himself and hopefully these two others. Summon an angel, steal its grace, hopefully create enough of a superpowered protection spell to save their skin.

“I don’t care about anyone else,” Kenma hears himself say over his heart pounding in his ears.

Lev raises his head. “Your family?”

“I don’t have one.”

“What about Yaku, and Kiyoko, and our friends?”

 _Yaku may have turned you against me and Kiyoko is going to burn me at the stake if she ever sees me again_. Kenma just stares at him, unable to respond.

Lev’s expression edges into nervousness. (That does nothing for Kenma’s own fraying nerves.) “Kenma, what about _my_ family? What about other people? You aren’t really going to let the city burn, are you?”

“Yeah, Kenma, are you?” Kuro asks, rather cruelly. He knows damn well he was going to. Is.

Lev sits up again, brow furrowed, mouth working on his own disbelief, and Kenma’s stomach churns. Everything about Lev’s expression and body language scream surprise and _revulsion_. He’s disappointed, hurt, disgusted that Kenma is being selfish, except he’s _not_ , because he’s going to summon a goddamn angel and he’s already going to nearly kill himself to save two others as well.

He just doesn’t _care_ about the rest of the world. It’s certainly never done him any favors. If Kiyoko knows about it, then he’s sure other witches are working on stopping it, and if they can? Good for them. He’s not going to risk his life when he has a solid plan for survival in front of him.

He has no idea how to articulate this, however. And that hurts him almost as badly as Lev’s open distaste. Kenma becomes acutely aware that this is his own fault. He managed to get attached to someone else.

“You could help them stop it, couldn’t you?” Lev finally asks.

Kenma shakes his head.

“You’re smart, and you write spells! You can just write a spell to—”

“Magic doesn’t work that way,” Kuro interrupts. “And if Kenma says this isn’t his business, then it isn’t his business. We have our plan, and I can’t believe I’m asking this, but I guess I have to—you in or out?”

Lev stares up at him, uncomprehending. “…Am I in or out of leaving everyone else to die?”

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“You’re really not going to do anything else?!” Lev demands, whirling back around to face Kenma. Kenma, just as quickly, turns from him. He has to concentrate on breathing normally. “Kenma—okay, maybe you can’t do _everything_ , but what about my family? Our coworkers? Just a few more people—?”

“I can’t,” Kenma tells him and crosses his arms tight across his chest. He doesn’t want to say much more than that, because Kuro is in the room, and he doesn’t want to confess weakness in his plan. He’s already stretching it with them. To protect more people, he’d have to try to summon another angel, and he’s already not sure what will happen to Kuro with a single one. “I just planned for this. That’s all.”

“…Я не могу. Я не могу этого сделать,” Lev says weakly. “I thought that you were—”[1]

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Kuro tells him.

There’s a long beat of silence, heavy in the small room. Kenma can’t bear to turn around to look at Lev again, not to see just another expression of disappointment or disgust, but the lack of sound is distressing.

“You did this,” Lev mumbles, sounding unsure himself, and there’s the small sound of movement. “You did this to Kenma. I thought you said you were looking out for him, that you weren’t a bad demon!”

Kenma turns just in time to find Lev seize Kuro by the shirtfront and drive him backwards. It’s rare for him to see Lev use his height to his advantage in such a way, and for a brief moment, there’s almost something like fear in Kuro’s eyes when his back hits the wall. “Why are you blaming this on _me_?!” Kuro snarls.

“You’re a _demon_! Yaku said that’s what you do, and I didn’t want to believe him, because I liked you and I thought you were good for Kenma!” Lev growls right back, voice going rough with his anger and a growing accent. Kuro sneers and grabs Lev’s hands, but Lev just tightens his grip. “Even Kiyoko thought you were good! But Kenma—the Kenma I know—он хороший человек. лучше человек чем это!” [2]

“Oh, you honestly think _I_ did this? I don’t know whether to laugh or be incredibly offended. Do you _really_ think good people summon demons?” Kuro snaps.

Lev flinches back, just for a moment, before he’s back in the demon’s face. “He was going to sacrifice you for something better! You shouldn’t have stuck around!”

None of this is helping Kenma’s state of mind. He wants to intervene, but he can’t see how he can without taking a side, and—and what _really_ terrifies him is that he already knows which side he belongs on. It’s only shock and guilt that prevent him from prying Lev off of his demon. _I don’t deserve this kind of faith. Why_ did Lev think he was so good of a person? Kenma was really only polite enough as an intern to coast by, and had only befriended Lev to help him get the position. He was a terrible worker and even after the magic reveal, Lev knew he was unhappy with others, and knew he _summoned a demon_.

Kenma stands there, rooted to the spot with his own impending panic attack, and then Lev makes things worse. “ _Спи_ ,” he commands, fisting one hand in Kuro’s shirt and using the other to draw a rune on his chest.[3]

Kenma doesn’t need to write. “ _Sleep_!” he barks and Lev crumples at Kuro’s feet.

There’s a long moment of silence and stillness. Kenma doesn’t think.

“…He was going to knock me out,” Kuro says in a dazed sort of way. He blinks owlishly and looks down at him. “The little brat knew how to do a sleep charm. He was going to try to knock me out and then, what, spirit you away? Does he know that I can follow you, or was he just stupidly panicking?”

Kuro turns to him, probably expecting some sort of dry response or whatever he thinks he wants from Kenma, but Kenma just put one of his only friends to sleep. To stop him from charming his other friend. And just before, Lev had just looked at him, he was _so upset with him_ , he thought he was a better person and he wasn’t and he isn’t, because he just did that to Lev to defend a demon and—and Kenma startles them both by bursting into anxious, mortifying tears.

“Are you really that upset that he thought you had a bigger plan?” Kuro asks. His voice is gentle, but his words sting, sting far more than Kenma is equipped to handle right now.

He’s hyperventilating and well on his way to an attack. “L-Leave,” he croaks out, because he can’t stand to look at either of them, and he hopes that Kuro has the decency to take Lev home for him.

“I don’t want to,” Kuro replies stubbornly.

Kenma scrubs at his eyes and hiccups. Shit, he absolutely does _not_ want to deal with a disobedient demon right now. “Kuro, just _go_.” He’d dismiss him and the contract outright right now if he knew how. Maybe, in a way, this _is_ all Kuro’s fault. He can’t agree with Lev’s thinking—he’d been planning his solo escape act for years, long before Kuro came into the picture—but Kuro didn’t help anything. It was Kuro who convinced him to stay at Kiyoko’s shop, Kuro who was so fond of Lev, Kuro who pushed him into trying to write a spell for Tadashi and Tsukishima. Kuro who wants him to _do_ things, goddamnit, and all he actually wants to do is skate by with the least amount of effort and pain.

Why is that a bad thing?

The tears don’t last, but the pounding heart and anxiety remain. Kenma wipes at his eyes to clear them and when he pulls his sleeve away, Kuro is _still there_. His shoulders are shaking, expression twisted with either discomfort or outright pain, and black blood drips out of his nose. “Do I have to leave you here?” Kuro pleads, slowly bending down to drag Lev up, taking his sweet time at following the order.

The shock of seeing him trying to disobey helps wear away some of the tension in Kenma’s body, though his head is still swimming. Though he doesn’t want to approach either of them, he steps forward and puts out his arm, covered in his too-big sweater, to catch a couple of drops of blood from landing on Lev. “Don’t bleed on him,” he mumbles, voice wavering, and he takes a long, deep breath to try to calm himself down. “Why do you want to stay?”

“Because I feel like we all sort of fucked up there, and you’re clearly not okay.”

Kenma wipes the blood on his sweater on Kuro, smearing it across his shirt. Deep, even breaths. His heart is still too fast, and he can’t exactly force his body to calm itself when he still wants to run away from both of them and scream into a pillow, but he can concentrate on breathing. That much he can handle.

And about only that much. “Kuro, please just go.”

“When can I come back?” he asks as he hefts the unconscious Lev in his arms. His nose seems to have stopped bleeding, and he takes care to avoid getting any on him, but his eyes are only on Kenma. That’s another reason why Kenma wants him gone right now.

“I don’t know.” Realistically, he can’t just leave him. But personally, Kenma really wishes he could just go ahead with his original, solo plan again. The breathing is helping him, but with the panic ebbing away, guilt and betrayal are sneaking in. _Why did I bother caring?_ “Just go.”

Kuro can’t ignore another repeat of an order, and despite the way he’s fighting his steps, he carries Lev out and lets the door swing shut behind him.

Kenma is alone again.

 

\--

 

Her shoulder holster is pinching a bit. Saeko doesn’t want to adjust it, especially not since they’re actually _in_ the church, and people are giving her weird looks already, anyway. Like she doesn’t look like she belongs in a church? She resists the urge to stick out her tongue at the old lady in the front pew whose eyes are getting narrower and narrower.

She shifts, almost nervously, but she tells herself it’s just to try to adjust her holster. She’d feel better with a bigger gun, especially for tengu. Father Takeda speaks cheerily with Kiyoko, all smalltalk, and _god_ , can’t they just go talk to the birds and be done with it?

“You two can go on back, ahead of me, if you’d like? I can meet you in five or ten minutes. Keishin is here, so you shouldn’t need me there, anyway,” the priest says with a smile so sunny it ought to be sinful.

Ukai Keishin is pretty much the head honcho of the crow tengu, as far as Saeko is concerned, and she actually likes that one. He’s not as stuffy or one to stand on rules. But he’s also aggressive, even for a tengu, and she’s glad she’s with Kiyoko. The psychic leads the way down the back hall, up the stairs, and into the open, chilly attic-slash-tower-slash-room used for supernatural bird monsters. Saeko’s pretty sure it used to be a collection of rooms, but now the third floor is all one big room, with incredibly high rafters and pretty stained glass in the stone walls. There aren’t any bells, but the church has towers for them.

Saeko wonders if the tengu roost up there like pigeons.

“Hello? It’s Shimizu and Tanaka, and Father Takeda has given his blessing for us to step into this place with you,” Kiyoko formally calls as they cross the threshold. The wood is thick and old and creaks a little beneath their feet. Saeko tries not to sneeze at the perpetual dust in the place. There’s no answer as the women walk further in, and Saeko scans the rafters, looking for movement.

They’re halfway into the room now, and still no answer. Saeko itches to draw her weapon, but if there are tengu about, they’d both be shredded in no time flat. _Shitty stuffy birds, where are they?_

“…Hello? We would like to talk to someone about the theft of your eggs. We believe we have information we could exchange,” Kiyoko calls again.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Forgive me for having my claws too full to instantly greet a couple of humans.”

Kiyoko bites back her surprised squeak and Saeko’s hand is jammed into her armpit to stop herself from drawing on reflex. For being so big, tengu sure move quietly, and she squints through the gloom at Keishin. He stays in the shadows, scowl visible despite it, and Saeko notes his ruffled feathers and annoyed body language.

“I believe it may be in our best interest to cooperate, considering certain future events,” Kiyoko says vaguely.

Keishin steps out to meet them— _finally_ —and he runs his claws back through his dyed hair in clear exasperation. “Swell. Psychics sticking their noses into others’ business. What do you _really_ want? Make it good, I wasn’t saying I was busy for the hell of it.” In spite of the temperature of the drafty room, he hasn’t bothered to put on anything, although even as Saeko raises an eyebrow, she notices him shiver and wrap his wings around himself.

Which means he only recently got back from somewhere else. _Trouble at home?_ Saeko wonders.

“We gained this information through others’, but we know that First eggs are being stolen,” Kiyoko says and Keishin freezes. Very slowly, he untenses his claws from his biceps and tries to pretend like he hadn’t just stabbed himself in surprise. “And we also know—”

“Wait, wait, wait for me!” Very abruptly, another literally tumbles into their conversation, falling from a rafter above them and landing with a _thump_ that doesn’t seem to deter her. Saeko has never seen a baby tengu before, but she can’t help but silently marvel at how _cute_ they are; the newcomer is a little girl, hair a wild mess of bright orange, and her feathers are still _fluffy_. She’s mostly covered in black down beneath a pink sundress and a white scarf, and her little claws click as she runs over to them and grabs onto Saeko’s hands. “You ladies are human hunters, right? You’re good at doing jobs for us?”

Saeko wants to scoop her up and keep her, but Keishin is already coming over to detach the little one. “Yes we are!” Saeko proudly declares. The tiny tengu grabs onto Saeko’s arms tighter when Keishin tries to pick her up, and Saeko winces at the sharp claws.

“I’m gonna hire them!” the little girl squeals before Keishin rips her off.

 _Rest in peace_ , Saeko thinks, looking down at the tattered remains of her coat sleeves. “What’re you gonna hire us for?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Keishin snaps and Saeko (stupidly) scowls right back at him. “She’s still young, and tengu problems are our own. We’ll take care of it. _And_ we’ll take care of the damn thieves who took our eggs. We’re not hiring out for this job.”

“I’m hiring!” the chick exclaims. “I can pay you with tengu feathers!”

Neither Saeko nor Kiyoko point out that she doesn’t really _have_ proper feathers yet. Saeko definitely wants to keep her.

“Natsu, not them. I told you, we’ll take care of it—” Keishin begins but he’s interrupted by the twin troubles of Natsu angrily grabbing a fistful of his flight feathers and Takeda coming upstairs. The priest chuckles warmly at the sight of the other man trying to pry a little girl off of his arm. “Don’t just fuckin’ laugh at me, _you_ take her!”

“I’m _trying_ to do a business deal!” Natsu scoffs and hops out of his arms when he tries to pass him off. She ducks smartly under his grab and attaches herself firmly to Kiyoko’s waist. “You two, my brother’s missing. I’m hiring you to find him and bring him back here for me.”

“Your brother is missing?” Kiyoko repeats, surprised, and Saeko whistles. Missing eggs _and_ missing tengu. No wonder Keishin looks fried—and didn’t want them to know.

“Natsu, I’m sure Keishin will find Shouyou for you. You should really follow the rules a bit more closely,” Takeda chides and the little girl sticks her tongue out in response. Ah, a child after Saeko’s own heart. Almost as cute as Ryuu had been at that age. “Ah, I’m sorry, Shimizu, Tanaka. She’s been very frustrated lately, and she—”

“And she _needs_ to get back to the portal before I throw you back in by the tail feathers!” Keishin snaps.

Saeko had always wondered if the tengu had legitimately put a door in the church. _How about that_. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, she also wonders what the priest had done to warrant such attachment from most of a clan of tengu. _And he refers to them all by their human first names…_ It is a bit of a big deal to simply be given a nonhuman’s full name, and Takeda hoards them like a dragon's pile of treasure.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble to—” Kiyoko starts but Keishin rounds on her, teeth bared and foot talons clacking.

“ _Don’t._ We’ll take care of it ourselves, I said, and we _will_. It’s not a job for you to take, and we’re fine with our eggs, too. If you have information to sell, fine, but we’re not giving you any more.”

“They’re just offering to help,” Takeda murmurs, putting an arm on his shoulder. Keishin relents with a huff, wrapping his feathery arms back around himself. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I guess now’s not the best of times.”

“Don’t apologize on my behalf. I have nothing to apologize for.”

“Apologize for losing my brother!” Natsu pipes up and Keishin picks her up again with a sharp, terrifying grin.

“I’m about to lose you, too, if you’re not careful…!” Angrily squawking chick under his arm, the crow tengu leader casts a (forced) disinterested eye over them. Like Saeko can’t see through that in a second. “Forget what you heard about this, and I’ll forget that you’re brown nosing with those eggs. We’ll buy ‘em back from you if you _happen_ across them, but if I catch either of you getting in our way or anything—”

“Be nice!” Takeda says and smacks him lightly on the arm.

Saeko grins just to stop herself from snapping back at him. Kiyoko inclines her head, still poised and calm and even-tempered. Of course. “If we come across anything, I’ll try to send it your way. I’m sorry we couldn’t come to further agreement today. Father, if you wouldn’t mind showing us out?”

They’re barely out of earshot before Saeko snorts and says, “Uppity bird. Why not just let her hire us? Padre, what’s the deal with her brother?”

“You were supposed to forget you heard that,” he tells her reproachfully, adjusting his glasses to try to emphasize his stern look. It doesn’t work. At her own flat look, he sighs and relents. “Natsu’s older brother has been missing for a couple weeks now. He’s not really used to the human realm, so normally they wouldn’t even bother searching here, but we’re now worried that he’s trying to track down the thieves himself.”

“Does _he_ have actual feathers, or is he fluffy, too?”

“He’s old enough to fly, yes. Which doesn’t really help. Please, put this out of your minds, unless you happen to come across anything. B-But don’t go out of your way! I’m sure he’ll turn up soon, we have our own people on it.”

“Of course,” Kiyoko says. She waves goodbye on the steps of the church, and Saeko shoves her hands back inside her jacket again. Not for her gun this time, but for warmth. It’s started snowing since they got there, fat, wet flakes that are already starting to clump thickly on the sidewalks. Saeko hopes the missing tengu kid knows enough about human weather to not freeze to death outside somewhere.

“So,” Saeko starts, and Kiyoko nods without her having to ask the obvious question.

“Finding a missing clan member would be quite a big favor for them, especially if we weren’t hired. They would be all but obligated to give us any information they have,” she says with a small smile. It’s not exactly what they came here for, but it’s a way to accomplish it, and the only casualty was her coat. “I’ll call Hayato and see if he has heard anything about crows acting strange in the area…”

“You still have to deal with that unicorn problem, too,” Saeko reminds her with a snicker.

“It’s not a problem,” Kiyoko says, and her cheeks may be a little pink. “I’ve already asked Suga to help him escort them tomorrow morning.”

“I just can’t believe you bought the girl a fuckin’ _unicorn_ but you won’t kiss her!”

“Can we talk about the tengu again…?”

Saeko grins wider. “Nope! Unicorns. Y’know, the new lesbian thing. Practically a lesbian wedding ring, riiiight?”

Kiyoko just sighs.

 

\--

 

The world is ending, and Suga still has to get up before dawn for a job for Kiyoko. He’ll never be un-tired again. He’s already heard the details; she only bought the unicorn for information. Fair enough. But why does _he_ get stuck escorting them across the city in the dark—

 _Them_. Suga has only rarely dealt with unicorns before, but a mother and foal were not high on his list to get to know.

Okay, the mother (named Sparkle, because apparently Ikejiri names his animals dumb names and _oh hell it fits so well and is so cute_ ) is actually very sweet and well-mannered. After nosing around Suga’s face and taking a carrot from him, she’s been following him fairly easily. Once in awhile she’ll stop to eat some snow for whatever reason, and she will _not_ go more than ten feet from her child (name: Giggle, with the option of renaming when he’s finally handed over to Hitoka, and _why would a grown man choose these names and why does Suga like them_ ).

Suga gives Sparkle’s rope a little shake and grabs her attention again. She’s a gorgeous animal, deep grey with a sort of pearly shine, and her horn seems to glow very faintly in the dark night. There are a few streetlights on in the park, but they chose this route specifically for the darkness and lack of people, so Suga’s been mostly going by his phone light. His job is to simply help escort them—and their owner—a couple blocks in the dark, between realm doors. It’s not uncommon and he’s done it before with other creatures and people, but Ikejiri isn’t with him, having to go reopen the portal himself due to a mix-up, so he’s left with two unicorns.

Well-behaved, and very pretty, and he’s telling himself he _won’t_ try to visit Giggle constantly when he moves in with Hitoka. Suga knows he’s lying. The foal is lighter than his mother, more of dove grey, and his horn is still growing in. Suga clicks his tongue and holds out another carrot, and Giggle catches up with enthusiasm. “What a pretty pony,” he coos, carefully scratching Giggle’s white mane, mindful of the way the mother is watching him.

Sparkle nickers and noses at the pocket full of carrots. He chuckles and digs one out for her, too. It’s getting easier to see, with predawn light seeping into the sky above them, and the snow on the ground further brightens the area. Although it also takes away most of his depth perception; more than once he’s stumbled and nearly landed face-first in a drift he couldn’t quite make out.

He doesn’t want to rush them, since unicorns _aren’t_ exactly happiness and sunshine, but they still have to go through the rest of the park and down another street, and super early morning commuters and joggers will probably be out soon. Horses are legal in the city, but if anyone gets too close, they’ll have a problem. And not because of the fact that they’ll probably freak out.

“When’s the last time you were fed anything but carrots and sugar?” Suga asks gently, and Sparkle snorts in answer. “Ah, that’s what I thought.” He probably smells foul to them, but if they come across anyone with virgin blood, they’ll probably be in trouble. Suga doesn’t want to have to fight a unicorn.

Giggle tugs at his connected lead, ears pricked, and Suga sees a car drive by on the far side of the park. Time to get going. He coaxes them over a drift and wonders if they should just move to the path. It meanders something terrible, people will start using it first, and it’s not completely clear, but some of this snow is deeper than he’d thought.

“C’mon,” Suga says with another click of his tongue.

Sparkle stops and sticks her mouth in the snow, licking at it. Suga groans and flicks the lead rope, not wanting to _pull_ , but they should really be making more progress. They still have fifteen minutes or so, and people are starting to wake up and get on with their days.

He gets them moving again, and the main park path aligns with their course for awhile, so Suga gets to listen to muffled hooves on pavement for a time. The rhythm is soothing and reminds him that they still have plenty of time, and Sparkle is really _so sweet_ and nice, he can’t imagine her trying to eat someone. He thinks he sees someone on the bridge behind them, jogging, and he urges them to go a little faster.

That’s when he sees a glowing gold figure across the pond, shuffling down another part of the path. Suga stops dead and stares, trying to process—not that it’s Tsukishima, but that he’s glowing again. Ever since he got the collar, he’d mostly stopped, and Suga had thought that was because his change was becoming more stable.

 _He’s not stupid enough to take it off, is he?_ he thinks and almost starts forward, to go get him, but Sparkle steps between them. He has unicorns to take care of. But Tadashi has been running himself ragged on outings tracking nothing, and Suga wants peace of mind, too. It’s only across the pond. Their path curves back around it, following the bank, and they could catch up with him in just a few minutes if he doesn’t run. Unicorns couldn’t hurt a ghost, and he doubts Ikejiri would be selling animals who aren’t used to spirits.

“Come on,” Suga says firmly and flicks the lead rope again. Sparkle gives him a look, but they get walking again, and Suga cranes his neck to follow Tsukishima’s movements. The figure is about the right height, and he’s not sure what else would be shedding luck like that, but he can’t be certain from this distance.

They round the curve of the pond and they’re now near enough, and it’s now light enough, that Suga can see the blond hair and glasses. They’re not much closer, however, when Tsukishima first hears the unicorns, and he looks up. It takes him a long moment to figure out what he’s staring at, because that’s all he does, and Suga briefly thinks about dropping the lead and sprinting toward him.

“Hey, Tsukishima!” Suga calls instead, all friendliness and warmth, and gives him his best smile.

The gold sloughs off all at once like a sheet of water, and they’re left facing a very alarmed-looking teenager. Without the conflicting light, Suga can see the collar still nestled in his hoodie at the base of his throat, and he tries not to sigh in relief. “What are you doing?” Tsukishima asks. His lip curls as he shakes off his disbelief and works his expression into something more off-putting.

“Oh, I’m on a job,” Suga replies, gesturing to the two unicorns. “This is Sparkle, and this is—”

“You make us think this is magic stuff all classified information, and you go and parade around a couple of unicorns through a city park? You’re either ballsier than I thought or you were lying to us. What a surprise,” Tsukishima says thinly.

Suga frowns and crosses his arms at him. “I’m running late, and I’m not a couple of kids just discovering this. I can handle this if need be. Also, do these sweethearts look dangerous?” He pats Sparkle’s neck and she leans into his touch.

“Do what you like.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“It’s a little too early for me to want to get a lecture from a disappointed parent, thanks.”

“Tadashi is—”

“I don’t care,” Tsukishima harshly interrupts. Giggle shies at the sudden, loud noise, and Suga puts his arm around him to keep him calm, or worse, keep him from bolting. “I don’t care what he wanted. All you care about is that I don’t turn into a demon, right? Here I am, not a demon. Aren’t you so happy for me?”

“I don’t know what exactly happened between you and Tadashi,” Suga backtracks, voice low, and moves the lead rope to behind his back. _This is going to hurt_ , he knows, as he begins drawing runes on the palm of his hand, out of sight. “But you should go talk to him again. Even if it’s just to say goodbye.”

Tsukishima lets out a bark of a laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You probably have the easiest opinion on this matter—you just want me gone, no matter what I turn into, right? I envy your life and its easy charm, Sugawara.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist, Tsukishima calls forth his Door.

Whatever else he’s going to say—probably a threat to pass on—is lost with the sudden neighing of the unicorns. Sparkle jolts backward, tugging the lead out of Suga’s hand, and Giggle rears and kicks. Suga dives away from them, especially as the mother is panicked by her foal’s alarm, and with the half-written spell on his hand, he tries to grab Tsukishima. The ghost’s eyes are wide with shock and his Door vanishes beside him, but he composes himself again quickly enough to dodge out of his swing.

“Ugh—fuck!” Suga has to go back after the unicorns. He scrambles back up to his feet, already shivering from the snow covering his pants, and glares at Tsukishima (who is already backing up into a run). “Go back to Tadashi! We can help you, both of you!”

“I don’t need any more _help_!” Tsukishima snaps and runs in the opposite direction.

Suga has no time to wonder what _that_ means because he has two panicking unicorns to take care of. There is definite dawn light in the sky now, and more cars and joggers nearby, and he prays to everything ever that he gets to them before they get to someone else.

They haven’t gone far, Giggle sticking to his mother like glue, but both of them whinny nervously at Suga’s approach and trot off before he can grab their lead or try to charm them. There’s a jogger coming up the path in the direction Tsukishima disappeared, and Suga’s grateful that at least the unicorns ran away from the path. _Please don’t let us get any kind souls who want to help_ —he barely thinks it and he sees someone coming down from another curve of the pavement. Of fucking course. He trips over himself trying to run through the snow, and the unicorns have stopped their nervous dancing in favor of sniffing at the person, who has their hands out, trying to calm them— “Please, stay back! I got this, they’re mine!” Suga calls and stupidly tries to approach them from the fastest route: coming up behind the unicorns.

Tsukishima may have stolen some of his luck again out of spite. Hearing his approach, Sparkle startles, and while she doesn’t outright try to kick, she does prance away with too-high of steps, threatening it. She moves in the opposite direction of Giggle, which means she has just put Sugawara between herself and her foal (who is quite content to slowly approach the stranger, sniffing the air with something like delight).

The jogger calls out some sort of warning (a man, strangely familiar) just as Sparkle turns on Suga. He reaches into his other pocket and grabs a packet of sleep soot, but he can’t rip it open fast enough, and he narrowly avoids getting stabbed with her horn as she tries to shove him out of the way. No horn in him, but she does lash out with her hooves, and Suga feels one of them connect with his foot. Before he can fall, he throws himself forward and hauls himself onto her back.

He holds his breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and rips open the packet with his teeth. Most of it ends up on his gloves and in Sparkle’s mane, but he dumps the rest unceremoniously over her face, and the unicorn stumbles to a stop. Suga more or less falls off of her (mercifully into a larger snow drift), and he scrubs his face against the painfully cold snow to try to get it off of himself and keep himself awake.

So. Not the best idea, but it could have been worse. Suga grits his teeth as he pushes himself upright and looks down at his ankle and foot. His boot and pants are both ripped, and he can see blood against the white of the snow, so something’s definitely a mess in there. It’s a good thing Kiyoko is doting on Hitoka, because he’s not dealing with this without a healer.

Sparkle sways a little, but she’s still awake, if quieter. She blinks sleepily down at him before nosing at him once more. Suga weakly pulls out his last carrot and gives it to her.

“I want to ask if you’re okay, but can you help me with this?”

Suga blearily looks over at the stranger—and Giggle, who is chewing on his arm.

Wait.

That’s not a stranger.

Daichi winces at the foal gnawing on his arm, and Suga has to intervene before Giggle manages to get through the fabric and skin. “Oh god, no, you’re a virgin,” Suga realizes aloud, and with a pained grunt, he gets to his feet as best he can. Something shifts and _grinds_ in his foot and he’s glad he’s slowly going numb. He completely misses Daichi’s confused and affronted expression. “Giggle—come here, Giggle, away from him.”

“I thought it was you,” Daichi says and looks down at Suga’s foot. “Is it okay if I get, uh, Giggle off myself? I probably won’t hurt him, but you shouldn’t be— _ow_! Why the hell does your horse have _fangs_?!”

“Has he broken the skin? Okay, just hold still, and for the love of everything, don’t let him tear at you. Give me your hand.” Suga doesn’t wait for permission and peels Daichi’s glove off himself. He holds his arm under his own and digs around in his bag for his knife. Daichi’s eyes go large when he sees him pull it out, but before he can do anything more than try to tug himself free, Suga digs the point into his thumb.

“What the fuck—”

Giggle sniffs and lets go of his arm, smelling the blood in the air, and approaches Suga. Suga prods at the foal with his injured foot, keeping him away while he draws runes awkwardly on Daichi’s palm, while simultaneously trying to keep the other man still. Someone give him a pay raise and an award for multitasking.

Suga completes the marks and presses enough magic into Daichi’s hand to activate it. A basic purification spell, the fastest thing involving blood that he could think of with a hungry unicorn advancing on him, and just in time; Sparkle noses at the back of his neck, breath hot against his hair, trying to go for the blood, too.

The unicorns sniffle at Daichi again, and lose interest when they realize that he no longer has virgin blood. Suga heaves a sigh of relief. One crisis averted. Only a million left.

Daichi stares down at his hand, brow furrowed, and Suga leans against Sparkle for support. Without the adrenaline from making sure Hot Manager Daichi doesn’t get eaten (or at least bitten and licked, Suga’s pretty sure Giggle is too small to kill someone by himself), silence blankets them, and Suga realizes just how Royally Fucked Up this all just became.

“Uh. I can explain.”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Daichi says without raising his eyes.

Suga cracks a smile and tells him, “You’re not a virgin anymore.”

Daichi finally looks back up at him, face a hilarious mixture of dumbfounded and annoyed, and Suga can’t help but to burst into laughter. He sinks painfully down to the ground beside Sparkle, and if she weren’t drugged she’d probably step on him, but he can’t worry about that when he just screwed up _so bad_ and Daichi looks so funny.

Daichi wipes his palm on the snow, pulls his glove back on, and crosses his arms over his chest as he waits for Suga to calm himself down. He at least is nice enough to grab Giggle’s lead rope before the foal can wander off further.

“Okay, okay, I-I’m good,” Suga wheezes.

“Are you.”

“J-Just give me a moment, your _face_ …”

“You don’t want to know what I’m going to do to your face if you don’t tell me what you’re doing. Also, your horse stepped on you and you need to get that looked at. Don’t make me worry about you while I’m mad at you.”

“Could you stop being mad long enough to help me up onto Sparkle?”

“Sunshine, Giggle, and Sparkle. I’m going to stop being surprised at how you name things eventually,” Daichi sighs, but extends a hand down to help Suga up. Suga doesn’t bother correcting him about the fact that he didn’t name _any_ of them, and it takes a little bit of manhandling (and okay, Daichi pretty much picking Suga up and folding him awkwardly across Sparkle’s back while he began cackling again) but he ends up seated on the unicorn.

Daichi takes the lead rope, and Suga directs them where to go. It’s definitely light out by now, and they wait awkwardly by some trees in the park while a garbage truck slowly rolls by. Suga catches Daichi eyeing Sparkle’s horn, but he doesn’t ask. They meet Ikejiri where he said he’d be, and at first he’s insulted at Sparkle’s state, but then he sees Suga’s foot and he lets the matter drop.

“You two know each other?” Ikejiri asks as he slips harnesses onto his animals.

“ _You_ know him?” Suga asks with a yawn. He’s too tired for this impending conversation. _Way_ too tired.

“You’re the one who gave me the rabbit, right?” Daichi asks.

“Well, jackalope, right? What’d you end up doing with it?”

“It was _you_ ,” Suga says and narrows his eyes. Well, he can’t very well lecture him about keeping magic out of everyday life when this just happened—

This just happened. _This_ just _Happened_.

Suga turns in new horror to Daichi, who tentatively reaches out to pat Giggle before Ikejiri leads them away, and it’s not just explaining unicorns and blood magic and his job. Yet again, he has to explain all of magic to someone new. To _Daichi_. Kiyoko’s going to skin him alive if he keeps this up, and if he weren’t sure it’d just about kill him, he’d try to use a memory charm on Daichi just to try to put a quick fix on this.

“Hm, so I think the nearest hospital is downtown? I don’t have my phone on me…”

“No, let’s just—I have someone I can call.” Does he dare bring Daichi to Kiyoko’s? It’s about as far from they are as Suga’s apartment, and right now, he really just wants to _sleep_ (please don’t let him use another spell on Daichi). He wants privacy, too, for this conversation.

Daichi raises an eyebrow. “I was hoping this wasn’t going to turn into something shady.”

“I have some bad news for you, then.”

“You’re serious?”

Suga tries not to wince at the alarm in his voice. “It’s just… different. It’s not bad. I just…” He runs a hand through his hair with a groan. “I know the meanest luck spirit on the planet. He did this to me. He hates me. Ta— _shit_ , he’s going to hate me, too.” Thank fuck he’s awake enough to _not_ say Tadashi’s name in front of his boss. His other boss. “My apartment. I’ll explain everything there.”

“Are you going to be okay? You’re still bleeding, and you can hardly walk.”

“Carry me?” Suga asks, batting his eyes, and he means it as a joke, but Daichi puts out his arms with a straight face. “God, no, let’s just get to the station before the morning rush.” Ugh, and he _knew_ Daichi was a morning person. Okay, morning person usually doesn’t equal jogging in the winter before it gets properly light out, but military people did stupid shit like that, right? Suga tries to imagine Ryuu or Saeko doing that. …Nope.

“I’m going to ask you. I have a goddamn _list_ of things to ask you. You’re just lucky—” Daichi squints at the way Suga snorts, “—that I want you to get that checked out or magically fixed or _whatever_ you think will happen at your apartment, at six-thirty in the morning, to a broken foot.” Daichi narrows his eyes further. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Well… _I_ can’t do the magical healing, but…”

“I don’t see how you can be so flippant when I’m already basically _dragging_ you. Either try to hold some of your own weight or I _will_ carry you.”

“How can _you_ be so serious?” Suga shoots back and prods him in the side. Daichi jumps and Suga files away potential ticklishness for later. “I bet you thought those were horses.”

“Well, a mare and a foal, and you dressed them up as unicorns,” Daichi replies suspiciously. “And I’m still hoping you’re not some sort of black market animal dealer.”

“I’m not that, at least.”

“Then what are you?”

“Usually a freelance exorcist,” Suga mumbles, hoping he’s quiet enough that Daichi doesn’t hear him, but the way his eyebrows inch ever higher means that he was probably caught. Which is just as well, because he’s going to have to explain things anyway, and may as well start bluntly. Daichi’s going to hate him by noon. …That’s a saddening thought.

They make it to the train station and don’t have to wait long before the train they need. It’s crowded enough with morning commuters, but a combination of Suga sticking out his bloody leg and Daichi’s terrifying glaring gets Suga a place to sit. He nearly dozes off on the ride, but Daichi hauls him upright at his stop, and Suga mentally cries at the fact that he’s bringing Daichi home _again_ and it’s _again_ under less than ideal circumstances.

And, again, his place is as messy and cluttered as always. Sunshine meows in greeting and eagerly rubs his face all over Daichi when he stoops to unlace his shoes. Suga makes it as far as the couch before flopping face-first onto it. Maybe if he suffocates in a pillow he won’t have to deal with _any_ of this.

“Alright, let’s see you summon a black market doctor or something to fix yourself,” Daichi prompts, and Suga pulls out his phone to text Hitoka. Maybe, if he promises to be good in a future life, she won’t immediately tell Kiyoko.

Daichi sighs heavily when it becomes apparent that all Suga’s going to do is text someone. He sits down on the arm of the couch nearest Suga’s feet and begins pulling off his boots. “You don’t have to do that, I can—”

“You wanted field dressings, you get them. I’m not going to let you sit here and _bleed_ , especially not where I want to sit.”

“You’re so kind.”

“You say that, but I’m near your injured foot and I’m demanding answers to questions. I wouldn’t call that kind.”

Suga pulls his face out of the pillow to stare at him. Daichi’s face is serious, but he can’t actually take him seriously. That’s just _mean_. “Fine, you get answers. Want to know what this all is? It’s magic. That’s why I’ve been dodging questions, that’s why I was escorting _actual_ unicorns, and that’s why I can finally, honestly apologize for putting a sleep spell on you when I was drunk.”

“You did what?” Daichi asks blankly.

Suga groans into the pillow. Maybe he should have let Sparkle gore him on her horn. Daichi would feel so bad for him he’d never ask another question. “When you crashed at my place? And I, uh, want to cuddle… I sort of made you fall back asleep with me.”

Daichi continues staring.

Suga sighs, and despite knowing that it’ll just exhaust him further, writes a pair of runes in the air between them. His copy of _Ars Goetia_ flies off of the bookshelf behind him and drops onto him with a _whump_. He stifles another yawn in favor of a ta-da.

“…I think I’m going to call into work today. Matsukawa owes me and I’m suddenly a lot more interested in your explanations,” Daichi says with a slow nod. Suga chuckles dryly and nods along with him. He’s not really hurt that he didn’t believe him, because who _would_ , and if need be, he can explain the situation to his coworker himself. Suga doesn’t want to out anyone else in the magic community, but he’s not afraid to imply it.

“We can order take-out and finally have that date,” Suga says lightly, hoping he’s not overstepping their new bounds, but Daichi breaks into a small smile. He supposes not even _he_ is that unlucky.

What a first date to have.

…Maybe he should get Hitoka over here first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( 1Я не могу. Я не могу этого сделать. = "I can't. I can't do it."  [ return ]  
> 2он хороший человек. лучше человек чем это! = "He is a good man. A better man than this!"  [ return ]  
> 3Спи. = "Sleep."  [ return ]
> 
> at this point please just [see the wonder that is my personal bbac tag](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/bbac-feelings) for all of the _absolutely incredible_ attention and fanart this fic has received. i'm sorry i can't throw everyone's into the story, but i love it all, and if Takeda has a tengu hoard, my dragon hoard is all of your comments, arts, and beautiful thoughts. thank you so much for sticking with me on this daisuga story that actually might have some daisuga now. ))


	12. Sawamura Daichi Is Not Prepared For This

When a tiny, nervous blonde named Hitoka arrives as the black market ( _magic_ , huh) healer, Daichi very reluctantly leaves Suga in favor of a shower. The sweat from his truncated morning jog has long since dried, so he feels uncomfortably dirty in his winter exercise gear—but normally, he wouldn’t exactly leave someone like that. It’s Suga who threatens to magically push him into the bathroom and lock him in.

Daichi’s nearly worried that Suga actually means it. He wants to believe the best of Suga, but the magic thing is still taking its time processing, and he has to admit, he’s on guard. Too much has happened in a relatively short morning.

He spends almost all of his shower (two minutes of hot water again, the rest fading fast to freezing) staring at what he supposes is some sort of magical mark on the shower handles.

Water off, Daichi reaches out and touches the little mark. It does nothing. Magic. _Okay. So Suga can… Who else? What else?_ he wonders as he towels off. Is he headed down the rabbit hole, or is this more like Hogwarts? He didn’t see any wands. The Force? What exactly counts as _magic_? He should make a list of questions so his brain doesn’t stall out later in case Suga wants to show off again.

His determination flatlines into dazed staring when he comes back out into the small living room to find Hitoka sitting on the floor, resting her cheek on Suga’s shin, eyelids drooping as she runs her finger up and down the (cleaner) mess of his ankle. Suga’s face is buried in one of the mismatched pillows on his couch, and his knuckles are white with how hard he’s digging his fingers into it. Hitoka does a double-take when she notices him, and her hand twitches out of its rhythm; Suga jerks and growls into the pillow, sounding in pain.

“H-He’s fine!” she squeaks as Suga pulls away the pillow to squint at Daichi. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that—I-I have to look over the wound to see what’s wrong so I can fix it, otherwise it’ll be bad, and it could get infected or heal wrong or even worse—”

“It just means I’m stuck laying here for a little while,” Suga says. His voice is even but Daichi can see the strain on his face, the lack of color in his cheeks. “You can, um… drag over the stool from the kitchen or sit on the floor, I guess. Sorry, one of these times I’ll be a decent— _urgh_ , ow. A-A decent host,” he finishes with a wince. Hitoka makes a small, apologetic sound as she ghosts her fingertips over the torn skin.

Daichi plops down on the floor as close as he can to them. Hitoka scoots away with another tiny whine and Suga cringes at another hiccup in her rhythm. “Sorry!” she says at once and with a surprisingly fierce frown, she draws a quick symbol in the air with her free hand. The pads of the fingers against Suga’s skin seem to glow briefly and Suga lets out a long, almost obscenely relieved sigh.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he scolds, despite the way he has relaxed. His nails aren’t threatening to tear the pillow anymore, though.

“So that was… magic. What’d you do?” Daichi asks, because he doesn’t want to sit here and watch magical surgery without magical anesthetic, and because he doesn’t want her to be so scared of him.

“Just a little numbing and cooling spell,” Hitoka mumbles shyly.

“And she should save her strength,” Suga points out.

“Is it that bad?” Daichi asks in concern, and Suga quickly backtracks, half-hiding behind the throw pillow.

“No, it’s not! This is just an accident, but it’s a lot of detail work, and it’ll already be difficult. It wasn’t so bad earlier that she had to baby me, though—”

“I’ll tell Kiyoko,” Hitoka says quietly, and Suga shuts up as if she burned him. Daichi raises an eyebrow. With her other hand, Hitoka pats his knee, and smiles proudly when she finally draws away from his ankle. “Done! The good news is that it’s not as bad as I’d feared. I mean, there’s not even a real break, it just sort of scraped along the bone, so you won’t need a cast.”

“A cast? I thought you were fixing him,” Daichi says, confused, and Suga twists on the couch so he can smack him in the back of the head. “Ow, what the hell was that—” Then Daichi sees Hitoka’s expression.

She has gone almost as pale as Suga, eyes huge and clearly edging toward panic, and Suga bends over in order to grab her hand. “It’s fine, Hitoka! He’s new to this, I told you, and he’s prone to sticking his foot down his throat. You don’t _have_ to—”

“B-But he’s right!” Hitoka squeals, sounding near tears. Suga tries to smack Daichi again but misses. “I should fix you entirely, it’s just cruel to leave you—”

“Hitoka, _I’ll_ tell Kiyoko if you try to do that. I don’t want you exhausting yourself, or worse, and I’ll be fine! You said so yourself, it’s not as bad as it looked,” Suga soothes, but Hitoka quieted down at the mere mention of Kiyoko’s name, leaving Daichi to wonder who the hell this woman is. He has enough tact to keep that question for later, at least. “Daichi will just watch you work, and I’ll answer any questions he has, alright?”

The blonde nods, but casts a reproachful look in Daichi’s direction. He’s not sure he deserves that; he’s new to this shit, and it looks downright criminal coming from her. “You found out about magic just this morning, right?” she asks.

“Uh, yeah, I guess I did. Honestly, it’s still processing.”

“How’d you find out? Suga doesn’t often have accidents, and from what I heard, he was sweet on you.”

“I’m right here,” Suga flatly reminds them. “And _is_. Present tense.”

Daichi can’t help a pleased chuckle at that. Hitoka smiles at the lighter mood, and taps Suga’s knee to get him to shift again, before she pulls out a marker from her purse and begins writing down Suga’s calf. Daichi tries to look over her shoulder—he can’t place the alphabet, let alone any words the symbols may form, though they’re all running together into one long chain—but doesn’t want to crowd her.

“She’s writing runes to use magic with. You missed the earlier ones, but all spells operate with those things,” Suga explains, and Hitoka bobs her head as she draws careful circles around the injury. “Neither of us are witches, so we don’t cast without marks very often, but you can do that, too. It just takes a lot more out of you.”

“Witches exist?” Daichi asks. Back to Hogwarts? But still no wands…

“My mom is a witch,” Hitoka says, quiet but proud. “A-And Kiyoko is, too! They’re both very talented, and far better at magic than me.”

“You’re a better healer,” Suga says gently, and Daichi can see her cheeks turn pink at the compliment from where he’s still trying to read over her shoulder. “Healing magic is sort of a tricky specialization to have, and Hitoka is actually very good at it. So whenever we have the odd accident, she’s normally the one to patch us up. Which normally involves healing the worst of it, and letting the rest heal naturally. It’s better for us in the long run, and if she tried to heal everything herself, she’d only end up passing out.”

“Us?” Daichi asks absently, and he misses the way Suga freezes.

“We’re both, um, f-friends with Kiyoko. And Kiyoko hires a couple of people to help her do jobs, to keep the city safe. There are five of us, normally, but I guess lately we’ve gotten Kenma and Kuroo and the bakeneko, right? Kiyoko’s hiring them, anyway, so that means that they’re part of our team now, a-aren’t they?” Hitoka looks up at Suga, brow furrowed, prompting Daichi to look at him, too.

Suga isn’t fast enough to cover his face. “Uh, yeah, that’s right. Just a couple of us who work for her.”

 _Suspicious_. And it clicks not a moment later. Daichi doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh my god, you said you and— _Tanaka_?! You two said you were coworkers, didn’t you?!”

“That’s not my information to share,” Suga mumbles into the pillow.

Daichi takes a long moment to picture Tanaka Ryuunosuke with _magic_. Somehow, that mental image is easier to process than trying to reconcile all supernatural things being real, but it doesn’t reassure him. Ryuu is a force of nature, and this actually may help explain that, but _fuck_ , they served together. They lived in the dorms together, they trained together, and Daichi had had _no idea_.

“I’m sorry,” Hitoka says sadly.

“He was bound to figure it out soon, anyway,” Suga sighs. He sets the pillow back down, runs both his hands back through his light hair, tousling it, and groans at the ceiling. “I’ll handle his debriefing, or whatever it’s called. Just, uh, try not to talk about anyone else—”

“Who else?” Daichi asks with narrowed eyes. “Wait, Nishinoya? You said you were college roommates—”

“ _He_ wasn’t, the ghost he’s bonded to was. Ugh, yes, Noya too, and that’s all of my coworkers you know, I _swear_. It’s not really polite to out people as magical, just like with anything else. This information shouldn’t be tossed around like candy, Daichi.”

Daichi doesn’t really feel guilty about asking—he thinks he has a right to know whether anyone he goes drinking with can set him on fire with a thought—but he lets the matter drop without argument. He’s still not entirely sure men in black suits won’t burst into the room and wipe his memory, though. “So, back to the whole magic deal. Witches exist, but you’re not them, and you can still do magic?”

“A good portion of the population can do magic and are just unaware of it,” Suga says, and he still looks a little cagey for some reason.

“How many magicians are actual magicians?”

“Oh, not as many as you’d think. Too obvious. Special effects, though? _Full_ of actual magic. I had a friend who had to help someone write a spell for a specific kind of explosion that they could use in car chases. I still see it used from time to time,” Suga tells him.

“Kenma?” Hitoka asks, clearly confused.

“I still have yet to see evidence of his spellwriting outside of—uhh, well, in general. No, it was Yui. That was… a little before your time,” he replies.

“Way to sound ancient,” Daichi says flatly, and Suga wrinkles his nose.

“You have to be about my age, too, you old man.”

“Your hair is grey.”

Suga gasps, clutching the pillow to his chest, and Hitoka hides a laugh against the couch cushion. “I am _offended_! Gravely offended. If I wasn’t sure it’d kill me, I’d turn you into a toad right now, Sawamura. You _never_ complain about someone’s very attractive appearance when they can turn you into a toad.”

Daichi is torn between asking about magic _killing people shit_ and whether or not Suga could actually do that. Wait—unicorns. They existed, but if they existed, who knew what _else_ existed? Daichi looks down with fresh alarm at the copy of _Ars Goetia_ that Suga had floated over and then set down by the edge of the couch. And he had ordered that Latin demon one, and they’d talked about _Faust_ —Suga catches the way he’s looking at the book and tries to shove it underneath the couch. It’s too thick, and he nearly ends up falling off before Hitoka pushes him back.

“It was a joke. I can’t turn you into a toad, and I’ve never met anyone who could do that,” Suga mumbles. Hitoka reaches between the men to grab the book herself and stows it under her bag.

“All those books you read in the shop. All of the mythology and horror. Is that stuff real?”

“…Some of it, but probably not exactly like what you read about in books or see in movies. Real magic is subtler, and not as, well, magical. And the monsters and stuff are,” he flaps a hand vaguely in the air, “different. Usually not too bad if you know how to avoid them or deal with them. And for the bad stuff, that’s why people like me exist.”

Daichi massages his temples. As a child, he’d had a fear of a monster in his closet. He has the feeling he’ll be returning to something like that in the near future.

 

\--

 

Kuro stares at the note on the door. There’s a crystal necklace (sun stone, looks like) taped to the bottom of it, and he grudgingly puts it on while he reads over the note for the millionth time. ‘ _Kuro - this is the new protection amulet i made you. wear it. give me another day or two alone, and that’s an order, if you’ll follow written ones. Kenma_ ’

As it turns out, Kuro doesn’t have to follow written orders. He’s not sure if that’s a general rule or a result of his own contract, but he feels no pull to leave.

While he doesn’t have to follow the order, it doesn’t mean he’s equipped to handle breaking into a room that Kenma himself has warded. He’s polite, however; first, he tries knocking. No answer, of course, and not even sounds from inside. Probably soundproofed. He tries the handle, then underneath the door, and his attempts to enter go from that to scratching to even trying to break it down. None of it works, and his hands sting from all of the magic in the wood.

He could try to figure out which window is Kenma’s and scale the building, but he knows he’ll meet the same resistance. Kenma isn’t stupid enough to forget that. But then again, Kenma _is_ pretty stupid if he thinks this will actually work. Kuro sits down cross-legged in the middle of the hallway, facing the door, and resolves to wait.

A couple of tourists pass by, giving him curious looks, and he smiles and waves at them. He’s not sure how much time passes. There are no windows to check, and he already knows he has firmly inhuman senses of hunger and tiredness, but the tourist family comes back after a long, boring while, bags of shopping and dinner leftovers in hand. Kuro smiles again at the little boy, but one of the mothers gives him a particularly confused look as they edge by.

Not long after that, when his foot is starting to fall asleep (again), an older woman in a hotel uniform approaches him. Kuro temporarily freezes between looking calm and respectful and giving her a charming grin; the woman balks at whatever his expression settles on. Kuro clamps his mouth back shut when she turns away. He at least has the luck to stop himself from growling in frustration when he runs his tongue over his teeth. So much time has passed without Kenma that he has let his form go lax, and he’s pretty sure humans don’t have such sharp canines.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” the hotel worker cautiously asks, keeping a pointed distance between them.

“Not really, thanks,” Kuro replies.

“It seems as if you’ve been sitting here for most of the day.”

He doesn’t respond that time and fixes his gaze back on the door in front of him.

“If you’ve been locked out of your room, we could go down to the front desk and create a spare key for you.”

Kuro can’t help the grin he breaks back out. “ _Yes_ , that would be absolutely wonderful.” It wouldn’t completely break through Kenma’s magic, but most magical locks hinge upon the fact that there’s a physical lock to reinforce.

The door in front of them opens. The older woman jumps, severely startled, like she hadn’t noticed the door there. Kuro doesn’t pay her any heed and his expression brightens impossibly further when he sees Kenma—and just as quickly, it darkens again when he sees how Kenma actually _looks_. It’s clear he hasn’t slept, with dark bags under his eyes and messier hair than usual, and he’s only half-dressed in especially baggy sweats and his binder. Kuro looks at the older woman—usually Kenma is _far_ more careful about others seeing him, and Kuro is fully prepared to protect his secret—but Kenma doesn’t look particularly perturbed.

“Kuro, don’t break my ignore-me spell again,” Kenma tells him flatly, and writes runes against the door.

“Wh-Where did you come from?” the older woman gasps, still clutching her chest.

Kenma’s eye twitches and his detached expression almost dips into annoyance. But he blinks slowly, finishes his runes, and drags the magic from the door to point at the woman. “ _Blind, numb, and deaf; depart, ignore, and neglect; all I am here I command you to reject._ ”

The woman’s face goes slack, her eyes turn glassy, and without another word, she staggers back down the hallway. Kenma runs his hand back through his hair, which is hardly tied in his ponytail anymore, and sighs. He exits the doorway and looks at the frame, hands on his hips. Kuro gets to his feet, carefully, and hovers just out of his peripherals.

He’s wary of touching Kenma after last night, but far more worryingly, he has to keep his distance because of the reek of angel blood on him. As the witch rewrites marks on the frame and fixes his broken spell, Kuro takes the opportunity to look him over. There are what appear to be burns on a few of his fingers, and Kuro spies notes in marker along Kenma’s other wrist, occasionally interrupted with bandages and the fresh pink of magically healed skin.

“What are you doing in there?” Kuro asks. He hopes he doesn’t already know the answer. From what he can see inside the room, it’s a mess of papers, books, and runes on the floor and across one wall.

“I guess written orders don’t work,” Kenma murmurs instead, standing on his tiptoes to write over the top of the door frame. Satisfied, he finishes and turns back to Kuro, detached persona still very firmly in place.

Kuro starts forward, but Kenma puts up a hand. “Really? You look like shit, Kenma. I can’t handle your ingredients but I can sure as hell keep you from messing up further,” Kuro says, frowning down at him.

“I want you to le—mmph.” Kenma narrows his eyes when Kuro clamps a hand down over his mouth, but he’s either tired enough or not yet mad enough to immediately move away.

“I don’t want to leave you again. You weren’t okay last night, and I’m not convinced you are now, either. We’re a team, remember? So let’s not kick me to the curb, yeah?”

Kenma’s expression doesn’t change. Kuro hesitantly removes his hand, and all he says is, “I want you to leave me alone.”

“Goddamnit, Kenma!” Kuro snaps, feeling that familiar, hated pull in his chest. “If you’re in there fucking around with angel stuff, I don’t want you in there alone!”

“And you’re my only choice left, right?” Kenma asks, eyes narrowing further. He relaxes, however, and looks the demon up and down. “I don’t know what I’ll do with you yet, but it’s safer if you’re not near any of the angel work. And I don’t want you around in general right now. So, leave.”

A repeated order turns the pull into something like a painful itch, and Kuro rubs at his chest, trying his best to ignore it for as long as he can. “Take that back, please,” he pleads, changing tack, “I’ll stay quiet and out of your way. You won’t know I’m here. Just let me stay with you.”

“Go. And if you hang around here and break my spell again, I’ll banish you myself,” Kenma says coldly.

“That would kill you too,” Kuro tells him, knowing full well that he already knows that. He has to back away from him, dragging his feet as he fights the order, but there’s a stiffness in his limbs and pain crawling up the base of his spine for taking so long. “I can bring you Lev. I’ll bring you anyone. Just don’t be alone, Kenma.”

 _Hurt_ flickers across his face at Lev’s name, and Kuro wants to take it back at once, but Kenma slams the door behind him before he can say anything else. Kuro wants to scream, but more noise would bring more people, and that would break the spell again. It’s Kenma’s favorite, and it works beautifully, but drawing attention to whatever it’s covering defeats the purpose; Kuro doesn’t want to risk breaking it accidentally and finding out how much truth there is to Kenma’s threat.

 _He wouldn’t… Would he?_ he can’t help but think. He’s never heard of a demon getting successfully banished by its own contracter, though to be fair, he’s still learning a lot of this stuff himself, too. But the threat, Kenma _knowing_ it would result in his own death, hangs over Kuro’s head. He had seen Kenma and Lev’s argument coming, but he hadn’t thought Kenma would be so affected. He likes Lev well enough—liked?—but he had been unable to resist poking at their relationship for entertainment. He’d wanted to see how Kenma would react.

He definitely did not want Kenma’s reaction to be to _break_. Fuck, he really wishes someone would help Kenma with his stuff. But _noooo_ , he had to go and encourage him to burn all of the bridges with Kiyoko and her crew. While Tadashi and Tsukishima may be just detached enough from that group to still care, it’s not like they’d be much actual help at this point. They’d probably just end up turning Tsukishima into a demon and then Tadashi would cry and he does _not_ want to deal with more heartbreak right now.

It’s a pity Yaku hates Kuro, he supposes, since he’d been so sweet on Kenma. But Lev had said that Yaku had held doubts of his own, so he’s out, too.

Kuro can count the number of people he actually _knows_ on both hands, and none of them are friendly right now. He either needs to make new friends or figure out a way to get him and Kenma back into someone’s good graces. Kiyoko hires out, and surely she can use more muscle, but she’s also probably the most pissed at them. He needs a damn big favor to do someone—

Wait.

Kuro almost smiles as he realizes that he can do. He’s not sure _how_ , but goodwill counts for a lot with humans and tengu alike, right? He regretfully leaves the hotel, and Kenma, for the nearest door to the goblin market.

 

\--

 

“Listen,” Iwaizumi tells him urgently, and Tooru blinks up at his hazy outline with the sense that he should be surprised. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. He also doesn’t remember ever seeing Iwaizumi look so solid in his dreams before. Iwaizumi quickly continues, “I’ve run into some trouble here, and I need you to separate my body from my skins. Lock them away again and if you can, get Sugawara to put some binding spells on my body, too. Are you _listening_ to me, jackass?!”

Tooru is only half-listening, because the Dreamlands are different this time, and it’s distracting. Everything’s darker, with muted colors, but it’s not just that; it _feels_ oppressive. Last time, he had a little more control over his immediate area. Now, he feels like he’s wading through freezing sludge despite not moving, and there’s something that smells very burnt hanging stubbornly around them.

Iwaizumi slaps him upside the head. His hand feels cold and strangely wet. Tooru rubs his head, nose scrunching up in annoyance, and his hands come away with something he _knows_ isn’t blood but his mind registers it as such. Gross. And very concerning. “Don’t mind that, this place is going to shit right now. In fact, just close your eyes,” Iwaizumi commands.

Tooru opens his mouth, but Iwaizumi clamps his disgusting, wet hand over him and Tooru tries to reel back. Iwaizumi’s other arm grabs the back of his shirt and keeps him still.

“Don’t _dare_ talk right now. Barely think. Don’t try to change anything here, and just fucking _listen_ , okay? My body. Pull the skins away from me. Nod.” Iwaizumi forces him to nod and Tooru narrows his eyes at him. “Lock them up, magically if you can. In some place I have never seen. Nod again, dumbass.”

He doesn’t have to be so rude about it. Iwaizumi sighs and his form melts off into the not-there sludge around his feet, and Tooru feels a jolt of alarm. But not a moment later, there’s something solid against his back, and Iwaizumi’s chin hooks over his shoulder.

“This is a problem. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you while I’m here. …You’re starting to feel really good,” he says, voice softer, and he walks his fingers down the outside edge of Tooru’s shoulder. The guilt in his voice ruins whatever other effect the proximity could have created, which is a pity.

Tooru can’t help it; he laughs at him.

The ground around them shatters at the noise and he only has a brief moment of the falling sensation before he’s caught by his ankles, hauled back upward while upside-down, and then seized by one of his dangling arms. Dizzy from the movement and his mind thinking blood is rushing to his brain, it takes Tooru a moment to realize that there are too many hands to be just his bodyguard.

First, he looks up at his feet, and finds a thrashing, growling mass of teal smoke that his mind identifies as Iwaizumi. He’s trying to carrying him upward, with something he wants to think are wings, but he doesn’t seem to be winning. Alright, so the intruder must be the one dangling from him and threatening to pull his arm out of his socket—when Tooru looks down, he immediately wishes he hadn’t. It has its claws buried into his forearm, though he cannot feel it, and not-blood is dripping down over his hand and onto its faceless head. The creature is entirely black, emaciated, and kicking aimlessly with sharp feet. It has a tail and wings, equally bony, but they don’t seem to be doing much for its movements.

Oddly, Tooru doesn’t feel much panic. He can’t really _feel_ the thing attached to him other than a vague sense of its weight, and after all, he’s only dreaming—

“That’s not how the Dreamlands work!” Iwaizumi snarls from above and Tooru and his hanger-on swing in his grasp. “Remember what I said about my skins! Separate me and them and lock us up, now hold still and hate me later!”

That sounds ominous.

Tooru is abruptly swung upward, and part of Iwaizumi’s fuzzy silhouette coalesces into something Tooru immediately recognizes: the hand and talons of Iwaizumi’s dragon pelt. He realizes what’s going to happen a moment before it does, and he instinctively tries to get away from the slash. He feels a brief flash of pain across his throat, and then he’s gasping awake in his bed, next to Iwaizumi’s comatose body.

Tooru breathes for just a moment to make sure he’s actually still alive.

Yup, heart still beating, no need for Suga’s gross drink. He rolls onto his side and prods Iwaizumi. “…Iwa-chan?” Tooru tries, shaking him by the shoulder, but he’s not responding. Not the strange language, not the half-feral growling, not even a fluttering of his eyelids. The only reassurance is that he’s still breathing. “Oh my god, you ass, you just killed me in a dream. You owe it to me to wake up and explain to me what’s wrong!”

Still nothing. Tooru huffs and shoves him onto his back, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest for a moment before peeling off his sealskin blanket. The dragon pelt is pooled at the foot of the bed, likely from where he shrugged it off before collapsing next to him. Which implies forethought.

He _knew_ something was coming, but of course he didn’t think to share that information. Tooru frowns to himself as he bundles up the skins in his arms. There’s no use ignoring his warning, especially when everything seems so dire, but fuck, would it hurt him to actually share some information himself instead of telling him to ask Suga or switching languages?

It’s not hard to guess, though, what’s coming. What’s coming for Iwaizumi, and from the sound of it, _through_ Iwaizumi. Tooru isn’t stupid and with how open the skinwalker’s mind is, possession must be a constant threat for him. He’ll have to dig around to see what possession via the Dreamlands is like. Which means he has a phone call to make.

“Suga is going to make both of us pay through the nose, you know,” he tells Iwaizumi, pausing in the doorway with the pelts. Tooru frowns again at them. Despite Iwaizumi _right there_ , it already seems lonelier in the house again without him at least up and shuffling around like a zombie.

Iwaizumi risked himself to force Tooru out of the Dreamlands. Who knew what that black thing could be doing to him now. Who knew what Ptar-Axtlan could be doing next.

No more half-assed patch jobs; Tooru is going to get this _over with_ already. He throws the pelts into his hallway closet for now, double-locks it, and grabs the tengu First egg from the china cabinet. He sets it awkwardly into a duffel bag and pads around it with a couple towels and the rest of his mint leaves. He grabs his phone, dials Suga (he should put him on speed dial at this rate), and starts pulling on his boots. Iwaizumi is damn lucky Tooru likes him so much.

 

\--

 

“This is a dead end,” Daichi announces, and Suga hides a laugh in his scarf. This is going to be fun.

He grabs Daichi’s hand and tugs him toward the fence. There’s a bored-looking pretzel stand attendant near the branch in the path leading to the dead end, and she watches them as Suga leads the way. The zoo isn’t that busy during the winter months, although it’s a clear enough day, and Suga hopes they can come back in the summer to see the other exhibits.

“If this is more magic bullshit—”

“Just come _on_ and trust me!” Suga chides, and yanks him through the fence. Which, of course, isn’t a fence at all, but it does a wonderful job at keeping out normal zoo visitors.

Hiding a limp this far through the mundane half of the zoo is absolutely worth the look of absolute _wonder_ on Daichi’s face when they get through the gate and he sees the first couple enclosures: dragons, hippocamps, and a nguruvilu winding its way through its watery home. Suga sets his hands on his knees and laughs in sheer delight at the way Daichi’s frozen in place. “You weren’t kidding,” he says weakly, and Suga laughs harder.

“I told you that this zoo was the one to go to! Why did you think the price was so high?”

“I thought it was just… pricy,” Daichi mumbles and talks a few awkward steps into the magical half of the zoo. Suga grabs his hand again, just to get him moving—he wouldn’t be able to stand still for long without having to sit down, and he didn’t want to give himself away just yet—and wishes he could keep holding his hand. But no, Daichi’s a little skittish around magic still, and he has to give him space.

Space that involves taking him to a magical zoo full of creatures he didn’t know existed, clearly. But Suga wants a date that isn’t spent on the couch talking (as nice as it had been), and his foot is good enough to walk on. Mostly.

Daichi jumps at a hippocamp coming up against the glass and kicking it, and then jumps again when he nearly backs into an oni father and daughter that pass by. Suga hums happily to himself when Daichi seems a little more keen on holding hands after that. Is he taking advantage of the situation? He’s not sure. “Everything here is safe, I promise. That includes the people here. There’s a portal on the other side, I’ll show you it when we get there, but it leads to a part of the goblin market. So there’s actually two entrances.”

“Goblin market?” Daichi parrots back, eyes on the augurey staring mournfully at him through the fence of the aviary. A phoenix flaps over with a shower of sparks, fluffing up its feathers at the cold weather, and begins preening itself.

“It’s mostly what it sounds like, but it’s technically in another realm. People go there to buy, sell, and barter, and I know some who use it to travel. It has lots of doors to different realms and planes there.”

“So, magic, supernatural, and different _realms_ exist,” Daichi says, and Suga bobs his head with a beam. Daichi brings up his free hand to sigh into. “This is still a lot to take in.”

“I know, but think of it as a cold pool. Sometimes it’s better to just jump in,” he advises. “And you wanted to know.”

“And you wanted to show off.”

“Maybe a little. But I can answer questions if you have them.” More than he got when he was younger. Maybe he should come back here with Tadashi and Tsukishima (after they drag him back), too.

“Oh, I still have a list,” Daichi says dryly and they move on to the rest of the aviary.

“We should come back during the warm weather. They’ll have chicks, and they open it up to walk through, so it’s really fun,” Suga says, hopefully. Daichi makes a noncommittal sound and continues watching the augurey, which has flapped over to follow them. Suga stares it down to make sure it doesn’t start crying.

Daichi does smile at the unicorn enclosure, and Suga sticks his tongue out at the animals, causing him to laugh. At the jackalope exhibit, Daichi simply glowers at them over the railing while they scamper around in the snow. Most of them have their winter coats, but there are a couple brown or black ones, too. “…That’s what I had, isn’t it?” Daichi asks.

Suga grins and nods. When Daichi goes back to glaring at them, he shifts his weight onto his better foot, bringing up his healing one to massage. Healing magic doesn’t usually make things itch like healing normally does, but in Suga’s opinion, things are sorer longer.

“What happened to it?”

“Ryuu took it, so who knows. Why, want another?”

Daichi looks back at him, and Suga isn’t quite fast enough to put his leg back down into a normal stance. Daichi frowns. “Your ankle bothering you still? You said it was healed, and it would be pretty mean to give the newbie untrue information when he’s trying to build up his knowledge of this brave new world.”

“Ohh, that’s true,” Suga concedes, and makes a show of hobbling over to the nearest bench. He brushes some snow off and sits down with a groan. “Well, like I told you before, Hitoka doesn’t fix everything. I’m good for some short-term walking and I won’t have a permanent limp, but for the next week or so, I guess you’ll just have to carry me when I get tired.”

“Oh, is that how this goes?” Daichi asks, sounding amused but looking impressively straight-faced. “I thought you had a unicorn steed.”

 _Do not making riding jokes, do not make riding jokes, you are trying to make him comfortable around magic and you_. “I thought you owed me a field dressing. Doesn’t that involve some amount of aftercare?”

Daichi sits down next to him, close enough that their arms brush, which is another good sign for Suga. All in all, he seems to be taking it well. Just as he thinks that, however, Daichi moves his arm away—to put it around Suga’s shoulders. Even better. “We can just sit here for a bit. I don’t know enough medical bullshit to keep up the banter, so just tell me when you want a break, okay? It’s not like I’d mind sitting here, or taking a breather to just… process the fact that there is a literal _gryphon_ right there.”

Suga wraps his nearer arm around Daichi’s waist, shamelessly digging underneath his coat for warmth. “Wanna know something about gryphons?”

Daichi arches an eyebrow. “Do I want to know what it is?”

“I know they taste delicious, and—”

“You _eat_ them?!” he interrupts in shock.

“I was adventurous in college. You don’t want to know what else I did. But also—”

“I have to ask you what you did in college now,” Daichi says, and Suga regrets joking about it. Not exactly too soon, but too soon to try to explain himself to someone he likes.

To backpedal, he digs his fingers into Daichi’s side, making him jump and make the absolute _best_ little squeak. “I’m trying to invite you out flying some day,” Suga tells him and he’s not sure if the squeak or the brief flicker of excitement is cuter. “We’ll have to wait for warmer weather for that, too, but I have a friend who knows someone who professionally trains flying creatures. Gryphons, pegasi, even a garuda a few years ago. Once in awhile a dragon, but those are hard to actually train to do anything.”

“So is there a magic wikipedia or something I can find a list on? Because I’m pretty sure you’re just pulling things out of your ass.”

“I’m sure we can find a map of the zoo around here somewhere, and I am _not_. I couldn’t make up that many things at once on the fly, anyway,” Suga admits. “Can you name every animal on the planet?” Daichi’s sheepish expression is answer enough. “Exactly. I like to think I’m a pretty smart guy, but I can neither recite _everything_ nor bullshit that hard.”

“If it’s any consolation, you still sound pretty knowledgeable to me.”

Suga shrugs and leans his head against Daichi’s shoulder. “Animals, runes, and ass appreciation, my real areas of expertise in life.”

His phone rings, interrupting an otherwise pleasant snuggle. Suga scowls at Tooru’s number on the screen. What now?

“Hold on a moment,” Suga mumbles, and draws away from Daichi, scooting down on the bench. He picks up and answers, “Hello, Oikawa. Please tell me there’s not anything _else_ in your bathtub.”

He purposefully phrases it that way to see Daichi’s confused expression, and he’s not disappointed. Daichi mouths ‘ _bathtub?_ ’ as Tooru sighs, staticky, over the line.

“No, though you’ll wish there was. I want to give the tengu back their egg, and then I’m going to become your least favorite person. Unless you’re feeling particularly reckless and mercenary, in which case, I’ll remain your favorite,” Tooru replies primly. “Where are you at?”

“Uh, I’m out. Does it have to be right now?” He doesn’t even want to _ask_ about the other bit. He doesn’t want his day ruined.

“Kou _shi_.” Oh god, there’s the tone. This is going to be bad.

“Too _ru_ ,” Suga shoots back.

“We need to have that talk about the Dreamlands.”

“ _Why_?!” Suga asks, louder than he means, and he gives Daichi a nervous peek over his shoulder. The man still looks lost. Okay, so no real change. “Oikawa, I’m out. And injured.”

“Remember our Halloween visitor? It sounds like it’s tracked down Iwa-chan and is going to use him to get back into our realm.”

Suga lets out a long, aggravated “ _Shiiiiiiit_.”

“Is everything alright?” Daichi asks quietly, and Suga nods with a forced smile.

“So I need your help handing this egg back over to the tengu, which means I need you at the goblin market. Don’t make me track you down. …Please, Koushi, I don’t know anyone else who has even heard of the Dreamlands, and I still don’t want to spread around information on Iwaizumi if I can help it,” Tooru says seriously.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. …Listen, I’m out _with_ someone right now, but I’m near a portal, so I can meet you there. How time sensitive is the Dreamlands stuff?”

“Pretty time sensitive, since he had to kill me in a dream to kick me out.”

Suga bites his cheek to keep himself grounded at that revelation; Tooru had _been_ to the Dreamlands? It sounds as if Iwaizumi helped act as a bridge, and if he was asleep it was probably similar to assisted astral projection, but pulling a psychic into the Dreamlands is a real fucking stupid idea, especially for someone apparently so familiar with them. “Right. I’ll, uh, get over there as fast as I can. And I don’t even have to tell you how much you owe me, right?”

“Tell Sawamura sorry for me. I’ll buy you a nice bottle of wine for a night in after this,” Tooru replies.

Suga hangs up on him. In his defense, Daichi already derailed the one date of theirs in favor of that bar night, so this is just tipping the scales back to balanced, right? “Okay, so, my job just called, and I sort of have to go run to the goblin market and then do some other stuff. Please don’t hate me?” Suga pleads, hands clasped in front of him.

Daichi just cocks his head to one side and asks, “Can I come?”

“…Uh.”

“You only deal with low-key stuff, right? If I won’t be in the way, I’d like to see this market place.” God, Suga wanted to kiss his sense of adventure, and this wouldn’t really be a dangerous job for him to be around, but it’s going to get messy.

But then again, he can still see Daichi awhile longer, and no one can be as bad at dealing with tengu as Oikawa Tooru is.

“I’m a grown man, and if we’re attacked or something, I can probably handle myself well enough in a fight to not immediately die or get you killed,” Daichi continues. “I understand completely if you say no, but I’m sort of curious. You’ve seen me at _my_ job more than enough.”

“Well, the job tonight is not exactly the norm. We’re going to be dealing with some tengu, which are perfectly polite beings, but it means you’ll have to stay quiet while we talk to them. In fact, just don’t touch or talk to anything while we’re there. But I guess…?”

This is a bad idea. Suga’s not the best at saying no to people, but he’s normally better at it—except Daichi seems to be totally unaware of the puppy eyes he can wield at the drop of a hat. They’re not even proper puppy eyes, either. Suga’s good at puppy eyes himself, but Daichi’s is just—open and honest and hopeful. “It’s a marketplace, so it shouldn’t be that bad, right?”

“If you were overwhelmed at the zoo, just wait until you see this. …Though we’ll have to come back here at some point, to finish showing you everything. We didn’t even track down the snipes for you to see.”

Daichi blinks at him. “Snipes, as in the little birds that everyone sends newbies to go find?”

“Yeah!” Suga replies with a grin. “Next time, you can find some.”

“Snipes don’t really exist, do they.”

“No, but I was hoping to get you for a little while longer.” Suga gets back to his feet, hiding a wince as he puts weight back onto his bad one, and tugs Daichi to his feet behind him. “We’ll take the long way around to the other gate, since I doubt Oikawa will be able to beat us there. Unless there’s something you wanted to see?”

“How would I know what I want to see?” Daichi asks.

“Okay, good point. How about we swing by the manticores and whatever else is in that direction?”

“Sounds good to me.” Hand in hand, they wind their way through the exhibits, Suga pointing out creatures he’s dealt with or has fun facts about, Daichi trying to take it in stride. He’s being a remarkably good sport about it all. Suga is still having second thoughts about taking him to the goblin market, but he and Tooru will be with him, and he’d also feel bad just leaving him in this place with all of these things around him. Not that zoos are dangerous, but Suga is a worrier, so sue him.

The jabberwock hisses and recoils from them as they pass, making Daichi jump at least a foot in the air (which in turn makes Suga try to hide his laughter in his scarf). Daichi tries to play it off as nothing, but a second snarl from the jabberwock makes him jump again.

“You can’t blame me for being a little skittish around something that big with teeth the size of my forearm. That’s the rule on dates,” Daichi grumbles and goes so far as to tug his hand out of Suga’s.

Suga doesn’t let that deter him, however, and instead loops their arms together. “Aw, but I thought you were a big, strong man who can handle himself.”

“Oh, and you can fight that thing?”

“I could… probably slow it down?” Suga admits, shrugs, and rests his cheek against Daichi’s shoulder. “I’d just call Ryuu and tell him to bring a really big gun. And, believe it or not, that jabberwock’s teeth were filed down a bit.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Absolutely no bullshit from me today, remember? Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Fine, and when we come back here, we’re either avoiding that thing or I’m reenacting the poem. Snicker-snack and all that,” Daichi declares and Suga sighs happily against him. “What’s that sound for?”

“It’s sort of easy to forget you’re bookish when I’m not seeing you in your work clothes. I get distracted by the finely shaped arms and legs. Understandably distracted,” he says appreciatively and gives Daichi’s arm a little squeeze.

“So, is it magic that lets you talk like that, or are you just really that shameless?”

“You think I’m shameless?”

Daichi frowns and pretends to think. “Pushy, shameless, easily distracted, hmm. What else am I missing?”

“If I’m all of those,” Suga says, feigning a pout, “then what does that make _you_ for wanting to be seen with me?”

“Never said _I_ wasn’t easily distracted, too,” he replies. “Maybe I’ll go through that list after I’m finished with my list of questions for you. Next on the list—what the hell is _that._ ”

Suga fondly pats Daichi’s arm again and looks toward the portal to the goblin market. “You’re going to want to keep a firm hold on me. You’ll probably feel dizzy the first time or two you jump between realms, but it shouldn’t be too bad. So, shall we?”

Swallowing, eyes on the large, circular door, Daichi nods.

 

\--

 

Kuro drums his fingers on the table in front of him. Bokuto sets up a counter-beat, or is it adding to his? The point is, they’re working with each other, making sweet, sweet noise, and Akaashi’s patience is visibly growing thinner and thinner by the second. At least they’d given up the singing. In hindsight, Kuro shouldn’t have been surprised that tengu can’t really sing.

Not that it hadn’t been fun. A passing siren had felt so personally offended that he spent the better part of half an hour chewing them out.

“Alright, enough,” Akaashi finally bursts out, and in unison, Kuro and Bokuto stop their tapping with slaps on the table. Akaashi flinches, feathers ruffling further.

Kuro hardly has a plan right now, but simply hanging out with Bokuto helps bolster his mood. “Isn’t this more fun with a human?” Bokuto asks, voice veering back towards musical, and Akaashi’s eyes widen.

“He is not staying here regularly. Or even for very much longer. Kuro, don’t you have _things_ to be doing?” they ask pointedly.

“I’m workin’ on a lead right now,” Kuro replies vaguely. God it feels good to lie, in a sort of sick way.

“You should’ve brought your little friend again. They can be mascots, Akaashi!” Bokuto says excitedly, and Kuro grins, although his heart isn’t really in it. He doesn’t want to share Kenma—and even if he did, Kenma doesn’t want to be with him right now, so. Yeah. That’s still a thing. Before Kuro can head back down that spiral, Bokuto throws a feathery arm around his shoulder and exclaims, right by his ear, “We’ll get that egg back in no time! And you can get a discount whenever you want, anything you want, forever and ever.”

“What else do you even sell here?” he asks curiously.

“Eggs, feathers, magic, things we raise or collect, things we make. What else would we sell at our own shop?” Bokuto asks in return.

“Fair enough.” Making things is sort of a foreign concept to Kuro; he’s still in the stage of existence when he’s bugging his summoner and distracted by trying new things. He wasn’t summoned for any specific purpose (at least not one that had been fulfilled), so he has a lot of leeway. …He _could_ do things himself, he supposes. That’s a weird thought.

The train of thought derails when Kuro catches sight of the best and worst person to see right now: Sugawara. He’s nice enough in general, although wary of Kenma and Kuro both, and he’s very close to Kiyoko. Not good. But he also knows what’s up with the missing egg and has information on it, and seems to be sympathetic to sad enough causes. Suga doesn’t even notice him at first, and as he winds his way through the crowd, it becomes obvious that he has another man’s arm over his shoulders and seems to be leading him.

Akaashi’s eyes narrow and Kuro is equal parts curious and concerned, but Bokuto is on his feet, leaning over their table, gold eyes wide. “Hey, hey-hey-heeeey, you guys! Well, you, the one who Akaashi likes!”

“What?” they ask flatly.

Suga looks up at the shouting, looks around for a moment, and then makes a beeline for their stall. Kuro keeps his smile in place—he’s sure Suga won’t cause a scene or out him as a demon in the middle of the market, if only for Kenma’s sake—but to his bewilderment, Suga only looks mildly puzzled by his presence there. No anger, no betrayal, no demands or threats or even _questions_.

“What’s wrong with him?” Bokuto asks, nodding to the man Sugawara is supporting (a handsome but plain brunet who’s looking a little green).

“This is his first visit here,” Suga answers. “Akaashi, has Oikawa contacted you recently? I think he’s supposed to meet me here.”

Akaashi’s brows disappear beneath their bangs and this prompts Kuro to make twin realizations: first, Suga either has the egg now or something very concrete to hand over, and _Suga doesn’t know_. Kiyoko, for whatever reason, didn’t tell him about Kuro and Kenma’s flight from the shop. _Did she tell_ anyone _? What does she gain by not telling anyone else?_ Kuro wonders, smile still rigid on his face.

“Where’s Kenma? I haven’t seen either of you around the shop recently,” Suga says expectantly.

Kuro just shrugs. He has to work with the hand he’s been dealt, after all. “He’s not feeling well. I just stopped by here to help my bro with his egg problem. Say, weren’t you on that job, too?”

Sugawara looks like he’s bitten into a lemon, and beside him, Kuro notices that the other man has been staring openly at the two tengu for most of the conversation. If they weren’t distracted, he has a feeling the poor guy would soon get a faceful of claws. Not his problem, though.

 _Does Kiyoko not want to alienate the others against Kenma?_ Kuro can’t help but hope. Kiyoko has a (semi-accidental) cold and hard front, but Kuro knows she cares, and he wants to believe that she doesn’t hate Kenma, now that the seed of doubt has been planted in his mind. Whether it’s because she thinks she can still use him as an ally or because she actually, genuinely _cares_ , he doesn’t particularly care himself, but he can’t think of any other reason why she wouldn’t warn the others against Kenma. And Suga is not that good of an actor.

That certainly gives them a lot more freedom to move around. He’s not sure when this order will wear off, but some good news should get Kuro on his way back into Kenma’s good graces. And maybe Kenma won’t have to kill himself doing everything alone.

Maybe literally. Kuro scrubs a hand over his face and tries not to groan.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Never seen an owl tengu before?” Bokuto asks, finally noticing all of the staring.

“No,” the man replies simply. He tugs Suga over by the scarf and whispers something in his ear. Suga rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I just… am really new to this. And you have wings.”

“Of course I do,” Bokuto huffs, crossing his arms. He stretches one out not a moment later, showing off his flight feathers.

Suga gives them a short bow, tugging the other man down with him. “I ask that you look permissively upon us for this—”

“No need to be so proper! You’re doing us a favor, after all, and friends don’t eviscerate friends for stepping on formalities!” Bokuto says with a bright grin. Kuro snorts into his fist.

“Er, right. Thank you,” Suga replies dubiously.

“So why did you bring your friend?” the demon asks.

“I stole his virginity so now I’m taking responsibility,” Suga replies seriously. The man splutters and turns an indignantly red face on him, but Suga pays him no heed. Bokuto just nods, and Kuro has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. (Kenma only explained the human concept of virginity a couple weeks ago, but hey, he can still get the joke here. He knew he likes Sugawara for a reason.)

“Bokuto, would you excuse me for a moment? I’d like to talk to Sugawara on my own,” Akaashi says and stands. They smooth their short skirt out around their fawny, feathered thighs and Kuro does not miss the way Bokuto’s eyes linger on the movement.

Akaashi gives Suga a sharp look, and he leaves his friend there with them. “Shit, he’s almost prettier than Suga,” the man says softly, and Kuro reflexively puts out an arm to keep Bokuto in place.

“ _They_ ,” the screech owl tengu corrects. (All Kuro hears is “ _mine_ ”.)

“Sorry. Um, I’m still new to this, and I’m not good with—uh, my name is Sawamura,” the man oh so smoothly says with another quick bow. Kuro smirks at Bokuto before Sawamura straightens, and Bokuto grins back. Good, they won’t have to hurt Suga’s boyfriend. But this is going to be fun.

“Didn’t Sugawara tell you not to give your name out to anyone? Names have power,” Kuro says and leans forward, resting his chin on his fist. Bokuto mirrors his lean and folds his wings on the table, mindful of his feathers.

Sawamura doesn’t balk, but he does avert his eyes. “It’s not a full name.”

“Know any magic?” Bokuto murmurs under his breath.

“Nah. All on you,” Kuro whispers back.

Before any torment could begin, unfortunately (especially considering he _really_ wants to see some tengu magic), another man strides over with purposeful steps and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Another contestant in Prettiest _and_ Best Hair, it seems, and the man gives Kuro half a smirk as he rakes his hand back through his fluffy brown hair. “Where’s Suga and Akaashi?” he asks without preamble.

Sawamura looks back and forth between the newcomer and the two behind the table. Both of them shrug at him. “And who’re you?” Bokuto asks, eyebrow cocked.

The man doesn’t smell outright magical, although Kuro tries not to sniff so obviously. Something about him does smell faintly metallic, though, but it’s not blood. Weird. He rubs at his nose and uses the movement to check that his amulet is still hidden under his shirt.

The man watches Kuro, and he meets his eyes levelly—but then the man’s face goes pale and his eyes go wide. Kuro edges closer to Bokuto. “Are you here to buy something or what? You’re holding up our conversation,” Bokuto says loudly.

The suddenly more alarmed looking man tightens his grip on his bag, stares at Bokuto for a long moment, and then grabs Sawamura’s arm. He drags him off without another word.

“Okay, that was fuckin’ weird,” Kuro says. He feels uneasy about that exchange, which really wasn’t even an actual exchange.

“He seemed weird, but he was definitely human. How much do you care about that Sugawara guy?”

“Why?”

Bokuto frowns in the direction they left, though the mass of shoppers has long since blocked their view. “He was sort of rude, but if he’s some sort of jackass or is going to become a problem, Akaashi won’t stand for it. We’ve both been on edge with all of the egg shit, and Akaashi’s better at magic between us. Don’t tell them I told you that.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kuro promises. “You think Akaashi is gonna get into some trouble?” He doesn’t want to get into any fights, but his odds would be better on the tengu side. Unless either of those new guys pulled something bad out of their sleeves… “Think he’s that Oikawa that Sugawara wanted?”

“He better hope so, because there’s getting to be a few too many humans around for my taste,” Bokuto grumbles, then quickly adds, “excusing you, of course. Any human who can do me such a favor is by default my favorite human.”

“Ah, right.” He still has to actually _do_ the favor, and that means he needs Suga. “I’m gonna go check on them. I think Sugawara has that lead I want.”

Despite Bokuto’s droop, Kuro leaves him to man the stall alone. It’s not hard to track down Suga, even in the crowd; so far from Kenma, he can detect the faintest of pulls in Suga’s direction instead, probably leftover from his bit of blood in the summoning circle. So Sawamura, maybe Oikawa, and then Akaashi and Sugawara—he has a lot of toes he needs to avoid stepping on to get Kenma back on someone’s side again.

But life is full of surprises.

He no sooner finds them in a little knot full of furious, hushed whispers and Sawamura looking _very_ confused, than Akaashi plucks a balloon-sized thing out of the pretty brunet’s arms and pushes it into Kuro’s with a scowl. It’s definitely heavier than a balloon, actually very heavy for its size. Akaashi snaps, “We’re taking this back to Bokuto.”

“Wait, please,” Suga begs, but doesn’t make the mistake of trying to grab them. Kuro looks down at the thing with the realization that it’s the egg. _The_ egg. …How about that. There’s a small tang of magic in the air, and the concerned newcomer opens and closes his mouth without sound but plenty of irritation on his face. “He didn’t mean it like that. We’re just looking to trade, just like we agreed—”

“I will personally deliver the pelt to _you_ , Sugawara. Neither Bokuto nor I will have any further dealings with Oikawa _or_ his attendant,” Akaashi says coldly and jerks their chin at Kuro, trying to get him to move. But this drama is too good to pass up, even with precious cargo.

“This situation is really just a series of misunderstandings and a lot of confusion. We’re not working for that thing, trust me, and he didn’t mean to say—” Oikawa clamps his hand over Suga’s mouth to prevent anything else, and curiously, Suga puts _his_ hands over that hand to make sure nothing else comes out.

Akaashi narrows their eyes. “…You’re already infected. The egg hasn’t gone anywhere near it or its ilk, correct?”

Suga emphatically shakes his head.

“Let’s go. You will get to deliver that to Bokuto, and our business here is otherwise done. It is only our gratitude for delivering this to me that stops me from—” Akaashi scrunches up their nose, shakes their head, and gives Kuro a little nudge. “Let’s just go. Sugawara, you are still friend to the owl clan, but if I hear _anything_ else about this, you will regret it. Oikawa, you’ll have your pelt, and by the gods, I _hope_ you’re happy with yourself.” They pause, looking Sawamura over again. “…If you know what’s good for you, human, you’ll leave before worse things happen. Kuro, let’s _go_.”

Kuro is force-marched back across the market, and Akaashi’s glare, while looking somewhat odd on their face, is enough to repel anyone who looks twice at them. Somehow, he’d thought getting a tengu egg back would have some more fanfare, but then again, it sounds like there had been other things at play. _I wonder what?_ His nosiness probably won’t go over well with Akaashi, though.

Not that that’s gonna stop him. “So, what was that about?”

“Humans poking their noses into things they shouldn’t. You’re lucky to have avoided that.”

“Okay, but what was _that_?”

Akaashi sighs heavily and slows their pace as they near the tengu stall again. “Sugawara and Oikawa had been infected with a minor, but telling memetic infection. And now their friend and myself as well are infected, too. You’ve avoided it and I won’t spread it, but I would be careful if you are to spend any more time with them.”

Bokuto catches sight of them with a screech so loud it startles a good half of the nearer crowd. The kitsune in the next stall over lays his ears down flat and growls at him. “Is that—?!” Bokuto starts, unable to finish, and Kuro proudly holds it out to him.

He gets an owl tengu quickly attached to his front. Akaashi catches and steadies them both, pushing them back towards the table, and Kuro is forced to wrap an arm around Bokuto to keep him from climbing him like a tree. There are way too many feathers in his face and claws in his shoulders, but hey, the joy is infectious.

Akaashi forces them down behind the table again with the air of a put-upon parent putting their kids to bed. The egg is in Bokuto’s lap, and he runs his claws over the shell, tracing the subtle patterns. Kuro is just beginning to hope he doesn’t do something embarrassing like cry when the tengu leans over, grabs him by the collar, and shoves their mouths together. Their noses bump and Kuro tries to reel back on reflex—what the hell—but Bokuto tilts his head a bit and then things seem to click a bit better. He’s warm, so much warmer than Kenma, bigger and more enthusiastic and _oh okay that’s a tongue_.

But Kuro hardly opens his mouth—this is all new to him, but somehow he wants more already, wow humanity has the right idea here—before Bokuto pulls back away with wide eyes and mouth still open. “That’s how humans show gratitude, right? Or should it have been longer? Too much?”

“I, uh, wouldn’t know,” Kuro replies in a daze.

“Oh no, I fucked up. Akaashi, I—”

Akaashi literally comes between them, pulling Bokuto back by the hair, and gives Kuro a flat expression. “I think he means to say that you are now friend to the owl clan as well. You may now know our full names, call upon us for aid, and teach Bokuto further about human formalities. I’m fairly certain that’s _not_ how it goes.”

“I don’t mind,” Kuro says. Akaashi sighs wearily and releases Bokuto. “Hey, so first question as tengu friend—can Kenma be one, too?”

 

\--

 

“Hey again. So you’re finally joining the super secret club?” Yuu asks, grinning broadly, and Daichi runs a hand over his face.

“It’s already been a full day, Noya. Let’s talk another time.”

“I told you, you can go home now. This next part will be boring to watch,” Suga says absently, helping drag over the kitchen table into the living room. “In fact, I’d _really like it_ —”

“I already said he could nap in my armchair,” Tooru pouts and helps him. “And besides, I’ll be lonely here, since I will be _excluded_ from my own goddamn job—”

“Holy shit, Oikawa, we are _not_ bringing a psychic into the Dreamlands!” Suga exclaims.

Asahi flinches at the term. Suga doesn’t notice, but Yuu backs up a little so he can rest his head on Asahi’s arm. They’ve hardly ever worked with Tooru before, but hey, Yuu will take his money. From what Suga has explained so far of the plan, it’s not going to be too difficult, either. The hardest part will be the beginning. Yuu has only astral projected once before, and while the process itself went alright, the job had kind of turned into a mess.

“You don’t have to stay here and keep him company,” Suga tells Daichi. He lines candles up around the edge of the table, and Tooru pushes the coffee table over to mirror the action in a semicircle around the side of the couch.

“You gonna be okay here by yourself? They can’t see you,” Yuu asks.

Asahi gives him a weak smile. “I’m used to that part. I’m more worried about you two.”

“It’ll be easy! We run in, grab this Iwaizumi guy, and run back out while avoiding mysterious cats. Two hours, tops.”

As Suga goes over the plan again—carefully out of hearing range of Daichi, who is momentarily distracted by Tooru showing off his clairvoyance—Yuu finds himself mostly just nodding along. He doesn’t exactly understand the urgency of it all, but he knows he’ll get more details once they’re out of earshot of certain others.

Suga and Yuu will project themselves, and then Suga will find that nightgaunt friend of his to sacrifice to open a small portal into the Dreamlands. (Yuu is going to ask _so many fucking questions_ about that part after the fact, because holy shit.) Asahi will act as an anchor for Yuu to find his way back into this realm, and Suga will tag along with him, so there’s their escape plan. As for navigating the Dreamlands themselves, Suga just goes fishy and hedges.

Suga finishes giving Tooru instructions, and asks Daichi to help him carry out their surprise guest: an unconscious body that must be the Iwaizumi they’re trying to rescue. Yuu watches from the couch and can’t help but wonder what caused him to get into this sort of situation. Tooru gives him a dirty look as he lowers Iwaizumi to the floor, and Yuu beams back at him. Like he won’t get all of the dirty gossip from Suga, anyway.

Suga paints runes on the inside of his wrists, and then on Yuu’s, and Asahi hovers over them fretfully until Daichi accidentally ducks through him in order to investigate himself. “Daichi, please just sit down. Or better yet, go home.”

“Why the change of heart? Because of the leopard thing? _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_.” Daichi blinks in surprise at himself, and Yuu could swear that Tooru and Suga said it, too.

Suga facepalms. “ _Stop_ saying it! Noya, I’ll explain that later, and Asahi… I’m not sure it works on you. Either way, we should get going.” They drink the potions, Suga lies down on the table and Yuu takes the couch, and Yuu finds himself weirdly excited for this, in spite of Asahi’s hand-wringing. There’s a sleepy lull in his breathing, and then he wakes back up, sitting up—sitting up out of his body.

“Oh, _okay_ , I underestimated how weird this is gonna get. Oh my god, that’s me,” Yuu says, and Asahi hides a smile with his hand. “Don’t sit there and smirk at me, it’s been a few years, okay? This is—hold on, let me try to get out of this thing—oh _shit_.” He falls sideways through the couch when he tries to brace himself on its back. Asahi floats around and helps him back up out of the floor. He’s seriously not used to this ghosting bullshit.

Suga chuckles from the table, already up and sitting cross-legged in his own body. “If it makes you feel better, the Dreamlands will be easier to navigate as spirits.”

“What’s it going to be like?” Asahi asks, one arm still around Yuu’s waist, this time to keep him from floating up through the ceiling.

“Uhh, well, I’ve only been there briefly myself,” Suga fields, scratching his cheek. “But it’s sort of like lucid dreaming. We’ll have some level of control over the environment, and we’ll have to use that to our advantage.”

“So we can spawn weapons and shit?”

“Hypothetically, yes. I’m sort of counting on it. But most of what we’ll be using are binding and banishing charms. Oh, and just so you know, any nightgaunts we encounter will _not_ act like the one here.”

“So they’ll be a little more peppy on their home turf. Roger,” he says with a mock salute.

“Try to take this a little more seriously,” Asahi mutters, and Yuu pats him, too-hard, on the back.

“We’ll be fine! Besides, our bodies are still here, so worst comes to worst, we’ll still technically be alive. Mostly alive. Alive-ish.”

Suga purses his lips and Yuu tries not to feel guilty. Asahi just sighs again.

They wait, honestly rather bored, until the nightgaunt shuffles through the door. Suga activates the circle when it steps on, freezing it, and begins writing a second layer while it bangs uselessly against its prison. “So,” Yuu begins, floating sideways over his shoulder, chin in hands, “how much necromancy you usin’ there, buddy? Just a little, or just a _lot_?”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Now’s a good time. No one else can hear us,” Asahi loyally points out, and doesn’t quail beneath Suga’s irate look. “You shouldn’t still be using it.”

“It’s not like I’m a necromancer anymore, and this is the only easy way into the Dreamlands without trying to rip open some sort of permanent door. Which would potentially have apocalyptic results,” he mutters.

“Okay, fine, but _what_ is the deal with all of this? I figure you’re the one who dragged us here, since Oikawa doesn’t like us, but why’s that guy so important? You wouldn’t be going to these lengths just for Oikawa’s boner.”

“And speaking of, Daichi knows about magic now, too?” Asahi adds, sounding disappointed.

Suga looks up from his writing, and then flatly announces, “I took his virginity.”

Yuu bursts into laughter and Asahi squeaks out, “ _What_?!”

“There were some unicorns who wanted to eat him, so I had to do something to prevent that. It all snowballed from there. I think he’s taking it all well, though,” Suga says thoughtfully. He returns to the second circle, scooting around to continue working, and the nightgaunt follows his movement.

“And you still like him?” Asahi asks.

“Of course I do.”

“And he still likes _you_?” Yuu continues with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I’m pretty sure he does,” Suga replies reproachfully.

“How much are you going to tell him?” Asahi asks. His voice is gentle, but Suga’s shoulders still hunch and he turns a little more so his back is to them. “Koushi, you haven’t liked anyone this much in awhile, and you don’t normally take them on jobs or personal tours of magical sites.”

“That’s not true, I’ve been trying to help Tadashi as best I can—”

“ _Koushi_ ,” Asahi scolds, voice harsh, and even Yuu jumps at it. “How far are you going to take this?”

“…Can we talk about this later?” Suga whines. He bends around the circle to finish it, and then looks up at them both with his best, most pathetic puppy eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing with Daichi, but I like him and I’m going to help him get used to magic. Anything more will be up to him. And right now, I’m going to help Oikawa with this because it’s the right thing to do and we _can’t_ let Iwaizumi get possessed. That’s what we’re trying to stop.”

Yuu knows when to hold his tongue (contrary to popular belief), and he simply exchanges a look with Asahi. Good enough for now.

Asahi floats over a vial of dead man’s blood from Suga’s messenger bag, making Daichi jump, and they dump it out over the circle. The nightgaunt’s faceless visage twists with contradicting muscles, twisting into something terrifying and knotted, and then, it vanishes. Cold air blasts at them, and Asahi makes a sound in the back of his throat when they see the door to the Dreamlands. Outlined in white so bright it hurt to look at, it’s otherwise a hole the color of embers in Tooru’s floor.

“Well. We’ll be back before this closes, but if it does, I can figure something out on the other side. Asahi, try not to worry so much and stay near our bodies and we’ll be fine,” Suga tells him, and grabs Yuu’s hand. He goes first, but they remain connected through the hole—and then gravity shifts and they fall not downward, but flop out sideways onto unseen ground.

Suga waves his hands over the hole and it shimmers into dull grey, almost blending in with their surroundings. From the way he described it, Yuu was expecting the chaotic color of dreams mixed with some Freddy Krueger bullshit; this is definitely more Silent Hill, with bonus ringing in his ears.

“Hold my hand,” Suga tells him, arm outstretched again, and Yuu raises an eyebrow.

“Worried about getting lost?”

“Space doesn’t work the same here, and this… isn’t supposed to be like this. I think.”

“So when’s the last time you were here? I didn’t know you were here,” Yuu prompts as they begin walking across whatever the ground is supposed to be. There’s no real sense of distance or depth perception, and he knows it’s going to get aggravating, so hopefully this is as easy as they made it seem to Asahi.

“…Nightgaunts are from the Dreamlands. So the last time I came here was when I got my tail,” Suga admits. Vaguely. Way too vaguely for Nishinoya Yuu.

“C’mon, you’re going to have to open up _sometime_. I’m still mad that you didn’t tell me about the fucking nightgaunt for however long, so you owe me this one.”

“Can you make anything?” Suga asks, trying to change the subject.

Yuu raises his free hand and a neon blue and green, cartoonish version of a rifle drops into it. He keeps his face straight even if it’s not exactly what he wanted. Suga seems to be fighting a grin and Yuu smacks him in the ass with the butt of the rifle. “Let’s see what you make, then, Mr. Expert.”

Suga lets himself grin as he creates a rather good replica of Ryuu’s crossbow.

“Mine’s better,” Yuu says, and Suga nods. “So, how exactly does this place work?”

“The Dreamlands function almost entirely on thought and belief. We, on the other hand, are not from here, so though we’re effectively spirits right now, this realm will treat us as living beings.”

“So in case of emergency, dump dead blood on ‘em, right?” Yuu asks snidely.

“Yeah, that,” Suga deadpans back.

“Is this place supposed to be so empty? You said nightgaunts are from here, and I have yet to see any. Or anything at all. It’s _creepy_.”

“I’m not complaining about the lack of trouble, but no, it’s not supposed to be like this. There _is_ supposed to be more color to the area, and honestly, we should be affecting the area around us just with our subconscious thoughts. Something’s oppressing the area around here…”

“And it’s going to be that cat thing. _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_.” Huh, that’s weird, he hadn’t meant to say that—

Suga shoves him to the ground just as something swipes over where his head just was. Suga lands on top of him, and then rolls off, and they let go of each other. Yuu scrambles back to his feet and raises his gun, expecting a dark copy of the man on Tooru’s floor, but instead he finds a silhouette. It’s man-sized and shaped, but completely black—and not even black colored like the nightgaunts. It’s as if he’s a simple void, save the two bright spots, roughly where his eyes should be.

“Holy shit,” Yuu breathes, and trains his gun right between the glowing eyes.

“ _Ah, shuggoth-exorcist_ ,” the figure purrs, voice rumbling all around them. “ _How attached you are. How many friends naflyhri has_.”

Yuu rubs at his ear at the weird words, but keeps the gun level. “Suga? Do we shoot?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he replies, crossbow also trained on the shadow.

“ _I have no need of you here_ ,” it says and raises its arm. A sword forms in its grasp, curving and sharp, but Yuu is _pretty_ sure that they’re going to win this fight, provided they can stay out of immediate range. The figure staggers towards him, and he easily ducks out of the way, but he still doesn’t pull the trigger.

“Suga, yes or no!”

“I don’t know! We just have to slow him down!”

“He’s swinging a sword at us! Let me know if I should switch or— _holy fucking shit_.” So _that’s_ what a nightgaunt is actually supposed to be. He almost doesn’t see it in time. In its homeland, it’s active, fast, and noisy, making a garbled moaning sound as it dives for Yuu. He drops and rolls under it, letting it collide with the figure, who slices it without a care. “ _Suga_! Tell me what I can and can’t do here or else I’m shooting everything!”

“ _Fine_!” Suga barks back.

Despite being nearly bisected, the nightgaunt is still thrashing, so Yuu puts two bullets in its head once he makes sure the figure is distracted by Suga. He puts another bullet in the back of its knee, but the figure doesn’t even seem to notice. Another two shots confirms that. Swearing, Yuu ditches the gun and spawns his own sword. The silhouette picks Suga up by the front of his shirt, and Yuu stabs it straight through the chest.

The figure fucking laughs. “ _How charming, shuggoth. You are new to these Dreamlands, yes? So very naive_.”

“This isn’t going to do anything to him!” Suga growls, wrestling with the hand holding him aloft. “He’s too used to this area—headshots are what we need! Zombie rules, Noya!”

“Got it!” With the figure still turned to laugh at him, Yuu respawns his gun and puts the barrel directly between its eyes. He only gets two shots off before Suga is dropped and with a scream of rage (not pain, how annoying) it turns on him. Yuu raises his own sword to block the other blade, but to his horror, it cuts through his like butter. The sword slices down through his weapon, collarbone, and chest, and it’s his turn to stare down at the blade sticking out of him.

“It’s fine, Noya!” Suga shouts, panic in his voice at odds with his words. Yuu staggers backward; he doesn’t feel any pain, and he doesn’t see any blood, but shock is setting in and his mind is telling him _this should hurt like a bitch_. “Pain doesn’t work the same here, you’re fine, just—” The blade abruptly starts to _burn_ , and that much, he does feel. With a yelp, he tugs it out, and the sword clatters to the ground.

The figure laughs again, and when it stoops to pick it back up, Yuu sees that its hand is burnt, too. “What kind of sword is that?” Yuu wheezes, because his chest still hurts like it’s still stuck in him, though there is still no blood or wound.

“ _Naflyhri may not be able to wield it well, but it is still a vorpal sword. Shuggoth’s rules apply again_ ,” it replies in delight, and Yuu does not like the way Suga has gone pale at that.

Fights need a time-out function. Yuu would also appreciate more equal weapon choices. His chest continues to hurt with every movement, and he’s beginning to think that this means something more serious than a thought-injury. Asahi is going to shit a brick if either of them come back wounded.

Suga, using crossbow bolts to maintain a distance, circles around the silhouette to reach Yuu’s side. “You alright?”

“I’ll live.”

“Good. We’re going to need a new plan.”

“No shit,” Yuu grouses and rubs at his chest again. “Am I bleeding out? This still feels like it’s in me.”

“A vorpal sword isn’t from here, so it’s real to us. …So, uh, maybe,” Suga answers, voice going high with panic. Yuu swallows. This could have gone better. “Definitely a new plan. I’m going to get close enough to let that thing get me, and then we’re going with our emergency plan, alright? _Please_ tell me you remember the marks I had you use on that nightgaunt.”

“Of course I do!” Yuu retorts. Mostly. “Whatever, we’ll slow him down one way or another. Oikawa better fucking appreciate this. And you, don’t get stuck like I did. I don’t want to see Asahi _and_ Daichi cry in the same night.”

“You’re going to be fine! It’s still mostly just a psychic injury!” Suga cries in alarm. Yuu rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. It just means they have a time limit, and he can still breathe and move well enough.

The figure charges at them, and they dodge in either direction, putting it between them again. Alternating between bullets and bolts, Yuu feels like they’re mostly just annoying it further, but at least it lets them maintain their distance. Suga is trying to tiptoe closer, ducking more slowly and using larger arm movements, and while Yuu can’t blame him for being cautious, he’s getting impatient, too. And worried. Nishinoya Yuu does not do worried well.

He creates a spear, longer than anything that could actually exist, and shoves it through the figure’s void of a chest. “ _Mnahn’ shuggoth_ ,” it cackles, and Yuu shakes his head to get what he thinks is blood out of his ears. It turns, snapping the shaft of the spear, but puts its back to Suga in the process.

Too easy. Now when Suga attacks, it’ll whirl back around, and its arc will be big enough for Suga to catch. And with dead man’s blood, everything is easier.

Suga fires three bolts into its head, and there it’s whirling back around with a snarl—and its elbow catches Suga’s stomach, winding him and sending him to his knees. Laughing again, it grabs a fistful of Suga’s hair, hauls him upright, and points its blade at Yuu to keep him away. “ _Kadishtu n’ghaog, lloignyth_ ,” it orders. It swings the vorpal sword down on Suga's neck, and with one blow, beheads him. 


	13. Azumane Asahi Is Happier With Less Information

Suga’s body spasms without warning. Tooru leaps to his feet, eyes wide, and Asahi figures it out half a moment later. “Suga!” Tooru exclaims, voice edging high, and Asahi leaves Yuu’s side with his own throat closing up with panic. Daichi stands up, frowning, but there’s worry in his eyes.

“Koushi, you can’t—! Don’t tell me you just—” Asahi can’t say the words, but Suga’s body doesn’t appear to be breathing anymore. Tooru lets out a growl of his own and puts his ear against Suga’s mouth, listening. But there’s no time for whatever he might do, because he’s not magic—shit, no one’s magic there, he should have insisted that they have someone else help them with this—and Asahi pushes through him. He thrusts his arms into Suga’s head, steels himself, and dives into his body.

Asahi doesn’t do possession well. It’s too easy to get lost in someone else, in their life, their mind and memories and senses. Even on jobs, the most he does is take over limbs, and that’s only to immobilize; anything else is Yuu’s job.

…He’s not even sure if you _can_ possess a dead body.

 _He can’t be_ , he tells himself, and when he rights himself out of the tumble into Suga’s headspace, he finds himself surrounded by blankness. Asahi looks around, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the lack of _Suga_. “I-I know you’re not dead, Koushi!” he bravely calls and forces his way in deeper. He can do this, Suga is his friend, Suga has been there for him. He needs to return the favor and save him for once.

He’s rewarded with a trickle of memories fading away near his feet. He follows them, and after a bit, they grow stronger. Suga isn’t gone yet. He _can’t_ be gone yet, because that’s not how he works anymore. Neither of them can be gone, and that thought somehow relaxes Asahi as he trails along after the memories.

Hearing comes first to him, and in the worst possible way: there’s a screech of car tires and then the shrieking of metal on metal. Glass breaking, a single shout, and then just simple, roaring _noise_. That’s familiar. Asahi swallows past the lump in his throat and is suddenly very grateful for the lack of anything else in here.

“Koushi, you have to be in here somewhere.” _You have to be_. “Koushi! Answer me!”

Asahi clenches and unclenches his fingers to keep himself walking at a steady pace. Everything about this oddly blank headspace makes him want to turn tail and run, but he can’t do that. More memories play their sounds at him (Kiyoko’s soft laughter, Sunshine’s meow, Ryuunosuke’s slurred Portuguese, Yui’s bright call of their names), but it keeps looping back around to the car crash. He’s going to have to follow it.

Smell comes to him, and thankfully, it’s not that same memory. Sagebrush and someone’s aftershave, mixing not exactly well, but tolerably. It’s not long then before Asahi gains Suga’s sense of sight next, however, and that much he doesn’t want. He jerks back on instinct when he’s back in the car, except he can see himself sitting next to him, and Yuu on the other side, teasing him about sitting in the middle.

“What’s it like to be the meat in our sandwich?” he asks with a leer.

Suga laughs and prods Asahi, but he can’t feel that, yet. Suga turns, dragging the memory along with him, to look out at the stormy weather.

Asahi tries to fight his way out of this memory. _Not this one. Please no._ He’ll do a lot for Suga, but he can’t face the prospect of death again. He can’t do that, not again, not for anything in the world—

There’s the flare of headlights and the memory becomes both blurry and sharp, disjointed, with the oncoming noise. That screech of tires again, and then Suga whirls around, and Asahi finds himself staring at his own scared features. None of them really had time to brace or anything, but from this view—without the terror or the heart thudding in his throat—he can see that Suga had been trying to cast before the other car hit them. He himself remembers that Yuu had grabbed his hand.

When the car crashes into their taxi, that’s when Asahi finds Suga’s sense of touch again.

Surprisingly, it’s not pain he feels. Asahi finds himself cold, not freezing, but almost entirely numb. It’s frighteningly familiar. The entire memory shudders when Suga finally sucks in a breath again. It’s like color rushing back into the world. Light pours in through the broken window and Asahi can hear people shouting, trying to drag the nearest—Suga—out. Suga reaches for him, just a twitch of one of his hands combined with a flood of _please help him first_ , but Asahi’s memory self isn’t looking at him, paralyzed with fear above his own body.

Asahi is very abruptly kicked out of the memory and he staggers backward, heaving in lungfuls of breath that he doesn’t really need anymore. His heartrate—mostly stolen from Suga’s memories—is through the roof and he feels like he wants to vomit. “Koushi, please, stop thinking about death. I-I need to help you, but I can’t…” _I can’t stand that again_. It’s so selfish to even think, much less act upon it. Asahi blinks back his tears and tries to escape that memory again.

And he does, trading it in for a dunk into what must be the Dreamlands. Emotions are beginning to seep more clearly into the memories, tainting Asahi’s own view of them, which means he has to be getting close. Yuu is there beside Suga, joking about dead man’s blood, and Asahi wants to sigh when he feels the discomfort the remark gives Suga. It’s pleasantly normal, however—even if he’s told Yuu time and time again not to refer to Certain Things so casually, for both their sakes—if he can ignore the unease permeating the memory.

The memory shatters under its own stress when the fight begins. Asahi only gets a glimpse of _something_ before it breaks completely, and he hisses under his breath; that had been one memory he wouldn’t mind seeing. “Koushi, what happened? I-I need you to talk to me, I need to know what happened! Is Yuu still back there with that thing?!” he calls again, and still no answer, save for the cacophony of other memories surging up around him like surf.

It’s getting more difficult to steer himself. Asahi rubs his arms, bracing himself again, and tells himself that it’ll be _fine_. He’s been a spirit for long enough not to get lost in just a few memories. (Even if they’re familiar and painful and come close to triggering him—)

Asahi trips into the next memory, startled by the loud sound of a dragon’s roar, and finds himself back in the Dreamlands. …Except not. It takes him a few moments to align with Suga within the memory, but this place is nothing like that one he just saw. This is full of color and sensation, and Suga’s presence echoes around him. Asahi can feel things in the memories again, but what worries him is a distinct lack of feeling here, whenever here is— _this must be his first visit_.

Suga’s memory tugs Asahi along, and with a jolt, he realizes he’s crawling, unable to even stand. “Y-Yui…! Yui?” Suga croaks, looking around, and the sound brings a nightgaunt. Asahi reacts on reflex, trying to pull Suga up, raising his arms to defend himself, but Suga just yelps and accidentally creates a fissure in the ground between them. They fall.

Asahi tumbles out of the memory, actually losing his balance this time, and comes to a stop when his back hits something solid. He swipes his hair out of his eyes and twists around, finally finding Actual Suga.

…Or maybe not. Suga, sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, mutely watching a memory from outside it, is hardly visible with all of the _light_ surrounding him. No, coming from him. He’s the opposite of the thing they were fighting in the Dreamlands, although not quite so extreme. There are hints of color to him—his hair is a clearer shine than his cheeks, and there’s the dark red of blood staining his throat and chest—and areas without the light, too. His eyes are their normal brown, but appear darker for the contrast, and there are runes lining his fingers, wrists, with a large one over his heart.

Suga doesn’t say anything to him. Asahi slowly leans away from him, cautious, but unable to help but smile at finding him. Everything else can be secondary.

“…Koushi, you’re still here,” Asahi finally says.

Suga nods and draws his knees up tighter to his chest, concealing the mark there. The memory in front of them is indistinct, but Asahi can grasp flashes of it. The smell of pancakes, Sunshine getting flour in his long fur, and Yui’s voice. “This was two hours before she died. Before _we_ died,” Suga tells him. His voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, but at least it means it’s actually Suga, here, and aware of himself. Asahi can’t help but put his arms around him out of sheer relief, and Suga lets himself fall against his chest.

“You’re alright, oh my god. I thought this wouldn’t work—we don’t have anyone magical with us,” Asahi says thickly, and he didn’t realize he had started crying. He lets out a shaky breath and tries to control it, but a loud laugh from the memory breaks it and he lets out his own watery, tear-filled laugh, too. “You’re alright, Koushi. Thank god.”

“I would have come back on my own without magic. Probably,” Suga replies tonelessly. “You didn’t have to come in here after me.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“The binding spell on you and Noya wouldn’t break until this summer—”

Asahi forces him out at arm’s length and resists the urge to shake him, because _goddamn_ , that is the last thing on Asahi’s mind right now. “That’s _not_ what I’m worried about! And—And how _dare_ you, Koushi. How dare you think that!”

Suga looks away, but mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“Oikawa and Daichi are worried about you, too. And is Yuu still in the Dreamlands?”

For the first time since he found him, Suga’s expression changes; he starts, eyes going wide with alarm, and says, “Oh my god, he must be. He can’t—he can’t die there, it’s using a vorpal sword to fight us. He was injured! I have to get back there!”

“ _You’re_ injured!” Asahi snaps back.

“You’re his anchor, you can’t go in after him. Just give me a moment, and I’ll get back on my own. We have the blood there now, so that should work on it, and—!” he babbles and when he tries to stand, he sags against Asahi, and they both topple over into the memory beside them.

“—did you even get it on you? Sunny, you know you shouldn’t be on the counter, but especially when mom’s cooking _actual_ food,” Yui scolds the cat on her shoulder.

“He’s light-colored, you can hardly see it from here,” replies the Suga sitting at the small kitchen table. Asahi isn’t drawn to his role, and instead stands in the living room, one arm still around the real Suga.

“If you want cat hair in your pancakes, fine!” Yui says, nose in the air. “Sunny, go shed on his plate, okay?”

The yellow cat jumps down from her shoulder and winds his way through the ingredients to Suga’s plate. Memory-Suga scrunches up his nose, but he’s laughing, Yui scoops up her familiar before he can make it that far. “We should be going back over the spells right now, not trying to cook.”

“ _Trying_? I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic cook,” she says, pointing her spatula at him. Memory-Suga rolls his eyes. Asahi can feel actual-Suga start to tremble next to him. “Anyway,” Yui sings, “we need to have our strength up for this! That means lots of carbs!”

“We need to leave,” Suga murmurs, but doesn’t move. His too-dark eyes are on Yui, tracking her every little movement. “We need to get out of this memory.”

“We’ve been saving our strength and magic for a week solid, Yui. I don’t _want_ a lot of carbs. I’ll either throw it up or feel bloated during the entire process,” memory-Suga drawls, flipping a page in his book.

“How can we leave this?” Asahi asks, looking around the apartment. Moving is like fighting through water, current against him, but he makes it to the front door. It’s not locked, but it won’t open.

“You won’t have my food baby?” Yui exclaims in mock dismay.

“We need to get out of here,” actual-Suga repeats, voice rising in panic. He finally moves, whirling around to face Asahi, eyes scanning the apartment for any way out of here. The memory warps with his emotional state, but they aren’t kicked out.

Yui continues, wiping her hands on her apron, “I’m so hurt! So you’ll help me write and cast a spell to summon a Door but you won’t have my food baby. I think Sunshine wants a little sister, Suga.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking Kiyoko for that?” memory-Suga asks with a roll of his eyes, but Asahi barely hears the words.

He’d stalled on _Door_.

The real Suga has his eyes squeezed shut, shoulders tense, and won’t even face him. Asahi turns from him to the memory continuing to play out (Yui points out that two girls can’t make babies, no matter how much magic they use, and Suga in return points out that Kiyoko would throttle him for going anywhere near either of them with his dick) and tries to process _Door_. She had definitely said that. She had definitely said that with the inflection that could only mean—

“ _That’s_ what you were trying to do with her?” Asahi asks, and his voice breaks. His eyes burn, but no tears come, and instead he’s forced to stand there and try not to hyperventilate or throw up or any of those things a ghost shouldn’t do anymore. There are too many of Suga’s still-living emotions here.

“It wasn’t just for you,” Suga replies, tone pleading, “I promise you, Asahi, it wasn’t just for you. We were already doing stupid shit like that—”

“You.” He takes a deep, gulping breath but it catches in his throat. “Y-You said you were just trying to open a portal to a-another realm, Koushi. You didn’t tell me it was a _Door_.” Maybe he shouldn’t have come in after Suga. Of all the things Asahi has gone through in his life and non-life, he would have been perfectly content believing that lie (that _lie_ , how can he ever look at Suga the same way again) for as long as he still existed.

Yui died for this. Yui died and Suga died and Suga is messed up and _it was all for a Door_. At this point in the timeline, Asahi would have only been dead for a few months. He was already bonded to Yuu, but Suga had told them it was a temporary contract, just “until something better can be figured out”.

“You were trying to bring me back to life,” Asahi forces out although the words said aloud makes him want to die all over again. _How could they_. Not for him.

“It wasn’t just for you! Remember, please remember, how into research we were. We wanted the academic fame, we just wanted to do something big!”

Yui and memory-Suga pass through Asahi, but he doesn’t feel anything. The smell of pancakes and syrup nauseate him. The memory fades away, dripping off back into the blankness, and he and Suga are left staring at each other. Asahi doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure he can believe him now.

“I don’t know what happened, that much is true. Yui disappeared and I woke up in the Dreamlands,” Suga says weakly, dark eyes welling up with tears, and Asahi turns so he doesn’t have to look at him. He’s shocked by himself to find that he feels _disgusted_. How unfair. “None of it worked. I don’t even know what happened to myself. I never told you because—well, how _could_ I? Asahi, please, I just didn’t want to hurt you further.”

“Koushi, I-I was _fine_ with being dead. I came to terms with it once you and Yuu could… Once I realized I wasn’t forgotten or alone,” Asahi mumbles, and he tries to convince himself he’s not lying in return.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was—”

The entire mindscape abruptly shakes and tosses them both into the air. Suga raises his arms, bracing as he seems to land in another memory, and Asahi tries to catch himself in midair. But then, he’s even more suddenly thrown out of Suga’s body entirely. He scrambles for purchase on reflex, trying to maintain his hold, trying to keep up the possession—and then he realizes what he’s doing. He gets one last glimpse of Suga (normal again, runes slowly fading back to skin tone) and he knows Suga felt the way he tried to stay. Stay in control of _his_ body.

So they’re both disgusting.

Asahi falls through the couch and lands awkwardly on Yuu’s body. Though he doesn’t need to breathe, he feels like he’s winded, and he blearily looks up to find Tooru performing CPR on Suga. Not a moment later, Suga jerks awake with violent coughing, which soon turns wet with a bad bloody nose. “Ow, ow ow _owwww_ ,” Suga whines, shoving weakly at Tooru to get him off. The psychic responds by throwing his arms around him with a shaky sob of his own.

“Oh my god,” Daichi mutters, sagging against the back of the couch. He runs a hand over his face, and from how close he is, Asahi can see that his eyes are wet. “You jackass, you said this was an easy job! You didn’t say you’d _die_!”

Suga looks like a deer caught in the headlights when he notices Daichi still there. His gaze flicks over to Asahi, who can’t meet it and instead looks down at Yuu. Who’s still trapped in the Dreamlands, _alone_. The portal is still open, but he doesn’t know for how much longer, and he doesn’t want him alone there with whatever killed Suga.

“Wait, Asahi, you can’t,” Suga begs. Asahi ignores him, because how dare he try to order him around right now— “You’re his anchor! You have to stay here so he doesn’t get lost there. I’ll just. Go back.” He falters on the last bit, white-faced beneath the scarlet on his mouth and chin, and it betrays his reluctance. Even Suga, reluctant to save someone?

“ _You’re_ not going anywhere,” Tooru scolds as he pushes him back down onto the table.

“I need to—” Suga tries getting up again, and ends up clapping a hand over his mouth when he bends at the waist to do so. Tooru lets him go with fresh alarm and Suga hobbles down the hall to the bathroom. He slams the door shut behind him, but it doesn’t quite drown out the retching noises.

“What happened to him?” Daichi asks, stepping in the direction of the bathroom, but keeping his eyes on the psychic.

“I don’t know much more than you do,” Tooru snaps.

“You definitely know more. He just—he just _died_ , didn’t he? And you revived him?” Daichi snaps back.

“…I guess,” he blatantly lies. “Why don’t you go ask him for the details? I’m sure he needs someone to rub his back, too.”

“I just met you and I can tell what you’re doing,” Daichi says and narrows his eyes. Asahi looks up from Yuu in time to see Tooru down a couple gulps of one of the potions, eyes defiantly on Daichi. Daichi just holds out his hand. “They said you shouldn’t go in wherever. You definitely shouldn’t alone.”

“Oikawa, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare and definitely don’t let Daichi!” Asahi starts, floating back up through the couch, leaning down into Tooru’s space. He flinches away but doesn’t respond. “I know you can sense enough of me to know I’m not happy with this! Koushi said psychics shouldn’t go into the Dreamlands!” _But Yuu is there alone_. And as mad as he is with Suga, he can’t ask him to go back there after resurrecting _from death. But Yuu_ —

Tooru continues to ignore him, and of course Daichi can’t see, hear, or sense him. To his credit, Tooru doesn’t hand the bottle over to him. “You’re new to this, and you’d do more good with Suga right now.”

“Nishinoya’s still stuck there, and you have orders not to go there.”

“Ooh, ‘orders’. I forgot you were a military man,” Tooru coos, coming close to venomous. Daichi’s glare hardens.

“K-Koushi!” Asahi calls.

“Suga knows binding spells. If you leave me here I’m sure he can stop you by the time I can bring him back out here,” Daichi threatens.

There’s the sound of more coughing from the bathroom. “ _Koushi_! Oikawa and Daichi are about to do something _very_ stupid!” Asahi shouts again, and Tooru winces at the sound. He’s going to have to leave to fetch Suga, but they could be unconscious from the sleep draught by then.

“Why do you _care_? What if you’ll just be a burden?” Tooru demands.

“You don’t know magic, either. Don’t lie to me and say I can’t help if you really want to save that man,” Daichi responds and points to Iwaizumi’s body.

“Koushi, they are going to go into the Dreamlands!” Asahi yelps and has to leave them there to drag him out of the bathroom.

 

\--

 

“You’ve been following me for several blocks now,” Kei deadpans, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. People walk around and through him without noticing. He still flinches. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The other spirit floats down through the snow and haze from the streetlights. It looks to be male, with auburn hair, large but sharp eyes, and fox ears. “ _Un matagot_ ,” he says grandly, and when he twirls in the air, Kei can see a matching tail behind him.

“Okay, so what is that.” He doesn’t really want to make friends right now. It didn’t turn out so well last time, and that about tapped his desire for socializing. Forever.

“I’m just a poor wealth spirit without a home,” the matagot replies and rights itself in the air once more. He sprawls on his stomach, chin in hands, and fixes that sharp gaze down on him. “A very curious matagot.”

“Congratulations,” Kei drawls and resumes walking. Once in a long while, someone will bump into him, irritating him further. Was he _so_ much of an asshole in life that he has to be stuck like this in the afterlife? He can’t believe he’s racked up this much negative karma. …And it can’t be luck.

“As you said, I’ve been following you for awhile. I’m dying to ask you a couple questions, little luck spirit.”

So he’s seen as a luck spirit? What a way to rub salt in the wound. “Go ahead. I can’t promise I’ll answer them, seeing as I don’t particularly owe you anything.”

“A spirit caught in a bind and all he wants to do is pout and sulk. How very predictable. You’re still a lot more human than you probably want to be, right?” He laughs at the way Kei shoots him a glare over his shoulder, and then with a flourish, he turns into a rather darkly-colored fox. He lands on Kei’s shoulder and somehow avoids getting brushed immediately off.

“So what makes me so interesting if I’m so predictable? Surely you can’t be so bored you’d willingly subject yourself to perpetual teenage ghost angst.” He only tries once more to bat him off before giving up. Morisuke has given him enough practice with animal-shaped spirits on his shoulders, at least.

“I’ve never seen anything caught halfway before, and you don’t even look to be at that large of a risk of turning into a demon right now. Say, it’s probably because of this, hm?” The matagot curls around his neck and noses at the collar, making the bell _ding_. A shiver goes up Kei’s spine at the sound.

“Can you not.”

“You don’t like it? What if I offered to take it off your hands?”

“No thank you,” Kei replies as evenly as he could, and he’s sure he does a good job at hiding his alarm. He’s certain that that stupid collar is the only thing keeping him from further trouble. _But wouldn’t it almost be better to get it over with?_ Kuroo seems perfectly happy being a soulless, horrible demon contracted to a lazy witch. At least then Kei wouldn’t have to worry over dragging Tadashi into any further trouble.

He knows he wouldn’t. There’s a base fear preventing him from giving the subject too much thought; it’s the same fear that prevents him from summoning his Door and passing on. The fear of the unknown, of what comes after death. …After ghosting around after death, anyway.

“Human spirits aren’t so bad, y’know,” the matagot says conversationally.

“Really.”

“They taste pretty delicious.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a little luck spirit, isn’t it?” Kei cheerily asks. He’s already been threatened with banishment, exorcism, turning into a demon, and being eaten by a demon. A talking fox isn’t going to work.

“Wealth spirits and luck spirits are often friends, you know. Let’s be on good terms,” he tells him as he jumps off of his shoulder. With a somersault through the air, he turns back into a human-esque appearance, and reclines on his back as he floats along beside him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but there’s no need to turn me away.”

 _What, does he want me to allow him to eat me?_ Kei considers making a crack about offering him an arm or a leg, but he’s slightly worried he’ll be taken seriously. “You still haven’t told me your name or why you’re so entertained by my being,” he politely reminds him.

“Most human spirits learn not to punch above their weight. They go through that big creepy door of theirs, or they stick around until they become poltergeists or demons. I’ve never heard of one who wanted to do anything else!” He laughs, not cruelly, but not kindly. Kei has already gotten the sense that he means very little as a person to this other spirit, but now he feels put under a microscope. Oh well. He mostly just wants to escape this conversation without being eaten.

“You mean this one?” Kei asks and although it takes more effort than ever, he raises his Door. The matagot swears and leaps away, spitting like a feral cat, and Kei wishes Tadashi were here to snicker with him at the display. …What a pointless wish.

“Human ghosts are always so melodramatic,” the other spirit hisses, and Kei can see that his teeth are sharper than they had been just moments ago. Perhaps not the best idea to tease someone higher on the spiritual food chain, but it’s difficult to bring himself to care.

“I’m sorry,” he says without meaning it in the least. The matagot’s tail lashes in annoyance. “All of this inner turmoil about my state of being must be messing with my head.”

“You have a pretty fierce sense of humor for someone so fragile.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment,” he snaps back. He jumps up and lands on a streetlamp, perching there for a moment with his tail still swishing, then calls down, “I wonder what half luck spirit tastes like.”

 _Why is he scared of the Door?_ Kei idly wonders. He also wonders if, if necessary, he could simply hang out in the doorway if he must avoid him. He doesn’t have many other options in case of a fight or flight scenario. “If I ever find out, I’ll be sure to pass along the information.”

“I also wonder what’d happen if someone were to take that collar off of you,” the matagot says with a smirk.

“I’m sorry, _monsieur matagot_ , I think I’m tired of answering to your snarking,” he responds. Kei lets his Door slip away and instead focuses on becoming less tangible. He can’t become more tangible at will ( _yet?_ ) but he can handle this, and he drops through the cement beneath him. It’s uncomfortable until he lands safely in the subway tunnel below, and he hurries down it in what he hopes is the direction of the nearest stop. He doesn’t hear the other spirit follow or call after him, but he doesn’t relax until he’s mingling with the evening crowd waiting for their train. For good measure, he changes his outfit, pulling on a long parka and differently colored jeans.

Even changing his appearance is taking its toll on him lately.

With minute movements of his hands, he manipulates the luck of those nearest him. Kei tells himself it’s not stealing. Right when he’s pulling the golden mist from an older woman, however, his elbow brushes her and she jumps, staring straight at him. Kei freezes, so unaccustomed to someone looking at him out of the blue that he can’t help it.

But then, the woman looks down at her phone again, and when the train arrives, she steps through him to board.

 _Unlucky coincidence_ , he thinks with a small frown.

 

\--

 

Tooru raises an eyebrow at the ghost standing in front of them, arms spread, between them and their goal of the portal to the Dreamlands. He’s only formally met Asahi once before, but he’s always uncomfortably aware of him whenever they’re near. (It’s a large part of why he tries not to interact with Nishinoya Yuu very often.) It’s strange to be staring down the man who’s been psychically shouting in his ear for the past two hours. But cathartic.

Daichi is occupied trying to touch his sleeping body, so he won’t be much help. _Not_ , Tooru mentally scoffs, _that I’ll need it_. He should have just done this himself the first time, or bullied Suga into letting him come along. Iwaizumi is his to deal with, after all. “Are you really prepared to try to stop us?” Tooru asks loftily.

“Koushi can help,” Asahi replies. There’s something heavy about the way he says Suga’s name that makes Tooru’s eyebrow inch higher. But he’s not sure how he can use it right now.

“Koushi is a mess right now and he should know better than to try to return himself.” When he’d woken up (or came back), his mindscape had been a maelstrom of pain, physical and mental, and a jumble of thoughts and memories. Tooru nearly had a migraine from it alone, and he doesn’t look forward to tackling whatever caused that. But Iwaizumi needs his help, and Yuu is still in there.

So they’re doing this, then.

“Neither of you should be going in there. You could have hurt yourselves trying to project,” Asahi says, voice wavering, but he doesn’t budge from his spot.

“Nishinoya’s still stuck there, and without help. At the very least, we have to bail him out,” Daichi points out. Asahi cringes.

“There are two people there that we have to save, and they’re in danger right now. We don’t have the luxury of waiting for anyone else,” Tooru says gently, and with a nod, he and Daichi begin to edge around him on either side to get to the portal.

“…I’m.” Asahi halts, sucks in a breath, and says in a rush, “I’m coming with you!”

“We could use someone else more used to this,” Daichi agrees at once, and Tooru almost regrets bringing him along.

“Don’t you have to stay here and be a guide back? How are we supposed to get back?” he asks. Not that he wants to say no to more help—definitely not. But he wants an escape route. Tooru does not head blind into many situations, and in this specific instance, he wants as easy an escape as possible.

“I can lead you to Yuu once we’re there. The portal will stay open on its own for a little while longer.”

“That thing is on a _timer_?” Daichi asks in alarm.

“Koushi could reopen it,” Asahi mutters.

So they could find Yuu and Iwaizumi faster once there, or they could have a faster retreat. It’s hardly a question for Tooru. “Right then, you’re coming. Suga will just have to deal on his own out here until we get back.”

“How much longer until that closes?” Daichi presses.

The bathroom door clicks open behind them and Tooru’s out of time. “Stop right there,” Suga croaks. The psychic tries to smile when he looks over his shoulder at him. “You, a psychic, are not taking a spirit and a newbie into the Dreamlands.”

“Aren’t we ghosts right now?” Daichi asks, looking from his body to his hands.

Suga’s eye twitches but he doesn’t directly answer him, instead addressing Tooru. “Oikawa, if you’re going to make me walk all the way over there, not only am I going to throw up on your rug—”

“We’ll see you later, Koushi!” Tooru chirps, grabbing Asahi’s arm and shoving.

“ _Should_ we be doing this?” Daichi asks suspiciously as Suga limps toward them with a furious look. “Someone’s going to have to be unbiased and tell me—is this something we should actually be doing?”

“You’ll probably be the safest one there,” Tooru says with a half-wild laugh. He eyes the portal with trepidation—it’s giving off more than enough energy to guarantee a hell of a migraine when he’s done with this—but it’s not a lie. Tooru isn’t sure what a psychic will attract there, and who knows what sort of attention a pure spirit will garner. “In or out, please decide!”

Asahi steps into the portal first, cringing at the sensation, and Tooru clamps his hand down on his shoulder to stay connected (and to keep him going). Suga swears and falls against the living room wall. Something in his expression breaks when he sees Asahi disappear into the hole, and Tooru can’t help but hold his breath when he climbs through, too.

The last thing he hears is Suga’s frantic, “Go with them!”

Daichi shoves his way in after him, pushing Tooru through, and there’s a brief sensation of vertigo before he rights himself on his feet. Daichi stumbles out after him, running into Asahi’s back.

Tooru looks up and can’t help a gasp. The Dreamlands have never looked like this in his dreams, even the last time he was here. Everything looks half-dead and half-there, but at the same time, weirdly more solid. Too solid.

He takes a step, and sensation smacks him in the face like a ton of bricks. His spine snaps straight and his mind instantly tries to clamp down on itself, shutting out all of the information, and fuck getting a migraine on his way out, it’s arrived very early. Tooru squeezes his eyes shut and puts his hands over his ears, but roaring white noise assaults him, punctuated by shrieks and groans and a single, clear note. He turns on instinct toward the source of that sensation.

With another step, the fuzzy ground beneath him crumbles away. Asahi shouts, but he sounds _so_ far away, muffled by layers of wool and distance and death. Tooru takes another jerky step, and the world becomes his treadmill; he himself barely feels himself moving, but everything whirs by in fast-forward, blurring and smearing together in a feeling his brain outright rejects. His step takes him to a colorless sunset over a cliff, a waterfall of moss green to his right. There’s a forest spread out beneath him, a haphazard mix of tropical and cold-weather trees, none of them the right texture or size.

Tooru groans, and the waterfall freezes beside him. He pitches forward when his knees buckle, and he falls, but the ground doesn’t come up to meet him. There’s another feeling of vertigo, longer this time, and then he faceplants into long, soft grass. With incredible effort, he rolls himself onto his back. The grass above him sways in an unfelt breeze, ends furling and unfurling like tiny worms.

Everything is just _too much_. Tooru regrets setting foot in this place and wonders if his mind will actually implode within his skull.

A faceless, skeletal figure leans over into his vision. He can’t even summon the effort to react. _Nightgaunt!_ his mind screams instinctively when he recognizes it from before. It smells too strongly like leather and rot as it reaches down, claws aiming for his wide-open eyes, and Tooru feels pinned in place by the weight of everything pressing on his brain.

The nightgaunt’s hand falls onto his face. The nightgaunt pulls back, not-face turning quizzically to the stump where its arm had just been, and Tooru shakes his head to throw the hand off. When his vision clears from the dizzying movement, the nightgaunt’s head falls off of its shoulders, shattering the grass when it drops down beside its body.

Tooru doesn’t feel relieved, however. He manages to prop himself up on his elbows, kicking away the melting carcass, and finds another figure standing in the chest-high grass—he can’t look directly at it, though what he does see is that the grass is charred where it touches it. The figure is blinding, seemingly made of white fire, and even with his eyes squeezed shut he can see the glow. “What’re…?” he begins thickly, but the sound of his voice cracks the ground beneath them. He jumps when he sinks, but he doesn’t fall. Yet.

So he still can’t talk here? Everything is too much, but he thought that, because of that, _he_ wouldn’t be too much. But if he still has power here, he just has to use it.

“You’re a human, aren’t you? _Shuggoth_?” the flaming figure asks. Its voice is easy enough to understand, but there’s something thrumming beneath its words. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Ooh, your mind is—interesting, that is a good word for it. You’re a…” It trails off thoughtfully, but comes back a moment later, as if remembering the term, “A psychic!”

He cracks open an eye to peek at the figure again. Most of the grass between them has died away, crumbling into foul-smelling ash, and Tooru is not quite reassured when he sees that it’s fully humanoid. Maybe faintly feminine, but the brightness makes it difficult to see where its body actually ends. Something about this specific pounding in his head that it causes rings familiar, but he’s never seen such a creature before, in the Dreamlands or out of them.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anything other than nightgaunts. Hm, how long _has_ it been…?” It trails off again, twisting away with a thoughtful cock of its head, and Tooru can see that it _does_ have eyes beneath the glow, two circles of relative darkness. When it turns back to speak again, he sees that it has a mouth, too, and he has to wonder just what else is concealed by its light. “Nightgaunts taste terrible!”

The bottom falls out of his stomach and Tooru scrambles to his feet. He overbalances and faceplants, and ends up falling through the long grass and into warm water. “Out!” he shouts, and the water boils away, leaving him feeling rather raw.

The figure lands lightly on its feet beside him, another hole in the grass above them showing where it followed him. “I’ve never gotten to eat a psychic before,” it tells him conversationally.

“Get away!” he barks and the darkness surrounding them blinks out in favor of a warm campfire glow, minus any actual fire. The thing in front of him remains unmoved.

“I have been trapped here for a long, long time, _shuggoth_ ,” it tells him, voice tipping lower toward anger, and it advances.

The orange glow around them flares up in response to his panic, twisting toward the figure like claws, but it bats them all away. Tooru backpedals, trying to will the environment to do what he wants, but he doesn’t have a steep enough learning curve to put up enough of a fight. He turns to flee, concentrating on _Azumane and Sawamura, please!_ but the bright figure flickers into existence in front of him, just as he’d started to move.

He finally registers where he remembers such a similar, oppressive feeling. _It’s the same as when that kid summoned the demon_ , he realizes. It’s not exactly demonic magic—it’s thicker, darker despite all of the light—but it’s undeniably related. It takes one final step toward him, growing until it towers over him, and its jaws unhinge when it leans back down toward his face.

 

\--

 

“Oikawa!” Asahi shouts when the psychic more or less disappears in front of them. Daichi rubs at his eyes, not believing what he’s already gotten himself into, and there’s already something itching at his face in the air. The Dreamlands are not what he expected, but he could deal without the pressure around them. “Wh-Which way did he even go?” Asahi asks feebly.

“I have no idea,” Daichi growls and rubs harder at his eyes. Can someone be allergic to another realm? Suga’s last shout hangs uncomfortably in his mind, and he wants to blame that on this place, too. Well, he went with them. Now what? _Do we follow Oikawa or try to track down Nishinoya?_ Nishinoya had been injured, and the ghost(? Daichi feels very, very in over his head here) can track him. “Let’s find Nishinoya first. We have to start moving.”

“Right,” Asahi replies, sounding more focused, but there’s still a skittishness to his movements that Daichi’s not sure they have time for.

 _What sort of rescue mission is this supposed to be?_ he muses, annoyed at himself. Last week, his biggest concern had been his mother badgering him to come home for his birthday and the new year next month. Now, he’s maybe-stuck in _another realm_ , supposedly off to rescue someone from a demigod and half of his team just disappeared and _his goddamn eye won’t stop itching why are other realms so fucking dry_ —

He and Asahi are promptly doused in cold water with matching yelps. Daichi looks up, and sees no buckets with mischievous goblins or whatever sitting overhead. He has absolutely no idea where the water had come from. …Although his face and skin feel a little better now.

“…So that’s how this place works,” Daichi realizes aloud.

“You’re, um, supposed to think of things and you should be able to affect the environment like that,” Asahi agrees flatly and he swipes loose, wet hair out of his eyes. “…I can feel Yuu this way,” he adds with significantly more urgency.

As they begin jogging in the direction Asahi points out, Daichi thinks about a handgun. To his surprise, one drops out of the air in front of him, and he catches it—just to find that it’s a water gun. He squirts the ground with a scowl. _Sig Sauer P229_ , he corrects sourly, and instead of giving him what he wants, his water gun becomes heavier and turns orange. “This place is bullshit,” he grumbles.

Despite Suga’s warnings, and despite the stifling atmosphere, there’s not much that can be construed as _dangerous_. There doesn’t seem to be anything or anyone else around them, and there’s no changes in the setting as far as he can see. Asahi is tense in front of him, and he can’t blame him, but he’s starting to think that everyone got worked up over very little.

They find Nishinoya very abruptly, without seeing him in the distance. One moment, they’re picking their way through uniform rocks the size of marbles and the next moment, the rocks clatter away into hard, smooth sand and who they’re looking for. Also contrary to what Daichi is expecting, there’s not actually a fight going on. Nishinoya sits, cross-legged, absolutely _covered_ in blood, but otherwise looking bored. Beside him is another man in a glowing circle, looking even grumpier, scales covering most of his arms and chest. He must be Iwaizumi, but Daichi doesn’t remember getting the half-lizard memo.

Nishinoya narrows his eyes when he sees them. “ _Asahi_? You shouldn’t be in there—okay, and why the fuck is Daichi here? Dude, no offense!”

“None taken, I don’t exactly feel like I belong here, either,” Daichi replies as he walks closer.

Asahi rushes forward, nearly tripping, and throws himself at the shorter man. “Yuu! Thank god, you’re okay! What happened here?! You—You _are_ fine, r-right—”

“This isn’t my blood,” Nishinoya mumbles.

“Friends of yours?” the man in the circle asks, squinting warily at them, and when Daichi nears, he can see that he has a tail and the beginning joints of wings behind him. He’s _quite_ certain the man in Oikawa’s living room wasn’t part dragon.

“Yes, and unfortunately, not magic. Neither of you would’ve happened to bring along a dragonskin, would you?” Nishinoya asks.

“No, why would we? When Koushi c-came back, all we knew was that you were injured and fighting, and,” Asahi’s eyes slide sideways to regard the man in the circle, “and in trouble.”

“You ass, you didn’t think I could take care of myself?!” Nishinoya says with a forced laugh, and punches Asahi in the arm. “As you can see, I saved the day quite fuckin’ well—”

“It was luck,” Iwaizumi deadpans, chin in hand. “It was all luck. And we’re not out of the woods yet, not by a longshot. But he _is_ injured, so grab him and leave. I need someone magical.”

“What, exactly, is going on here?” Daichi asks, rubbing his temples. He circles around the dragon-man, thinking, _oh, this is what binding magic looks like?_ The runes look like they’re painted in blood, and Iwaizumi inside catches him looking and curls his lip.

Daichi’s thought process completely derails and he misses Nishinoya’s explanation when he sees another body behind them, previously out of sight. Another body missing its head. He stumbles to a stop, throat closing up when he sees the tell tale starlight hair, though mercifully the head faces away from him. The body has been sliced open, almost gutted like an animal, and a long, curved blade is still sticking out of its chest.

Asahi follows his gaze, arms still around Nishinoya and Nishinoya nearly sitting in his lap, and flinches when he sees the body.

“Suga… actually died,” Daichi says faintly, and belatedly, Nishinoya cranes his neck back to look at it with them.

“He said it was psychic damage—wait, he’s fine, isn’t he?!”

“That’s from your realm,” Iwaizumi says hesitantly, eyeing the sword. “I don’t know what it actually did.”

Daichi wants to feel sick, or sad, or shocked, or _anything_ other than the vague annoyance that Nishinoya used Suga’s body to do all of this. But even that fades quickly; it was life or death, right? Suga was fine. Suga _is_ fine.

Daichi wants, more than anything else, to not have to deal with this.

He approaches the body, careful to avoid looking at the head, and reaches out to pull the sword out. “Wait, that will—” the bound man starts, and Daichi jumps, blade pulling free in his grasp.

“I didn’t just hurt Suga, did I?!” he asks, and wonders if it’s too late to put it back.

Iwaizumi stares at him. “…It’s not hurting you?” he asks, then looks down at his half-scaled hands. The dark skin there is raw and blistered.

Daichi looks at the sword with unease. “No?” Is this supposed to hurt him? He doesn’t feel comfortable holding it, for Suga-related reasons as well as for the looks Iwaizumi and Nishinoya are both giving him, but there’s nothing outright strange or painful about it.

Mr. Half-Dragon lets out a long, relieved sigh. Nishinoya still looks apprehensive. “There, we won’t need magic or my pelt.”

“Why did you need a dragon pelt?” Asahi asks.

“I’m still possessed,” he says with a shrug. Asahi scoots away, dragging Nishinoya with him, and Daichi shifts so the sword is between he and the other man. “Good, you two are smarter than Oikawa and Sugawara.”

“What about me?” Nishinoya huffs.

“Still reserving judgement.”

“I managed to get you this far!”

“And we both would have been stuck here indefinitely until the magic ran out, the blood ran out, or another nightgaunt came over to eat you,” Iwaizumi snaps and his tail lashes to punctuate his irritation. Nishinoya puts both middle fingers up and Asahi pushes his hands back down with a sigh (but also with a small, watery smile that only Daichi catches). Iwaizumi continues, “Alright, here’s what you need to do. As a disclaimer, we are _all_ bullshitting this right now, so don’t blame me if a very angry deity pops up in a few minutes.”

“Right, that reassures me _tremendously_ ,” Daichi replies. He’s fine not meeting this thing. Ever. He’s fine never thinking about the Dreamlands ever again, and this has already been remarkably smooth sailing. Even _with_ the headless body next to him and the missing psychic.

“Right now, I’m still possessed, but the dragonhide and this confinement circle are suppressing it for me. You said you’re not a witch?” he asks.

Daichi shakes his head. “I learned about all of this magic shit like, two days ago.”

Iwaizumi facepalms with a clawed hand. “Right. Old-fashioned way it is. Here’s the plan: Shortie is going to dispel the confinement circle. I’m going to force a dragon transformation as far as I can, and that should buy you enough time to stab me in the heart—”

Daichi throws the sword down and puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m not stabbing anyone with that thing, and this sounds like the _worst_ rescue mission plan I have ever heard.”

“That’s a vorpal sword, and you’re the only one who can touch the vorpium—”

“Why can’t we do literally anything else? And why can I touch it?” He certainly doesn’t want to touch that thing more than he has to.

“Genetic lottery? Hell if I know.” Iwaizumi looks rather harassed and he hunches his shoulders forward, flapping his partial wings to stretch them within the small circle. He takes a steeling breath and tells them, “Let’s discuss that later and instead concentrate on escaping the very angry deity, alright? Look, this isn’t going to kill me. Probably. I’m made of a little sterner stuff than you humans, and I’m _not_ from your realm. If my hands weren’t blistered to all fuck from touching that thing, I would have put money on the fact that it didn’t affect me at all, but there we go. You won’t kill me, and you won’t kill my ex-master, and honestly, this probably won’t work and we’re all going to die.”

“I’m starting to believe the entire magical community is a bunch of bullshit and people who have no clue what the hell they’re supposed to be doing at any given moment,” Daichi says. Nishinoya and Asahi exchange a look, and then nod.

“Do you have any better ideas?” Iwaizumi asks, tone calm despite the way his eye twitches.

“Can’t someone just… banish it?”

“No one in the world has that much magic. Honestly, this circle wouldn’t even come close to confining it if it wasn’t in my body.”

“So if it decided to fuck off and leave on its own, we’d all be screwed,” Nishinoya says with an uneasy, pained grimace. He rubs at his chest and Iwaizumi nods. There’s a beat in which everyone holds their breath, waiting for it to happen, but apparently deities have more interesting things to do than fuck them over at a prompting. Asahi scowls at the back of Nishinoya’s head. “Just checking! So this means it _really_ wants to ride you outta here, or you can’t just quit a possession whenever. That’s good!”

“Yes, I’m very happy it won’t leave me alone. Now then, new guy, are you ready?”

“I absolutely do not agree to this,” Daichi says at once.

“We have little choice in the matter. It’s our only option right now, and let me guess—the dumbass psychic didn’t lock up my body, did he?”

Asahi shakes his head. Iwaizumi groans at the sky.

“Which means that if we don’t take care of this problem and I get out of here, I’m sitting right next to all of _you_ when an angry demigod jumps realms. So really, you’re going to die either way.”

Daichi is definitely going to have A Talk with Suga and the psychic, because he hadn’t signed up for all of this, and a _little_ more preparation wouldn’t have been such a terrible thing. _This is what Suga deals with regularly?_ He doubts this is a regular job, but none of them seem to be outright panicking over everything being terrible.

He has to take Iwaizumi’s word for it.

He doesn’t know what else he can do in this situation. He can’t use magic, he hardly knows what’s going on, and they still have to find Oikawa and get back before that portal closes. Daichi grits his teeth as he picks the vorpal sword back up, and hopes that it’s as easy as simply stabbing the guy. _I want to go back to the zoo_ , he thinks dismally as he approaches Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi’s expression has softened, and he doesn’t look quite so intimidating when he’s not scowling or snapping at them. _So. He’s not human. Asahi’s a ghost. Suga can’t die._ Oh yes, he vastly prefers getting overwhelmed by jackalopes and pegasi to this.

“Ready?” Iwaizumi asks softly. Daichi nods. “Alright, Nishinoya. Break the circle. New guy, aim for the heart,” he says with a gesture to his chest.

“It’s in the same place as a human heart, right?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, and he may be trying to hide a smirk. “Yes. Don’t be afraid of hurting me. The goal is to do enough abrupt damage that it forces it out of me.”

“For the record, I’m still not happy about this,” Daichi says and raises his arm.

Nishinoya crouches by the other side of the circle, locking eyes with him from across it. Slowly, he nods, and the glow from the runes dies.

Iwaizumi leans back, giving Daichi a cleaner shot, and scales crawl up his shoulders, over his tattoos. He’s working on growing a second set of wings when Daichi plunges the sword into his chest. His body gives shockingly easily, and he briefly wonders just how sharp the blade is, and Iwaizumi’s spine goes rigid, entire body freezing up just when the skin around it starts to burn.

Daichi goes to tug the blade out again, but Iwaizumi asks him, “ _Zhro? Uln naflyhri uh’e r’luh geb. Hrii? Ep nilgh’ri, nnny ‘bthnk…?_ ”

The words pierce his ears like something physical, and Daichi lets go of the sword in favor of clamping his hands over his ears as he staggers backward. He dimly hears Asahi shout and Iwaizumi’s raspy laughter. Daichi looks back up, and finds Iwaizumi pulling the sword from his chest with a sharp-toothed grin.

That went about as well as Daichi had figured. He backpedals—only to trip over Suga’s body. Iwaizumi stands over him, wound not even bleeding, teal scales dripping off of him like water as his body slowly darkens. “ _Such a good attempt, shuggoth-grah’n. But not as good as the exorcist blood. You will not try again_ ,” the deity informs him.

Their positions are reversed now; the black silhouette of Iwaizumi raises the vorpal sword over him. The sandpaper ground beneath them cracks, and the figure staggers when a crossbow bolt finds itself lodged through its throat—and the arm holding the sword melts off of its body, the sword clattering to the ground. Daichi scrambles to his feet and circles around to Nishinoya, with a crossbow, but they’re all looking at the missing arm with the same level of confusion.

Oikawa strides up like he hasn’t been missing the entire time. “I was wondering what all of the noise was,” he remarks airily, and Nishinoya snorts into his weapon.

“You guys brought a psychic into the Dreamlands. And now the psychic is going to kick its ass for us. Suga is going to kill us all,” he mutters, but he sounds relieved.

Oikawa gives him a strange look over his shoulder. “Was I supposed to fare that badly? I thought I did pretty well,” he replies and the ground trembles beneath them when he raises his hand, almost like a wave. The black figure, arm regrowing but only a stump so far, stoops to pick up the blade again. Its other arm falls off.

The figure narrows its white, empty eyes and spits, “ _Nalloig. Wgah’n ‘bthnk ah?_ ”

Oikawa puts a finger to his lips and answers, “ _Ya nafhtagn, Ptar-Axtlan. Yyar hai_.”

“ _How foolish the shuggoth are_ ,” it says. It sounds _tired_ , resigned.

“How foolish _you_ are,” the psychic replies and with a single step, he’s in front of it. Oikawa smiles as he puts his arm through its chest.

The darkness sloughs off and Iwaizumi slumps against him, not moving. Oikawa gingerly removes his arm, murmuring under his breath, and Daichi has no idea what to make of that. “Did Oikawa just oneshot a god,” Nishinoya whispers, apparently sharing the sentiment.

 

\--

 

Everyone is really fucking lucky he likes them all too much to kill them the second they return through the portal. (They’re the second thing to come through; the first had been a nightgaunt that he sacrificed on the spot to keep it open longer. Tooru’s kitchen is a disaster site from trying to throw together a restoration potion to help.)

Suga fidgets on his feet, watching as Tooru and Daichi try to shove Iwaizumi’s spirit back into his body. It’s an awkward affair—he’s actually pretty sure that’s not how they should be doing it at all—but it won’t hurt things further. Since those two are busy, he figures he’s entitled to throwing himself at Asahi and Yuu and sobbing into their shirts.

A beat too late, he remembers Asahi’s still mad at him, but to the ghost’s credit, he doesn’t shove him immediately off. “I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m fine. I just—I’m really glad you all came back,” Suga mumbles as he shifts to put both his arms around Yuu.

“You two fighting?” he bluntly asks.

“Shut up and let me cry into your hair. God, you reek of blood.”

“Do _not_ get me started on blood, Suga. I practically had to roll around in your organs to keep it off me long enough to—”

“I _will_ throw up on you,” Suga threatens, because the last thing he needs right now is hearing about his death. And leaving Yuu alone there. And everything about today. “You smell and you’re _back_. Let me look at that wound before you go back to your body.”

Asahi hovers nervously beside them as Suga peels the blood-soaked shirt away, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of the _scar_ he sees there. He knew it was going to look weird, but… Well, that’s for the best, isn’t it? Suga clucks his tongue and carefully runs his fingers over it, and Yuu flinches like the wound is still fresh. “Okay, that still hurts like a bitch. And it ruined my tattoo.”

Suga’s eyes find the curling black lines of the anchor between their binding. “At least _you_ don’t have dead man’s blood,” he jokes to cover his worry. He’ll just have to hope it doesn’t interfere when he redoes it in a few months. _When I somehow redo it._ Because he doesn’t have enough magic—

“Stop the sad look!” Yuu declares and pinches his cheeks, forcing him to smile. “We fuckin’ _made it_ , dude! Oikawa didn’t explode in the Dreamlands, _I_ got to confine a god, and your boyfriend got to stab a god. Oh, and Oikawa oneshotted the leopard guy so have fun talking _that_ over with him. Not touching it.”

“He… _what_?” Suga echoes.

He turns to find Iwaizumi back in one piece, though his breathing is ragged. Tooru has his hands on his hips, looking rather proud of himself, and Daichi sinks onto the arm of the couch—and then through it with a squawk.

 _I told him to go after them_ , Suga thinks, heart seizing painfully. _How could I ask such a thing—_

“Oikawa, you owe us _so much fucking money_!” Yuu shouts, cutting neatly across his thoughts, and grabs Suga around the waist as he drags him over. “I want hazard pay on top of doubles rates _and_ a bonus.”

Tooru blinks down at the both of them like he’s noticing them for the first time. There’s something in the way that his gaze lingers on Suga’s face that makes him uncomfortable. He’s going to spend the next two months trying to get Tooru back to normal, he just _knows_ it. “Okay,” Tooru says simply.

“…Are _you_ okay?” Suga asks suspiciously. He reaches up and grabs his face, peering up into his eyes. Aside from rather large pupils, his brown eyes don’t give him much information. Tooru smells like raw magic, but tainted into something sour and unpleasant, and Suga wrinkles his nose. “Ew, you smell, too. What happened in there?”

“Not much,” he replies and averts his eyes.

“Don’t make me tell Kiyoko on you. Today was utter bullshit and if _anything_ else happens, we need to tell others,” Suga tells him, and Tooru’s gaze snaps back to him at her name. He stares at him, mouth working minutely on the syllables of her name, and then he looks up at his hair. Tooru pats him, _what the fuck_. “What are you doing?!”

“Oh, nothing, your hair just looks fabulous today,” Tooru says cheerily and continues carding his fingers through the ends. “It almost reminds me of something. How weird, right?”

“Okay, you clearly need a nap.” How does one take care of an addled psychic post-Dreamlands? Hopefully all the caffeine is out of his system, and the adrenaline should lead to its own crash soon enough. “Let Iwaizumi sleep out here, and you get back in your body and go to bed. I don’t want to hear a peep from you until tomorrow.”

“You’re spending the night again?”

Suga gestures to all of the mess. The closing portal, the kitchen, the ash on the floor from the sacrifices, and all of the unconscious men strewn about. (And he’s going to steal Tooru’s bathtub for himself. He deserves a two-hour soak.)

Tooru (surprisingly) obediently returns to his body, and Suga takes a deep breath when he turns to face Daichi. He told him to go, and that’s something he can’t take back. He could have gotten him killed. Daichi meets his eyes—a good sign—but he doesn’t seem keen on rushing forward for a relieved hug or anything. …Not that Suga wants him to or anything. Honestly, he can’t bring himself to think about touching Daichi in any sense right now; he _came back from the dead_ in front of him. He’s normally pretty good about keeping the z-word out of his mind, but right now, he just… doesn’t want to deal with this.

His eyes find the vorpal sword on the carpet near his feet and he nearly chokes on his breath. He can mostly understand why they brought it with them, since it’s valuable, but _fuck_ he doesn’t want to deal with this at all.

But he has to, because he’s a mature, responsible adult, and he has to make sure Daichi is alright with what happened—

A shout of panic interrupts them. Suga whirls around—Iwaizumi’s still unconscious, Tooru’s fine, and it turns out to be Yuu, back in his body and looking at Asahi with fear written across his face. From the way his shirt lays against his collarbone, Suga can see the reddish scar from his wound cutting through the ink.

Before he can ask what’s wrong, Yuu reaches over and passes his hand _through_ Asahi.

Oh no.

No, no no no—Suga nearly trips over himself and grabs onto Asahi when he gets near. Still tangible to him. Suga pulls Yuu’s collar down and looks at the wound again, minus all of the blood. It’s a neat line that almost cuts the anchoring tattoo in half, still mostly-healed. So it’s not the wound itself, but the mark. Asahi makes a short, choked sound in the back of his throat. _It was a vorpal sword, but does that mean it can cut through spells?_ He doesn’t have the magic or knowledge to rebuild the spell right now, and he doesn’t know anyone else who would be willing or able to deal with that much necromancy.

He’s going to have to look up vorpium and dig out his original notes, but none of that will be fast. He has no idea how he can fix this as he is now. Suga can’t bring himself to look up at Asahi, and he moves, just a hair, to avoid touching him.

Suga rests his forehead against Yuu’s shoulder. _What am I going to do? What_ can _I do?_ He hadn’t been prepared for today. He still hurts all over, and the drain on his magic sits heavily in his stomach. (He hopes it’s his imagination that his neck hurts.) “I’ll fix this, okay? Just give me a little time,” Suga tells him in a voice hardly above a whisper. He just needs time to fix all of this.

“Yeah,” Yuu croaks. He clears his throat, puts his hand on Suga’s shoulder, and pushes him up. Suga is greatly surprised to find him grinning. “This just means I get to sleep in tomorrow since this guy can’t drag me out of bed! So we’ll be fine for a bit, okay? Don’t kill yourself again trying to rush this.”

Suga blinks at him, not quite able to articulate how much that reassurance means to him, even if he can still feel Asahi’s heavy presence behind him. Yuu doesn’t know about that, but Suga won’t tell Asahi not to tell him. They can both be mad at him, fine. As long as he can still fix this for them.

Despite the awkward air (not that Tooru seems to notice it) in the house, Suga manages to smile as he sees Yuu and Asahi out. They insist on going home for the night, which he’s grateful for, despite his worry for them both. But they have to work out some of their stress on their own. _Right?_ Suga just hopes that he’s not making another bad decision today.

Daichi looks about as happy with the situation as Suga feels, but he doesn’t press the issue of more answers. “…Is tomorrow alright?” he asks, not meeting his eyes, and Suga feels his heart clench. “I’d really like to talk about all of this stuff and sort of—unwind, I guess, and I get that tonight is… for sleeping. I’m fine with sleeping for about twenty hours.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the group plan. I’ll definitely see you tomorrow.” Suga can’t look him in the eye, either, and instead he finds the vorpal sword on the carpet again. “Um, we’ll have a lot to talk about, but if there’s anything you need now—”

“Honestly, I’m just going to go home, try not to think about the later half of today, and then straight to bed. I’ll probably even sleep in tomorrow.” Daich lets out a humorless laugh. One hand on his hip, he runs the other back through his short hair, then sighs. “For what it’s worth, I don’t regret getting into this. Even if I could live without all of the stabbing and dismemberment. …And apparently, so can you.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Suga repeats firmly. He himself can’t even think about his mortality—or lack thereof—right now, much less try to explain it to someone who doesn’t know the first thing about him. “You’ll be alright getting home?”

“I faced down a god, I think I’ll be fine.”

Suga doesn’t find that very funny, but he nods, and waves goodbye at the door. Daichi lingers for a moment, as if expecting something else, but Suga can’t bring himself to touch him. _I asked him to go there. I asked him to risk his life. I can’t touch him with this body_. The z-word raises its ugly head again as Daichi finally disappears from view.

“You have a pretty interesting thought process,” Tooru remarks loudly once he’s gone.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Suga growls. He points in the direction of the bedroom and with a high-pitched giggle, Tooru vanishes again. Weird. Suga had expected him to be the most stressed, not to mention he’d expected to fight him to leave Iwaizumi’s side for even a moment. But he hadn’t argued it at all, had he?

Suga sniffs at his clothes, then the air. That magic smell is still hanging around, worsening his mood, and Suga can’t help but cast a reproachful gaze in Iwaizumi’s direction. He feels petty, but he can’t help but think that a little of it is his fault. His fault and Tooru’s.

“I hope you were worth it,” Suga mumbles, already hating himself for saying it, before he goes to steal the bathtub for himself.


	14. Tanaka Ryuunosuke Is Prone To Butting In On Others' Problems

“Oikawa said you were able to touch the vorpal sword without hurting yourself,” Suga remarks as he sits down. He doesn’t mention that he brought it with him to test that out.

“Hello to you, too,” Daichi replies, eyebrows raised at the smoothie already in his hand. “Why did you bring a drink from another restaurant?”

Suga sips at the drink for a long moment, giving him an evaluating look. When he sets it down, he continues playing with the straw. “Pomegranate smoothie.” Daichi doesn’t seem to put it together, so Suga sighs, and taps at the lid of his drink. “C’mon, Daichi, I know you read enough to know what pomegranates are symbols for.”

“Fertility?” Daichi guesses with a straight face, and Suga snorts back a laugh. The heavy mood lifts, just a bit, and he can feel the tension ebb out of his shoulders. Daichi drums his fingers on the little table and corrects, “Okay, so they’re symbols for death and rebirth. _Symbols_.”

“Symbols come from somewhere,” Suga tells him, “and it’s not like this is magical or anything. I’ve just found that eating and drinking certain foods helps me… I don’t know, deal with things better. Less strain on my magic and fewer nightmares, things like that.”

“I did wonder why you were always drinking smoothies at work. I thought you just had a very specific sweet tooth,” he admits. “You can eat other foods, right?”

“Yeah, my diet’s still as unhealthily human as ever otherwise,” Suga says with a small smile. Daichi returns it, and that banishes the rest of the heaviness.

The pair order a pizza to split—margherita, because Daichi insists that this is his favorite pizza place and Suga isn’t picky—and Suga isn’t sure where to begin for their Talk. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood again, but there’s really no way to ease into any of the topics he figures Daichi will ask about. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to be here at all. But Daichi needs answers, and Suga promised to provide them.

Outside of that? Suga still likes Daichi, but every time he thinks about a return to their teasing or attempts at dates, his stomach churns. He can’t do that to him. Daichi deserves someone who isn’t a trouble magnet, who won’t ask him to risk his life, who is _still alive_. Suga has enough on his plate without dating thrown into the mix, too. (He’s had all night to find and memorize these reasons. Contrary to his exhaustion, he couldn’t sleep, and spent most of the past sixteen hours tossing fitfully, trying to clean up Tooru’s kitchen, or checking to see if Tooru had any alcohol.)

So he’ll do his duty and be his teacher, but he won’t let it be anything else. He’s sure Daichi won’t mind; he can still tell that yesterday freaked him out.

“So, I brought a chart,” Suga announces after their food arrives and Daichi’s already inhaled half a slice. He digs around in his messenger bag and Daichi makes a questioning noise. “A couple. For the timeline of things, and the hierarchy of spirits. I-I figured it’d be a little easier to talk about that way.”

“You don’t have to force yourself into anything,” Daichi says, frowning around his pizza, and the image is a little _too_ endearing.

Suga looks away and triumphantly pulls out one of his old notebooks. It still had space in it, so he’d drawn up some charts sometime around five in the morning. “What do you want to discuss first?”

“You,” Daichi says at once.

“We’re, uh, still eating? I don’t know how squeamish you are but—”

Daichi rolls his eyes and finishes off the piece of pizza. Suga still hasn’t started his. “Suga, I’m a big boy, and I’ve been dying to know—oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Suga laughs, though, because Daichi looks like he’s just accidentally stepped on a kitten. “You’ll have to try harder than that to offend me. I’m well aware of how colloquialisms work, and metaphors and sayings and all that jazz. I’m not technically dead, and even with Asahi and other spirits, they usually just shrug off things like that.”

“So you’re… alive. You just came back from the dead,” Daichi prompts around another slice.

Suga figures he better stake his claim on their meal before he ends up with only a pomegranate smoothie for lunch. He grabs the pepper flakes and starts shaking it over his plate. “I _am_ alive,” he says emphatically. That needs to be said, and thankfully he doesn’t trip over the words or anything. _I am alive_ , he reminds himself. “I just… Maybe I’m not fully alive? Honestly, I don’t know much myself.”

Still shaking the shaker over his piece, he flips through his notebook with his free hand and arrives at Chart Number One. Daichi has concern growing on his face at his pizza. “Is a side effect of your, um, condition a lack of taste buds?”

“I like spicy things, and I must assert my dominance on any and all social outings,” Suga tells him primly.

“Right. Fine. Take the lead, then, and I’ll try not to pity your stomach.”

He props up the notebook against his drink and points with his fork. “Alright. Once upon a time, there was a very stupid necromancer named Koushi. …I can’t really talk about it like that,” Suga sighs, and takes a bite of his pizza to stall. He’s never actually _told_ anyone about any of this; the only people who know were there at the time or psychic. “So, uh, three years ago I was in a car accident. It was pretty bad. Noya and Asahi were in it, too, and Noya and I were hospitalized. Asahi… died on the scene. So that’s why Noya and I can see ghosts—you get that if you have a near-death experience.”

Daichi nods, eating more slowly, eyes remaining on him. Suga doesn’t actually mind the focused attention. He picks at his food, nibbling at it between gestures to his chart. The first part of it shows a ‘3 YRS AGO’ combined with a small list of ‘car crash, binding, experiment’.

“Once Noya and I were out of the hospital—early, because we snuck in healers—and Asahi told us he was scared to leave us and pass on, a friend of mine, Yui, helped me create a spell to bind them. You’ve seen Noya’s tattoos?”

“Some of them.”

“The one on his chest is the one I used to anchor the spell. Or part of it, since he’s added more to it, but yeah, it’s a magical tattoo. So Asahi was safe from turning into a demon—”

“Wait, demon? That happens?” Daichi interrupts uneasily.

“I have a chart for that, too, but yeah. A demon is created when a human spirit tries to change itself over time, or when too much magic is used on one. They’re… they _can_ be nasty things, although usually they’re bound to their summoners via contracts,” Suga amends, thinking of Kenma and Kuroo. He hasn’t seen them lately, but all things considered, their situation could have turned out so much worse. “Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Daichi allows.

“Asahi was safe, and because he was bound to Noya, they were tangible to one another. Yesterday, they were upset because when he was injured, apparently it severed the spell, too. Or enough of it. The spell had a time limit, anyway, so maybe it was weakening. I don’t know.”

“And you’ll fix it for them?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Suga mutters and runs his hand through his hair, thinking, _Somehow_. Daichi nods seriously. “A couple months after that, Yui and I were messing around with more magic. We experimented a lot in college and after we graduated, we continued it. We—Yes?” Suga blinks, because Daichi’s raising his hand like a kid in class.

“Question. What did you go to college for? Was it a magic college?”

Suga grins at that. Daichi, while doing a surprising amount of interrupting, is doing a good job at keeping the (/Suga’s) mood light. “I wish. One of my professors was in Yui’s coven, but nah, I just got a rather useless degree in psychology, minor in anthropology. I really just wanted to learn about people, you know?”

“…Do magic colleges exist?” Daichi asks after a beat.

“I think just a couple in the world, and no, they’re not Hogwarts. As far as I know. I’ve never been to one so I can’t really tell you much about them, and while there is a whole magical-slash-supernatural underground world, for the most part, it’s still pretty well integrated with other worlds at large.”

The brunet groans and sets his head in his arms. At Suga’s prodding, he just mutters, “Worlds. _Worlds_. Plural. Give me a moment, and don’t you dare point out that we were in one yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

\--

 

“ _Ow_ , what the shit?!” Saeko hisses and draws her hand back.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko mumbles absently. Her eyes are still unfocused, and her hands are shaking. She doesn’t stoop to pick up the nail polish brush she’d dropped. Saeko looks over the scratch Kiyoko opened on her finger with her own nail, and it doesn’t look like it’ll bleed, but now there's nail polish in it, so it stings like a bitch.

“You okay? You jumped like you were stabbed or somethin’.” Saeko, shaking her hand, leans down and peers up into Kiyoko’s face. The psychic pulls off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Something psychic-y?”

“I just… got a very, very bad feeling. I haven’t gotten many omens _or_ sights lately, so it startled me a bit. I’m sorry.” Kiyoko rubs her eyes with a tiny sigh Saeko would have missed if she hadn’t been right there.

“Was it anything specific?” She’s happy she already has most of her gear ready for a job later, because she’s been caught with her pants down before by Kiyoko’s predictions, and it’s rarely fun.

Kiyoko shakes her head and puts her glasses back on. “No, and that concerns me. I’ve gotten general premonitions before, but never so suddenly.”

“Any locations? People? Things?”

“It really wasn’t anything.”

That’s worrying.

“Just something… abrupt. Large, I think. It’s not anything that rings familiar,” Kiyoko adds.

That’s even more worrying.

Saeko blows on her nails, feeling the magic tingle in her fingertips, and wonders what it could be. There’s not much they haven’t dealt with in some capacity before, and Kiyoko is a smart woman. She can figure out most things if she thinks about it for a bit. Then again, with the apocalypse inbound, there’s going to be things that catch them unawares… “It’s not something to do with the whole end of days thing, right?” She’s hardly gotten anything crossed off of her bucket list, not to mention the half a dozen jobs lined up.

“No, it’s not,” Kiyoko says quietly, but firmly. “This is different. I’m just not certain what it is.”

“Well, if it’s sudden…” Saeko points out and trails off to let it speak for her. If it’s sudden, they’ll just have to deal with it soon. She and Ryuu are in good shape. “Wait. D’you think it involves tengu kids or runaway witches with demons pacted to them?”

Kiyoko purses her lips and if she were anyone else Saeko would expect an eyeroll, too. “I doubt it. Kenma is quiet and I believe he’ll stay quiet. As for Hinata… I don’t see how one young tengu could create such a large problem so quickly. Without anyone noticing.”

“He’s been gone for this long. Who knows what he’s been up to. Tengu have their own bullshit magic, so maybe that’s why it feels off—”

“Maybe it’s the lake monster you have yet to take care of,” Kiyoko says, and Saeko pauses. It takes her a second to realize that it’s almost a joke. She laughs, loud and suddenly enough to make the witch jump, and Saeko nearly smears the wet nail polish when she slams her hand on the table.

“I hope it fuckin’ is!” Saeko declares with a sharp grin. “After the vampires, it’s first on my list, I promise. I’ll bring you its head as a trophy when I’m done with it. Maybe you can give it to Hitoka, too, to woo her.”

“I am not wooing her,” Kiyoko maintains.

“Then I want a unicorn, too.”

Kiyoko does not respond to that. Saeko spreads her fingers flat on the table to let her begin painting them again, and she knows she’s won. She hasn’t quite dismissed her worry that it’s tied to the wayward tengu brat, because everything’s tied to _something_ Kiyoko has her fingers in, but she’s not too concerned overall. The main worry with that is that he’s doing an irritatingly good job at staying under the radar so far, especially for a kid who’s supposedly never stepped foot outside of Takeda’s church before.

 

\--

 

Kenma watches his old boss, Lev’s aunt, yell at one of the new interns. A large portion of it is in Russian, and the poor kid doesn’t seem to know how to handle that. Kenma had never done anything to warrant a dressing down like that, but he had been quick to pick up Russian after he found out how much was spoken in the office. (He also had been quick to identify other magically aware people; there were only two he ever found. One was a witch in the mail room (in a coven), and another was an old woman on the board of directors who could see spirits. Neither of them ever found out about him.)

The Russian dies down, and Kenma pushes off of the copier he’d been using as a perch. He’s confident that his ignore-me spell will keep him from being seen, but he won’t stand still long enough to be noticed. The spell is usually broken by someone bringing attention to him, but he’s fairly sure that someone wondering why the copier isn’t working and won’t open would also do the trick.

Kenma finds himself wandering toward the room where he had summoned Kuro. It’s back in use as a storage room, but it still has an uneasy feel of magic to it. He looks over the wards he’d carved on the door; they’re all still there, untouched and some of them, unbroken. Oh well. If they have any poltergeists, they’ll probably flock to this area, otherwise they get a free well-locked supply room.

He’s not sure why, but he’d almost been expecting something like burn marks still on the carpet, stains on the walls, or _something_ else. Maybe he’s even imagining half of the stench. There’s just… not much to show that he had been here. He or Kuro. _Why do I care?_ he asks himself and leaves the room.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t leave marks. No one should read the circle he left behind, and Lev certainly didn’t need to be nosing around it. (That damage had already been done.) It’s definitely a good thing he didn’t leave any trace.

…He knows he’s not talking about the room.

He _wanted_ this. Wants. Kenma sighs at himself, and sourly wonders if his hormones are unbalanced because of the heavy magic in his hotel room. More than once, interacting with the angel’s blood has given him a headache, or stomachache, or nosebleed, so it is entirely feasible it could be further scrambling his insides. He tightens his hold on the broom and drags it along behind him, careful not to make _too_ much noise, but mostly not caring about any of this trip.

He’s not even sure why he wanted to come here. He doesn’t see the need right now to scrub his records from the company, and if he ever does need to, he knows it’s smarter to do it at night, when the building is empty. But some part of him _wanted_ all of the people around him, even if they’re unaware of him. Days on end cooped up in his hotel room isn’t good for him. Even he’s that self-aware.

There’s more Russian down the hall, and Kenma freezes; it’s a male voice. A familiar, male voice.

 _He’s not supposed to be here today_ , Kenma thinks, and the voice gets closer. Soon enough, he spots Lev down another hall, laughing at something he said, carrying a box for the female coworker beside him. Kenma isn’t sure what his heart is doing, but it’s firmly lodged in his throat either way, and he can’t tear his eyes away. It doesn’t feel the same as an anxiety attack, but it’s edging close to it, and he knows he has to get his feet moving before it gets any worse.

“Kenma!”

He jumps a clean foot in the air and whirls around, broom clasped to his chest. Yaku, hands on his hips and floating near the ceiling, frowns in parental disappointment down at him. Kenma wonders if he can push him away with the broom—and then he realizes that his spell is probably about to break, if it hasn’t already.

He grabs Yaku by a foot and drags him into the nearest room, which turns out to be a for-the-moment empty office. Papers are scattered across the desk and a half-empty mug of coffee sits beside them, so Kenma figures they don’t have much time. “Wh-What do you want,” he asks, hating the way his voice wavers.

“What do you mean, what do I want? Lev told me you two had a fight. A _bad_ one, judging on how morose he’s been lately,” Yaku says with an angry flick of his tail. He slides around the desk and reclines in the plush chair.

Kenma doesn’t answer him, although he thinks, _He didn’t seem so upset when he was helping that girl_. How petty of him. He should have erased Lev’s memories when he had the chance and cut ties. At least then he’d have a reason to act this way himself.

“And where’s your demon?” Yaku asks, eyes sliding around the office like he expects Kuro to pop out of a filing cabinet.

“How did you find me?” Kenma asks. His spell isn’t easy to break. …But he is dealing with a luck spirit, and his spell is designed to work on humans. An oversight. Fixing it could be a good distraction from trying to write his new circle.

The bakeneko gives him a flat look, but eases off a moment later with a sympathetic sigh. “Lev’s really worried about you, you know that, right?” Kenma averts his eyes and doesn’t respond again. Yaku leans forward across the desk. “How far did he shove his foot in his mouth to make you ignore him for so long?”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Kenma mumbles. His face feels hot and he’s not sure if it’s the fear of the situation or his own embarrassment. He almost wishes it’s the former. “But it’s not really any of your business.”

Yaku gives him a long, peculiar look. To Kenma’s great surprise, he drops the subject. “What ever happened with Tadashi and the contract you were writing for him?”

 _I don’t need them anymore_. That’s not a smart thing to tell a protective higher spirit, however, and Kenma belatedly _does_ wonder why Tadashi hasn’t tried to contact him again. His birthday is tomorrow. _Has Tsukishima really been missing this long?_ “I think they had some sort of fight. Tadashi hired Sugawara to help him find Tsukishima last week,” Kenma ends up telling him.

“He’s gone?” Yaku echoes, cat ears perking in surprise. Kenma nods. “Not that I’m encouraging your risky magic usage, but I’d been hoping to hear _some_ good news for them. I can’t believe they’re fighting, too…”

Yaku would probably jump for joy if Kenma mentioned his maybe-fight with Kuro right now. Although it is not really a fight. It’s a need for space, and honestly, it’s the demon’s own fault for getting so attached and sulky.

Kenma feels his ignore-me spell break entirely and he hunches his shoulders. He doesn’t want to recast it in front of Yaku. The bakeneko seems to sense his discomfort, and his eyes soften as he smiles. “I’m sure you and Lev will reconcile with a bit of time.”

They don’t really _have_ a bit of time, and Kenma tells himself he’s not interested in the prospect, anyway. “Uh, right. Neither of us should be here now, though, so we…” He won’t call Yaku out on stalking Lev any more than Yaku questioned him about it. The bakeneko _pops_ back into invisibility and Kenma waits a couple of tense seconds to make sure he leaves. He recasts his spell, grabs his broom, and makes a beeline for the nearest window. He doesn’t try to track down Lev again.

Kenma pulls his coat on tighter, hood up, before he mounts his broom and leaves.

He doesn’t see Lev watch him out another window.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi stares at the thing pretending to be Oikawa as it bustles around in the kitchen. “What do you think you’re doing?” he blurts out as Oikawa bends at the waist to yank something out of the door on the fridge.

It straightens and blinks at him, eyes round and big and innocent, despite the fact that it’s holding an expired jar of peanut sauce like it’s the eighth wonder. “I’m still hungry.”

Iwaizumi can’t believe this situation. He wakes up, sore all over, and now has to deal with _this_ bullshit? Oikawa’s went and gotten himself possessed again. He can’t be bothered to wonder how he got out of the Dreamlands in one piece (aside from everything hurting like hell) right now. He shakily gets to his feet, looks around for any of his skins (no such luck), and wonders _If I were Oikawa Tooru and I was hiding a pelt, where would I put it?_

He goes to the hallway closet and finds them both. It’s a simple manage to force his way through the wards and yank out his dragonskin.

“Alright, here’s the deal. I don’t know who or what you are, but you’re in my boss, and I don’t have a lot of patience for that. I’m either going to put on these dragon scales and shove my fist down your throat and _drag_ you out, or you’re going to get the fuck out of that psychic and I probably won’t kill you,” Iwaizumi announces and starts pulling his skin on.

He doesn’t need a full transformation, especially indoors, but he doesn’t quite feel comfortable with just his hands covered in scales. Something about this seems off. Oikawa’s eyes still look normal, for starters, and his voice sounded like himself, too. But Iwaizumi knows possession, and he knows that that _thing_ is not his surviving employer.

Oikawa slowly opens the jar and dips a finger in. “Don’t make that body sick out of spite,” Iwaizumi deadpans.

“How do you know,” it says, then sticks the finger in its mouth, “that this isn’t my body?”

There’s a million little things he could rattle off—the eye color is a little off, Oikawa is a picky eater and would _never_ touch expired food, he hasn’t been called Iwa-chan since he woke up, Oikawa doesn’t squint like that when he’s trying to outsmart someone, Oikawa wouldn’t have to _try_ to outsmart someone—but he ends up just rubbing his forehead and sighing for a long time. “Look, I just got up. Yesterday was a long day. I don’t want to have to kill another of my bosses.”

“ _I_ killed your old boss,” it murmurs. More shit Iwaizumi doesn’t want to deal with, although it admittedly gives him pause. It licks the edge of the jar, wrinkles Oikawa’s nose, and then tosses it in the sink. “If you give me two days, I could probably figure out how to act like him. No one called me out on it yesterday.”

“Yesterday, I’m sure everyone was more intent on passing out and worrying over each other.” _Bullshit Sugawara wouldn’t notice something up_. “You still reek of the Dreamlands. You can’t get rid of that with some acting. Now, I won’t ask again—get out of him or prepare yourself for a fight neither of us want.”

“How d’you know I don’t want a fight?” it asks with bright eyes but no smile. “I could be a fighter. I just admitted to fighting your old boss.”

“If you were a fighter you would’ve killed me while I was unconscious,” Iwaizumi points out.

“…I’m just hungry, okay.”

 _Don’t eat Oikawa’s brain, don’t eat Oikawa’s brain_ — “So go eat. In your _own_ body.” Does it not have taste buds normally? It’s not any sort of spirit that he can identify, so chances are it’s something nasty but with its _own_ goddamn body to inhabit. Iwaizumi steps forward, raising his scale-covered arm, and the thing in Oikawa sighs.

“You’re really just going to kick me out like this?” it whines. Not even an Oikawa-whine. “I don’t have any place to sleep—anymore.”

“Not my problem.”

He leaps forward, using his tail to push himself, but only crashes into the countertop as Oikawa ducks underneath him with inhuman reflexes. But it’s panicking, eyes big again, and it confirms to him that it doesn’t want to fight him. Despite the fact that it could probably take him. Iwaizumi shoves off of the counter and jumps at it again, this time catching it and pinning it. He puts his knees on Oikawa’s arms and sits on his chest.

“Last chance,” he growls.

Something twists in him to see Oikawa’s face screwed up in such an expression of absolute _fear_ , especially since the dumbass rarely has enough fear to feed a self-preservation instinct, let alone something like this. “Why did _you_ get to leave the Dreamlands? Why couldn’t I?” it asks, voice wavering, and Iwaizumi nearly falters. He hadn’t thought this was a _resident_ of the place. Shit, that means he _shouldn’t_ be letting it go—

There’s a blinding flash of light.

Iwaizumi squints through it when it doesn’t disappear, and he finds a figure made of pale, swirling fire with eyes like empty sockets standing over them both. He crouches over Oikawa, baring his teeth, despite the way everything in him screams to _RUN!_ So much for his own sense of self-preservation.

It looks down at itself, turning its hands over, as if realizing something. Iwaizumi pulls more dragon scales over his body, forcing more of the transformation, tail growing and spine lengthening. The figure doesn’t seem to care until there’s a full dragon crouched in Oikawa’s tiny kitchen, and only then does it let out a low whistle. “You’re a skinwalker!” it gasps.

Iwaizumi would roll his eyes under different circumstances. This lived in the Dreamlands, _and_ it only just now noticed? Did it think he was transforming with a pelt for shits and giggles?

“You’re a lot quieter when I can’t read your mind,” it admits, and takes a step back towards the living room. The air shimmers around it from its heat, but Iwaizumi can’t really _feel_ any temperature difference. If anything, it feels like everything’s colder since it appeared. “I hope we don’t see each other again.”

“Same here,” he snarls, raising his wings, but he only ends up knocking something off of the top of the fridge. The glowing figure giggles and then vanishes with a flurry of sparks and the heavy smell of ozone.

So. That happened. The dragon sighs and sinks down onto his belly, careful not to crush Oikawa, then rolls onto his side to peer at him. He shouldn’t have let that thing go, not if it followed them out of the Dreamlands, and he can’t wrap his mind around what could have taken out Ptar-Axtlan but _wouldn’t_ want to fight. Sure, Iwaizumi’s no pushover, but he’s still clumsy in this body, and he’s far from a god.

Iwaizumi puts his tongue to Oikawa’s forehead. Aside from hair everywhere, he feels cold and tastes like too much sweat. He can’t change back after forcing it this far, not in the state he’s in, but he really wishes he were half his size and had opposable thumbs again. “Oikawa, get up,” he rumbles, nosing at his shoulder. The psychic doesn’t stir. “Get up, asshole. You taste disgusting and you probably need to take everything in your medicine cabinet. We need to call Sugawara and figure out what I just unleashed.”

Oikawa’s chest is barely moving, his breathing shallow. Iwaizumi can’t do much—he’s already uncomfortably cramped in here—but he refuses to do _nothing_. It takes some doing, but he turns on the tap in the sink, catches some water in the webbing of one of his wings, and dumps it on Oikawa’s face. It gets his eyelids fluttering, and after a long, tense second, he cracks open an eye.

Iwaizumi lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Wha…?” Oikawa groans.

“You were possessed. Again. Because _you_ went into the Dreamlands despite it being the worst idea you’ve ever had. And now we—what’s that look for?”

Oikawa’s staring up at him, expression unreadable, but eyes intent. “…Who’re you?”

Iwaizumi blanches, tail thudding heavily against the tile and wings knocking things over as he droops.

“Kidding, kidding! Don’t break everything in my kitchen!” Oikawa exclaims and sits up at the breaking sounds—only to double over and let out a weak groan.

Iwaizumi feels _no pity_ for him because he’s still trying to restart his heart after that shock. “I will _eat you_ , you asshat! Don’t joke about that stuff when you could have died. Again.” He sinks down onto his stomach with his own moan of defeat. He risked his life for this asshole. Again. For some reason. The adrenaline is wearing off, and he’s tired, but Oikawa still has to come first. “How are you feeling?”

Oikawa answers by getting to his feet, stumbling over to the sink, and throwing up.

“That good, huh,” Iwaizumi mutters and stretches into the spot he’d just vacated. Oikawa gives him a watery glare from over the edge of his sink, blood running down his nose as well, making for a disgustingly sad sight. “When your body’s done having its hissy fit, we should probably call Sugawara to check you out. Who knows what you lost this time.”

“I think I forgot how to read.”

“That’s not a funny joke.”

“And Spanish. And…” He makes an uncomfortable sound that seems unrelated to his current distress. Ah, no, nevermind; he heaves again into the sink and then just dunks his head under the running water with a miserable sniffle. “And what happened? Everything feels terrible.”

Iwaizumi sighs heavily. “What _didn’t_ happen. I think we need to get Sugawara over here for this talk. I don’t remember much of it myself.”

Oikawa gives him another pitiful look, now with added bonus of wet hair dripping into his eyes. “Who’s that?”

“Not funny, Shittikawa.”

“ _You’re_ not funny! My head is killing me, my stomach hurts, I wake up to find a _dragon_ in my kitchen, and I don’t know who you’re talking about!” His voice cracks with the realization that he’s lost more than either of them anticipated, and Iwaizumi raises his head, alarmed because it sounds like there’s _more_. Oikawa rests his forehead against the counter, dripping pinkish water onto his floor, and squeezes his eyes shut. He can't fully keep the panic out of his voice as he forces out, “I have a sister, but I can’t remember her face. I know this is home, but I don’t know _where_ home is. My mind is telling me that you’re important, but I don’t know why I’d be friends with a dragon or why I keep thinking of eggs instead.”

“You… really don’t remember me?” Iwaizumi asks hesitantly. Oikawa shakes his head. Oh god, this is going to be _fun_ when he’s able to change back again. “C’mere. Wait, you’re done throwing up, right?”

Oikawa gives him a dirty look, then spits into the sink before shutting the water off.

“C’mere, dumbass. I’m going to explain things to you, and it’ll probably jog your memory, and we can figure out everything together, okay?” he asks, trying to sound gentle, but a dragon’s throat isn’t built for gentle. Oikawa comes anyway. He settles himself in against his side, using his shoulder as a pillow, without asking for permission to do so. Iwaizumi snorts and covers him with both wings on that side. “First off, my name is Iwaizumi, and I’m supposed to be your bodyguard.”

“I hired you and you won’t tell me your first name?” Oikawa asks flatly. Iwaizumi can tell his mood has soured with all of the realizations bogging him down, but he doesn’t snap at him.

“You blackmailed me. And I don’t _have_ a first name. I’m not human, as you can tell. But I’m also not a dragon.” This is going to be a _long_ story.

 

\--

 

“I thought _we_ were supposed to bring treats for you,” Daichi says when Tadashi arrives with a covered tray of cupcakes.

“I’m off tomorrow,” Tadashi reminds him. He sets the tray on the counter, stomping off slushy snow and pulling his scarf away from his face. “Are you telling me there’s something in the back for me?”

“Matsukawa brought in some cookies this morning. We’re all going to get fat now,” Daichi replies and steals a cupcake before Tadashi grabs it back and heads to the back room. Sure enough, there’s a plate of cookies on one of the tables, with a little card that had everyone’s birthday wishes on it. Tadashi can’t help his goofy grin; he’d been pretty certain that no one would remember. Hell, he wouldn’t have even remembered if he didn’t have plans tonight.

Tadashi shoves a couple cookies in his mouth, followed by a cupcake, as he pulls his lanyard on and hangs up his winter coat. This is the first time he’s eaten today, aside from some cupcake batter, and he figures he should worry about the sugar crash later. But lately, his appetite has been shot, and even when he is hungry, it’s usually about three or four in the morning, and who wants to eat dinner _then_ when there’s school the next morning?

Tadashi leans over the sink in the bathroom and looks at the bags under his eyes. He looks tired. He doesn’t even _feel_ tired anymore, and he hasn’t slept properly since Tsukishima left. He’s been taking the potion regularly, hoping to catch sight of him somewhere, but without a constant supply of luck, it looks like everything’s starting to catch up with him.

“Happy early birthday! Any fun plans tomorrow?” Sou asks when Tadashi comes back out into the front to clock in and relieve him.

“Um, not really,” Tadashi lies sheepishly. Opening old presents by himself and stomping around in graveyards at one in the morning in November don’t seem like good conversation fodder for a coworker.

“Well, at least you’ll get to sleep in!” Sou cheerily tells him. When he leaves, it looks like he’s shoved half a dozen cupcakes into his pockets.

Daichi drums his fingers on the counter and mutters, “He better have left some for us.” Tadashi shrugs and can’t help but notice what Daichi is looking at: a hand-drawn chart of what appears to be types of spirits.

Tadashi can’t help but stick his nose in. “What’s that?” he asks, as innocently as he can manage. Suga warned him that Daichi found out about magic, but holy hell, he hadn’t expected his boss to just bring it into work. …His other boss. Fuck, this secret isn’t going to keep very long.

“Ah, um.” Daichi looks down at the notebook, and at least he doesn’t try to cover it up or anything suspicious. “Just a thing a friend made.”

 _A friend?_ Tadashi wonders, peeking over at him, because he was pretty sure Suga _didn’t_ want to be just friends. “…But what is it?” he presses. He cranes his neck, trying to look at the section with the luck spirits, but Daichi’s elbow is blocking it. “Ghosts?”

“I guess. You interested in occult stuff, too?” Daichi asks.

“Oh, me? N-No, just thought it—there was a weird name there that I saw and I—i-it had the same name as a character in a book I’m reading…?” He can’t help but raise his voice at the end, like a question, and Daichi raises an eyebrow.

But he doesn’t ask.

Tadashi scurries off to re-shelve some books before he completely gives himself away. Lack of sleep is getting to him, but hey, the sugar’s also starting to hit him, so this ought to be a fun shift.

The sugar crash hits him about an hour later, although aside from nearly faceplanting into a shelf, he’s still not that _tired_. He can worry later. It’s a shorter shift today, though, so he doesn’t have long to worry. (Even if he’d rather have a longer one; his bank account is dwindling and he’s starting to lose more money than win on scratch cards.) Aside from ducking into the back regularly to ingest more sugary treats, it’s a fairly normal few hours. Not many customers due to the weather, but at least the greyness clears up into a calm night by the time he leaves.

Tadashi leaves the remainder of the cookies and cupcakes there for the later shifts, despite Daichi’s insistence otherwise. He grabs his things and heads out into the night, eyes finding the half moon. It’s plenty bright, which is good. It’s not really grave robbing, but he doesn’t want to be stumbling around in a cemetery in total darkness. It’s just grave _visiting_.

It took him the better part of two days, but he found Akiteru’s grave. So his brother’s has to be nearby, right? Tadashi couldn’t bring himself to ask Issei or Suga if a grave counts as belonging to someone for finder’s magic, but it’s not like he’s doing anything better with his insomnia.

So one Yamaguchi Tadashi finds himself at midnight on a train across the city to a graveyard, alone. He can’t help but glance nervously at the few other passengers around, but it’s not as if he has a shovel or anything. Even his backpack is light, only used for an extra jacket, gloves, a flashlight, and the little notebook he made for magic notes. _Happy birthday to me_ , he thinks, side-eying a drunken businessman halfway down the car who’s giving him a Minors Shouldn’t Be Out This Late On A School Night glare. _Joke’s on you, jackass. I’m not a minor anymore._

If someone had asked him last year what he’d wanted to do for his eighteenth birthday, it’d be a safe bet to say _not this_. Then again, last year, all he’d wanted was for his mother to get better. Tadashi squeezes his eyes shut and hugs his backpack to his chest. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry over his mom anymore, and especially not on his own birthday.

He checks his phone’s GPS when he gets off at the correct stop, ignoring the couple of messages he’d gotten on facebook, and pulls his hat lower over his hair. He has a pair of glasses on and is wearing nothing he wears frequently, just in case, but nerves are to be expected, right? At the absolute minimum, he’s breaking into a cemetery. So breaking in, _and_ trespassing, and there’s probably magical laws he’s breaking, too.

He wanders up and down the rows of headstones, reading off family names. He knows vaguely what area Akiteru should be in, but he’s never been here before, and he doesn’t want his flashlight on the entire time. Tadashi nervously keeps looking at his phone, hoping his aunt was right and he was born around one, although this is a lot of guesswork. It probably won’t even work at all.

Near the end of a row he finds Tsukishima Akiteru. Tadashi stops and stares at the grave, an unknown feeling welling up in him. The night is oddly warm for this time of year, but his wet eyes burn with the chilly air and he’s quick to wipe away any stray tears. He bows his head and pays his respects.

“…I don’t know what you were up to, or what Tsukki’s up to, but I’m going to make sure he ends up happy,” he murmurs over his clasped hands. Tadashi tells himself he’s alright with Tsukishima leaving him and passing on, or even just leaving him, so long as they can _talk_ about it and he can be sure that it’s not just the ghost trying to spare his feelings. He knows it’s a difficult decision, the binding, and Tadashi wants to support whatever Tsukishima decides on. But not if he’s just going to run away.

Tadashi checks the plots on either side, just to be sure, and finds no sign of deceased parents or any dead spouse of Akiteru. There’s not even room for them. Just his and another grave, not looking much older than the other one, and Tadashi wipes his eyes again at the Tsukishima Kei on it.

It’s weird, having a ghost for a friend. Very rarely is he reminded that he’s _dead_. He was living and now he’s not. Tadashi is okay with the bulk of the supernatural stuff, but it’s disconcerting to re-realize that Tsukishima—Kei—actually died at one point.

“I should call him by name when I see him again,” Tadashi mutters to himself, and he can picture the surprised-and-embarrassed expression now. He checks his phone one last time; time to get to work. He pulls out his magnet and notebook.

He writes the first two runes and picks up the magnet. The moment of truth.

 _Please work_ , he begs, clutching the magnet so tightly that his hands shake. _Please, please, just fucking work. This is all I want for my birthday._ He doesn’t have anything else that could be Kei’s, but surely a grave has to work, right? It’s _his_. And it’s Tadashi’s last idea and last chance. His luck is shot, no other finder’s magic is working, and Sugawara seems perpetually distracted by other things.

There’s no flare of warmth in the magnet. Tadashi tries again, using a different spell, but still no reaction. He writes every rune in the chain and there’s nothing.

It doesn’t work.

Tadashi isn’t sure if graves don’t count as objects to work with, or if this was destined for failure to begin with, but he can’t help it when he sinks down to his knees and starts bawling. He tells himself it’s the lack of sleep that’s made him so emotional. It’s just that and absolutely not his failure and not the fact that now he has to truly face the idea that he may never see Kei again.

He hardly bats an eye when Morisuke shows up. The soft, gold glow around him only twists the knife, and Tadashi clings to him, burying his face in his chest to try to muffle his embarrassing breakdown. Morisuke doesn’t say anything but runs his fingers through the ends of his hair beneath his hat until he calms down.

Tadashi doesn’t ask how he found him or if he’s heard from Kei. Instead, he asks, “Why didn’t it work?” God, and he’d thought himself _so_ clever for coming up with this idea.

“He’s not enough of a human ghost for this to work,” Morisuke replies. Tadashi lets go of him entirely, and the bakeneko crouches down beside him, eyeing the grave with poorly concealed curiosity. “But. If he’s not enough of a human spirit…”

Tadashi doesn’t know how to track a luck spirit any better than a ghost.

That is, until Morisuke reaches up and touches his collar, making the bell _ding_. “One day, I’m going to stop giving these things to sad-looking children,” he sighs and reaches back to undo the clasp. He drops it into Tadashi’s hands and pats his head again. “He should be enough of a luck spirit to track like that. But if you’re going to be running around in the cold and the dark looking for him, you’re not doing it alone.”

It’s not what he originally wanted for his birthday, but Tadashi will take it. He grins at him, bright and honest, and watches the luck drift off of the collar. “Thank you!” There’s not enough sincerity in the world to make those words mean enough. …Probably the sleep deprivation making him emotional again.

“Happy birthday, Tadashi,” Morisuke replies with his own beam.

 

\--

 

It’s been three days and Yuu hasn’t seen Suga in Researcher Mode so hard since before Yui died. When he hasn’t been running around like a chicken with his head cut off—oh god, that’s a mental image he doesn’t need to revisit _ever_ —he’s been crashing at their place, poring over old research notes and interrogating them on everything in existence.

Yuu always grins when the subject turns away from he and Asahi, though. “He doesn’t _need_ to keep it, he won’t be doing anything,” Suga grumbles, upside-down on their couch with his nose in a book.

“He’s hanging with the right crowd. Just teach him a summoning spell for it and _bam_! Kickass boyfriend who can take care of himself _and_ save the day,” Yuu declares. “Oh, wait, that’s right. He’s not your boyfriend because you’re fucking _ignoring him_.” He’s already received several growing-in-concern-levels texts from Daichi about the prospect of Suga avoiding him. Which he totally is. They had exactly one talk and then Suga hightailed it out of his vicinity.

Suga lowers the book enough to glare at him over its edge. “There are bigger things to do right now. More important things. And I’m _not_ ignoring him! I’m replying to his texts—”

“Just not his calls, and you’re not stalking the bookstore anymore. He’s still a big hunk of confusion and puppy crush for you, dude. Now with a sword.”

“I don’t see how you’re comfortable with him having it,” Suga mumbles and raises the book once more.

“It was the cat thing who did it, not the sword.” He can’t exactly knock Suga for associating some bad shit with the sword, however, so Yuu dances around the subject. “Look, all I’m saying is that he got lucky enough to be able to touch it, _and_ he already has it. We’re facing the end of the world right now. Is giving him a magic-killing weapon the worst idea in the world? C’mon, Asahi, back me up here!”

Asahi shrugs listlessly. “I don’t want to have an opinion on that.”

Yuu snorts at him and sticks out his tongue.

He’s very much aware that he and Suga have had some sort of fight or shared trauma or something. Yuu is fine giving them space—one of them will cave and tell him about it eventually. But until then, he’s going to let them awkwardly ignore each other as best they can while they convince themselves that they’re being totally subtle and mature about it. Which they’re _not_.

They’ve never really fought before, at least not since Yuu has known them both. Asahi isn’t a fighter by nature, and Suga is usually soft to a fault. Not that they can’t hold their own and be stubborn jackasses from time to time (evidenced by now). And it would be fascinating under other circumstances. He’d bet with Ryuu that they turn to teenage girl passive aggression within another day if he wasn’t so certain he himself was somehow involved.

He’s already talked it over with Asahi, and he knows that neither of them are upset that he got left in the Dreamlands alone. Well, they _are_ , because they both shoulder the blame for everything they can get their hands on, but he handled it amazingly. But Yuu isn’t sure what else it could be. It’s definitely not how the binding got broken, and it’s not about Asahi going into the Dreamlands after him.

Ugh, all of this thinking is driving him up a wall (and in mental circles), and normally when he’s this agitated, he goes to bother Asahi. But now…

Yuu pulls out his phone and taps out an annoyed message to Ryuu. ‘ _it’s like a fckn funeral in here dude ughhhh_ ’

An answer comes surprisingly quick, considering he is certain Ryuu is on a job today. ‘ _I WILL TRADE YOU._ ’ That’s weird. A moment later, a picture is added: Saeko, looking _livid_ , with a shotgun pointed at the empty surface of a lake. ‘ _sae’s gonna murder everything in this lake. is suga still there?? is suga still ignoring daichi??_ ’

“Someone’s popular,” Suga remarks at all of the buzzing of his phone. (Suga’s been steadfastly ignoring his own phone.)

Yuu looks up at him, then over at Asahi. Suga’s already been there for several hours today, and the longer he’s there, the more Asahi withdraws into himself. Which is saying something, considering after they found out the binding broke, he just about shut down completely.

‘ _ya he’s still here & ya stil ignorin daichi. what’s the plan bro_’

There’s a long pause before the reply this time. ‘ _do you think they need to kiss and make up bc i have the best idea bro_ ’

Yuu hides his grin with his phone and angles himself so neither Suga nor Asahi can see his expression. He’s down throwing Suga under the bus to get him to relax, and he and Asahi need some time alone. ‘ _LAY IT ON ME I WANT UR BEST IDEA_ ’ he texts back, and he hardly hits send before the next one in the conversation appears.

‘ _we need some help with this job or else sae is gonna explode. get suga over here to help us and i’ll get daichi._ ’

Alright, so this seems like a pretty basic plan. A little too basic to be called The Best Idea. He’s going to go along with it, both for Asahi’s sake and Suga’s, but most of his enthusiasm evaporated. ‘ _fiiiine but there better be some great catch to this_ ’

‘ _do u kno what an afanc is_ ’ is all Ryuu sends as a response.

 

\--

 

It’s unseasonably warm. _Weirdly_ unseasonably warm. Kiyoko mentioned something weird coming, but Suga doubts she meant a rogue weather spirit. He doesn’t need more than a sweater as he heads across town to help the Tanaka siblings—at Yuu’s _insistence_. The only reason he doesn’t think it’s some plot is because he’s certain he and Asahi need time to themselves. He desperately wants to help them as fast as possible, but he also doesn’t want to intrude any further.

He rolls up his sleeves by the time he gets to the lake where he finds Ryuunosuke. Who’s grinning. Evilly. Nevermind, this is definitely some plot, and he’s going to get Yuu back. “What is it,” Suga demands, keeping a hopefully safe distance between them.

“No fighting! We just need a distraction,” Ryuu says with obvious delight.

“You said that much on the phone.” Suga jumps at a shot fired into the lake. Saeko screams in frustration, then waves up at him. …Okay, so he’s down for keeping Saeko from murdering poor, innocent lake creatures, but he has no idea what the actual job is, or why Ryuu seems so happy to see him. “What’s the catch?”

“Before you complain—” oh, yeah, that’s the _best_ way to start this, “—me and Sae both already tried. So, do you know what an afanc is?”

“Uh. Some sort of lake monster…?” He doesn’t have the faintest idea. It could be a one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater for all he knew.

“Big, ugly thing, like a crocodile-beaver-dude mermaid thing. They _can_ get nasty, which is why we’re here, but they have a very big and exploitable weakness!”

 _Please don’t say blood, please don’t say blood_ , Suga privately prays.

Ryuunosuke digs around in the bag at his feet and pulls out a length of fabric. Suga’s head cocks to the side as he shakes it out and holds it up with a smirk. At first, he thinks it’s a large scarf, but then he sees the waist on it and he realizes it’s a skirt.

 _Please go back to the blood_. “You’re kidding me.”

“Afanc are super sweet on maidens, and Sae’s trying to kill the entire lake because it snubbed her. Worse than it snubbed me, and yes, I tried, so you don’t get to pout.”

“I-I’m not a maiden. I’m not even close.” No virgin blood, no virgin anything, and while he may be _pretty_ , he’s not exactly womanly.

“Dude, you’re pretty cute, and you can’t do worse than either of us. Maybe just smelling someone new will bring it back out.”

“I can’t run in a skirt.”

“There’s a slit up the side.” He adjusts his grip and flashes the side, and there indeed looks to be a cut up to about the knee. Suga can’t even run right now, but at least he hypothetically could if he needs a getaway. It’s a rather plain maxi skirt, sky blue with no pattern or decoration, although there’s a smear of mud towards the bottom hem. …The cream sweater he’s wearing would actually match with it.

“I just have to lure it out?” Suga asks suspiciously. Ryuu nods happily. “And it’s just the skirt?”

“A skirt does not make a maiden,” he replies, nodding sagely to himself, and nudges his bag with his boot. “Got a flower hair clip, some of Sae’s makeup, and your pick of perfume. We’re only gonna get one shot at it with you, and I don’t wanna try to call Kiyoko to explain why we need to borrow her.”

“My boots don’t match the outfit,” Suga stubbornly points out, trying to restrain a smile, because damn him, he’s doing this.

He steps into the skirt and accidentally gets more mud on it, but Ryuunosuke assures him that it’s fine. He turns around to text to hypothetically preserve Suga’s modesty while he tries to pull his pants off, like they’re not in the the great outdoors and like either of them actually care. He manages to get the pants off without completely taking off his boots, and adjusts his sweater to cover the rolled-up hem of the skirt. It almost makes him look like he has more of a curve to his hips, and Suga can’t help but twist and try to see how it’s handling his ass, too.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re very pretty,” Saeko remarks as she trudges up the bank, shotgun slung over her shoulder. Suga reddens but doesn’t stop trying to figure out how flattering it is. He definitely shouldn’t wear boxers with this kind of material, that’s for sure.

“Makeup time!” Ryuu crows. His hands are already full of supplies and Suga resigns himself to going whole hog. He’s a little wary of either Tanaka sibling going near him with eyeliner, but to his mild surprise, Ryuu turns out to be decent at it. “I do this for sis when she’s too tired or hungover to do it herself,” he mumbles, not nearly quiet enough to avoid being overheard. Saeko smacks him upside the head, and Suga barely escapes a pencil in the eye.

“I haven’t worn makeup since I lived with Yui,” Suga replies. He’d gotten plenty of practice for Yui doing the same thing, come to think, and he had had to wear it plenty when she’d wanted to go bar hopping. “She wouldn’t let me out of the house to go drinking with her and Kiyoko unless I looked, and I quote, ‘as pretty as they did’.”

“I’m so jealous!” Ryuu groans, head tilting back, and again Suga is nervous about his proximity to his eye.

“You shouldn’t be, Yui used to try to make her own drinks. You’ve never had a magical hangover,” Saeko says and Suga cringes at the very memory. Never again. Ryuu looks put out by that, and the blonde reaches over and gives his head an affectionate rub. “And you’ll never get one, because I love you too much to let you suffer like that.”

“You’ll just laugh at me when I get regular hangovers,” he grumbles and she laughs. “Suga, you’re lucky you don’t have a sister. You apparently get to avoid all of the fun shit.”

“You’re both lucky I am tolerant enough to help you with this.”

“Done!” Ryuu declares and leans back to examine his work. Suga blinks and silently thanks whatever gods are still alive (and not trying to kill them) that he still has both his eyes. He claps Suga on the back and solemnly adds, “As thanks for this job, I’ll get you pictures of Daichi in uniform.”

Before Suga can respond do that, his sister elbows him out of the way and takes over. “My turn! C’mere and pucker up like you’re trying to smooch Ryuu’s friend,” Saeko orders and Suga sourly purses his lips.

“You’re _damn_ lucky I’m tolerant. No Daichi talks.” …He may be looking forward to those pictures, though. So he can’t touch, but _looking_ is fine, right? No problem there. (Suga is guiltily aware of how bad he is at being avoidant.)

“Aw, but this is good shit,” Saeko hums, grabbing his jaw firmly and turning him to see better in the strangely strong winter sunlight. “It’s like Kiyoko and Hitoka, except with dicks and less of an age gap. So you can’t even use that as an excuse. Y’know, this is why I gave up watching soaps.”

“You want soap opera drama? The man is currently in possession of the sword that _beheaded me_ in another realm,” Suga pouts.

“I’m jealous! I want one!”

“That’s not supposed to be your response.”

Saeko hums again and tilts his head over a little further. This is going to give him the worst crick in his neck, he just knows it, and the lip gloss she’s putting on him tastes badly of artificial cherries. “Can’t blame a man for wanting to be prepared for the coming apocalypse,” she says diplomatically.

“That’s what Noya said.”

“Knew I raised that boy right!” Saeko draws back, seeming satisfied, and releases her iron grip on his face. “Seriously, though, have you _talked_ to him?”

“Yes! Of course.”

“Other than exactly once, fail to mention why that makes you uncomfortable, and then avoid the issue.”

Suga pointedly averts his gaze. Saeko sighs and Ryuunosuke groans. Suga huffs and tells them, “It’s not that easy to talk to him anymore. Things went south in that job, and I shouldn’t have asked him to help. The best thing for him is to get some distance from the magical community—”

“Fuckin’ hell, you already have the moaning maiden thing down pat. C’mon, Juliet, let’s go douse you in smelly stuff before you’re croc bait,” Saeko interrupts and drags Suga back up to his feet. They really do douse him in perfume, making him cough and sneeze, and at the very least, he certainly smells feminine. It’s all flowery with a faint hint of fruit, and all too strong.

Saeko spreads a blanket on the muddy bank, a little ways up from where she was shooting into the water, and Ryuu sets down a picnic basket. Saeko’s last move is to pin a large flower clip over Suga’s ear, tucking his light hair around it artfully, and then they position him on the fake picnic and sneak off with matching cackles.

Suga feels very, _very_ silly sitting for a picnic in the middle of November, despite the mild weather. He resists the urge to rub at his eyes, and then also resists the urge to fiddle with the flower in his hair. He thinks it's purple, but now he can’t see, and now he’s curious. Curious and bored and very self-conscious.

At least he’s sitting so the afanc won’t be staring at his ass.

He’s not sure quite how long it takes before a shape moves under the dark lake water near the shore. Suga wants to check his phone; it has to have been at least half an hour. His skin feels tight from the sunlight and makeup, so the afanc better hurry the hell up.

And it does, and Suga immediately wants to shove it back into the water. The thing is _hideous_ , and Ryuu’s description of crocodile-beaver-dude mermaid thing is horrifyingly accurate. Its body is mostly crocodile, long and muscular and scaled, but with a broad, flat tail it smacks the water with as it slithers up on the shore. And its head is that of a very ugly man, complete with scraggly beard and lust-filled eyes. Oh, the teeth are sharp and scary, that’s nice. Suga sits, perfectly frozen, as the massive afanc crawls through the mud toward him, mouth open in a sappy grin, tongue lolling near its chin.

Suga feels a shiver go up his spine when it makes it to the blanket. He wants to cry when it waddles right on up and sets its head in his lap. The afanc twists around to stare up at him, _adoringly_ , but there’s something disturbingly human about the lecherous edge to its gaze. There’s a pistol in the picnic basket, but Suga doesn’t want to risk moving. This thing is a literal ton of reptilian muscle and who knows what kind of magic.

Saeko and Ryuu have yet to jump out of the metaphorical bushes and put a stop to this. Suga feels a bead of sweat roll down his cheek. His smile is frozen, and the afanc snuffles against his sweater, nosing its way up his lap. That’ll definitely tip it off, and Suga doesn’t want to be near an angry afanc, so he carefully raises his hand and sets it on its head, giving it an awkward pat.

It gurgles happily, like a watery, broken purr. Suga continues petting it. He also just _now_ comes to the unfortunate realization that the Tanaka siblings are (in)famously trigger happy with their jobs and he’s sitting with their target practically on top of him.

A pair of strong arms wrap themselves around his chest and _pull_ at the same time that Saeko leaps onto the afanc’s back with a wild cry. She shoves her shotgun up against the back of its head and shouts, “This’ll show _you_ not to appreciate a goddamn maidenly masterpiece!”

One of Suga’s boots is splattered with its brains. Ryuu cheers and runs up to make sure it’s dead with his own shot into its spine. The afanc thrashes, briefly, and then kicks a couple times with some sort of dying reptilian reflex. The Tanaka siblings whoop and holler, cracking jokes about making it into a purse, and Suga stares at the large carcass—and then does the math. One Tanaka sibling there, one Tanaka sibling there, and one set of arms around Suga’s middle.

He cranes his neck back and finds Daichi.

The squawk he gives is probably the most embarrassing thing he’s done in recent memory. Suga jumps away from him like a startled cat, nearly tripping over his skirt, and ends up sliding in the mud. He lands heavily on his ass next to the dead afanc. “Wh-Why are you here?!” he asks.

Daichi looks between Maiden Suga and the afanc. He lowers the vorpal sword, and Suga’s eyes follow the movement. “…Tanaka told me I had to come rescue a damsel in distress. He also told me this would be a way to get you to stop avoiding me for two seconds,” he says after a beat.

Suga’s head snaps around to glare at Ryuunosuke. The universe already seems to be punishing him, however, as he and Saeko find out that afanc blood stings and they rush into the cold lake to try to rinse it off. Suga clambers to his feet, dusting off his skirt, and _really_ wishes this was more flattering. “Yeah, well, you’ll learn not to take everything Ryuu says to heart.”

“Do I want to know?” Daichi asks with a little gesture toward the creature.

“You really don’t,” Suga sighs. He tugs the flower out of his hair with a wince.

“…Were you avoiding me?”

Suga doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to admit it, either, so instead he just leaves Saeko and Ryuu there to clean up after themselves. Daichi trails along after him, looking awkward with his sword. Suga keeps glancing at it, though he doesn’t want to, and by the time they reach the top of the hill, he decides to take pity on him. “I can teach you enough magic to be able to store that in a pocket of space.”

“A what now?” Daichi echoes with a blink.

Suga rolls his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. He holds out his hand for the sword. “Watch.” Daichi hands it over, hilt-first, and Suga stoops to grab his messenger bag with his free hand. He holds it up, and like a magician, he inserts the sword. From the outside, the sword is easily twice as long as his bag is big, and Daichi raises an eyebrow at the way the bag swallows it up effortlessly. “It’s enchanted to hold more than it appears. You can apply it to items to hold other items, or you can apply it to specific items and pull them forth when need be.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to be in the middle of all this,” Daichi says, and there’s no suspicion or sarcasm in his voice, only honest interest. Some of the stress trickles out of his shoulders. Whenever they’re apart for too long, Suga almost forgets how _easy_ it is to be near him, to talk with him.

But then he leaves and he tells himself why everything is A Bad Idea again. And then they see each other and Suga’s returned to infatuation and comfortable banter, and the cycle continues. It’s not fair to Daichi and it’s not fair to Suga’s stress levels. “I don’t, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to have something to defend yourself with, and something that’s convenient. Did you take the train with that thing?” Now _there’s_ a mental image.

“I have a car,” Daichi replies with a perplexed frown and a point across the park. “You’re telling me _hammerspace_ exists?”

“Everything exists.”

Daichi scowls and asks, “The tooth fairy?”

Suga can’t restrain a grin that time. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. I can dig up a summoning spell that’ll work on the sword, just give me a couple days—”

“A couple days that you ignore me in?”

“I’m pretty busy,” Suga says with a shrug and a gesture to his outfit.

“Did work pick up that suddenly that it’s all post-Dreamlands, or were you playing hooky to always hang out at the bookstore before?” Daichi asks and crosses his arms.

Suga flinches guiltily. “Would you believe me if I said both…?” Actually, it’s a _little_ true that they both apply. Everything was easier pre-apocalypse-knowledge.

“If I did something to make you mad—”

“No! God, it’s not you, it’s _definitely_ not you.”

Daichi’s expression softens, and Suga looks away so he doesn’t have to deal with that. Like a responsible adult, of course. “If you want or need space, just tell me, please?”

“That’s not fair to you when you’ve just gotten dunked into all of this stuff,” Suga admits, and when he risks a peek back at him, Daichi’s scowl has hardened again.

“I dealt for a _few_ years by myself, Suga. I think I’ll handle it for awhile without your guidance.”

“I just—I feel a little responsible, can you blame me? And it’s not like I _want_ to ignore you—”

“So why do it?”

 _Shit_. “Because I have a lot going on right now,” Suga fields defensively. “And because I think I approached you too hastily on the dating thing before.”

“Well, you _did_ walk in and immediately hit on me,” Daichi agrees. Suga frowns at him. “But I don’t _mind_ it, Suga. I liked it, and I like you. And, hell, I really want to see what more magic dates are like.”

Suga can feel his heart melt at that, but that’s the exact opposite of what he actually _wants_. Suga isn’t a paragon of self-denial or has willpower of steel, and he’s already noticed he has a conspicuous Daichi-shaped weakness in his heart, but he absolutely refuses to subject that man to a zombie boyfriend.

Daichi continues, oblivious to (or perhaps hoping for) Suga’s crumbling mental defenses. “If you need space, however, that is completely understandable. Last week was… something. But I don’t want you to think that I’m too freaked out to deal with you or anything. I _did_ just rescue a damsel in distress from a man-faced dinosaur, so I feel like that should earn me some brownie points, or show you that I don’t need a fainting couch for this kind of stuff. I’d like a lot of questions answered, but I’m a big boy, I can handle it.”

 _Make a joke about knights in shining armor. Point out that your issues are bigger and/or more personal than a random afanc. Wonder where the hell Ryuu and Saeko went._ Instead, Suga blurts out, “I’m still perpetually half-dead and I’m lucky to hit forty heartbeats per minute and I need too much sleep and you don’t want this kind of bullshit in your life.” _Smooth, Koushi_ , he thinks and facepalms at himself.

“Last time I checked, I get to decide what kind of bullshit I keep in my life,” Daichi replies. Suga peeks at him through his fingers. “Look, I can’t say that all of this isn’t _weird_ to me, and I’m still figuring out how much of what kind of weird I can handle. But you were weird from the get-go, and I haven’t minded it yet. I’ve slept with you—I’ve felt your heartbeat. You’re pretty alive to me.”

“Just fucking kiss him already!” Saeko screeches across their moment, and that answers Suga’s earlier question.

“Ignore her, we’re her soap opera and she ships us,” Suga says flatly and Daichi chuckles, although there’s a red tinge to his cheeks. “She’s very invested.”

“Dude, we spent twenty minutes doing your makeup, we deserve a payoff!” Ryuu loudly adds.

“They both sound it,” Daichi agrees. “Your, uh, makeup does look nice. And your skirt is nice even with the most severe panty lines I have ever seen.”

Suga yanks his sweater down as far as it’ll go to cover his ass and feels his face heat up. “I didn’t dress to wear this today, okay. I almost ended up out here in my research binge clothes.”

“How about this. We ruin their soap opera, grab food somewhere, and I help you with your research binge? I may not understand a damn thing but I can be a sounding board,” Daichi suggests brightly, “and I can be as nosy as I want through your notes. I liked your charts.”

It’s tempting, _god_ is it tempting. Suga isn’t really cut out for self-denial, even with his squeamishness. “…I should show you my _actual_ notes. Half of them have doodles of Sunshine in the margins, and the other half have coffee or stress tears on them.” Actually, that just sounds like his normal college notes. “I think I still have a notebook somewhere that still has so much fairy dust in it that it glows in the dark. It attracted a pretty bad troquantary who tried to eat it last year.”

“Okay, I have to ask—does fairy dust make you fly?”

“No,” Suga says, and can’t help but smile at the way Daichi’s expression falls a bit, “but I have a friend who can make a flight potion that will let you live out all of your dangerous _Peter Pan_ fantasies.”

“You’re the one who keeps tempting me with the prospect of flying dates,” Daichi mutters, and he’s back to smiling, too.

So they’re set for _another_ eventual flying date, and Suga admits defeat. He has to have A Talk with Daichi about a couple more things, and he doubts he’ll get over his reservations in a blink. But he’ll concede his defeat for now. Suga grabs his pants without changing back into them, ignoring Saeko’s booing, and they don’t do anything sappy like lace their fingers together to walk back to Daichi’s car or even kiss, despite Ryuu’s jeers echoing after them.

No, Suga lets Daichi walk just ahead of him so it’s easier to glance over and stare at his ass. It’s so nice to return to what they’re used to. Daichi catches him staring when he stops to unlock his car and laughs at him. “Nice to see you’re back to as normal as you can get.”

“Yes, I look gorgeous, I’m happily staring at your lower half, and I’m daydreaming about the look on your face when you stumble into more weird magic things. Let me have this after I was drooled on by a horny afanc.” He’ll be happy with normal while he can get it, and he can handle _this_ being his normal.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( i have been waiting for the afanc scene since i started this fic. and saeko smelled like too much gunpowder for the afanc to want to approach her. don't worry, sae, you're the most beautiful of us all ))


	15. Ushijima Wakatoshi Is Not Getting Paid Enough For This

Tadashi isn’t working yet, so Kei peruses the store at his leisure. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but the bookstore is a comfortable space for him, and he’s missed it. Today’s not one of his better days, so he can’t quite float through the aisles, and instead walks up and down them, trying to run his fingers over the spines of the books. He likes to imagine he can smell it in here, the dusty, papery _book_ smell.

He can’t—won’t—visit Tadashi (or his apartment after tripping a magical alarm, and _that_ had been an exercise in terror) but Kei hopes that dropping luck here will still help him. It won’t hurt him, but what little motivation Kei has left is solely donated to trying to help. Tadashi is alone now, after all. _Because of me_ , he sternly reminds himself. He has to face that.

He finds himself in the science fiction section in front of the Michael Crichton. They only have the first _Jurassic Park_. Not like he could be a customer, anyway, and he and Tadashi had long since finished the audiobook of the second one. (But it reminds him of his life.) Kei prods it, and his finger bounces off of the hard spine. He can’t help but smile a little.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Kei is so used to ignoring people talking, categorizing it as white noise, that he doesn’t register it as being directed at _him_ until he feels a brief touch on the arm. He jumps and turns, wide-eyed, at one of Tadashi’s bosses—who looks similarly surprised.

 _Did he just touch me? He can_ see _me?_

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man says, and Kei takes a moment to remember that his name is Daichi. And Daichi can see him now. This isn’t just a glimpse or unfocused staring; he’s peering up at him with growing concern, brow furrowed and eyes intent. “I was just asking if you needed help with anything.”

“I. Was just.” He fumbles over conditioned responses to retail workers and can’t quell the scared surprise in himself long enough to force something out. Kei tears his eyes away from the man and looks down at his hands. Experimentally, he reaches over to touch the books again, hope rising painfully in his chest.

His hand passes through the shelf up to the wrist. The hope is snuffed out again, which serves him right, he supposes. Daichi jumps and curses, looking up at him with new alarm. “How did you—are you a ghost or something?”

Kei narrows his eyes at him. “Or something,” he says thinly and disappears from in front of him. Daichi looks around wildly for him, and Kei scoffs as he passes right by him on his way out. _I need to figure out how to control this_ , he thinks, which is annoying, because he’d left Tadashi to avoid this. Some of this. Alright, not really _this_ specifically, and Kei isn’t certain what _this_ is. He can control the backwards motion—becoming invisible, intangible, a ghost again—well enough if he concentrates, but that doesn’t really serve his needs, now does it.

So now it’s probably best if he doesn’t visit the bookstore anymore, either. Kei is running out of places with anything remotely positive about them.

To add insult to injury, the door smacks him on the ass on his way out.

 

\--

 

At least no one was around to see his accident. Kenma sighs and wipes his brow, smearing watery ash across his bangs and skin. He’s going to have to rewrite almost half of those, which means he needs new parchment, and it looks like he needs another red candle. Or a dozen. _I think I need sleep_ , he regretfully decides, rubbing at his eyes while he tries to sort things into piles of Burnt Beyond Use and Maybe Useable.

Good news: he figured out a shortcut for casting. Bad news: sneezing while fire runes are drawn onto your skin and you’re surrounded by candles is a _bad_ idea. Kenma sighs again and goes to the bathroom to wash the magic marker off of his forearm. He couldn’t cast anything else while it was active, which was part of his problem, he realizes in hindsight. Convenient to use the same spell over and over without casting, but nearly impossible to switch without scrubbing it off.

He looks like a raccoon when he looks in the mirror, with ash smudged everywhere and dark circles from sleep deprivation. Kenma tries to remember the last time he’s eaten more than an apple. … _I already have to go out for more supplies,_ he reasons, and figures it won’t hurt to get more food. Or any food. He’s a little shaky on his feet when he stands up again too quickly, and maybe he shouldn’t get so into this project when he doesn’t have anyone around to make sure he doesn’t forget how to take care of himself. _But I’m so close._ So close to a breakthrough. If he can just figure out how high he can heat the blood before it boils, then he’s practically done with that portion. Then all he needs is to figure out how much blood he needs for a full summoning, some way to test to see his confinement circle will work, a place for it, and a goat.

Kenma rubs at his chest absently. It’s been hurting again, and it’s worse today. Kuro should be back soon, if Kenma’s estimates are correct, and Kenma isn’t sure how he feels about that. He wouldn’t mind the pain in his chest gone, and the logical part of him points out that he would benefit from another person around. But his tiny-but-loud emotional side is having none of that.

But first, a supply run.

Kenma runs some water over his head so his hair doesn’t look so greasy, then ties it back with a sprig of dried amaranth. He pulls a shirt on, tries to find a pair of actually clean pants, and puts on actual shoes. …Acting like a normal human being again already puts him in a slightly better mindset, and he pulls on his winter coat and hat before grabbing the broom.

He opens the window and is smacked in the face with _heat_. A wave of heat. Kenma blinks, the exposed skin on his face and hands feeling uncomfortably warm and tight, and then slowly pulls off his hat.

 _An angry weather spirit? Some sort of large-scale weather spell?_ Okay, so he hasn’t been as diligent as he’d been in the past with keeping an eye on what others were doing in the city. And he’s been distracted in general with his own magic. But a massive change in the weather isn’t something that happens lightly. Kenma exchanges his coat for a hoodie and peels off his gloves. _Is it located here or is it spillover from somewhere else?_

…Well, he needs his own stuff either way. Kenma debates casting his ignore-me spell before he leaves this time, just to be sure, and wonders if he should prepare any other magic just in case.

 _Of what?_ he scoffs at himself. He’s acting paranoid, and surely it’s the angel blood messing with him again. It probably has some sort of fumes, and being outside for a bit, even if it’s weirdly warm, will be good for him. Fresh air, something to eat, and maybe he can check out the game store after he gets his candles. He casts his spell on himself, mounts the broom, and steps out the window.

 

\--

 

The first thing Suga notices is the way Iwaizumi has a protective arm around Tooru’s shoulders. The second thing is the blatant curiosity in Tooru’s brown eyes. No recognition. He wasn’t kidding, then. Suga sighs as he sinks into the armchair, and horribly, all he thinks is _It’s gonna be hell to convince him to let me use the tub now_. He runs a hand over his face and tries to avoid the _I told you so_ he so badly wants to use.

“Don’t say it,” Iwaizumi warns, then a beat after, adds, “I’ve already said it.”

“As long as someone did,” Suga mumbles into his fingers. “So, Oikawa…”

“Nope, nothing,” Tooru replies. His eyes flick up to his hair, then back down to his face. “…Maybe your hair? It’s a, um, striking color.”

“You used to call me an old man for it,” Suga says with a grin.

Tooru visibly relaxes. “Oh thank god, because if you were some sort of polite, non-teasing friend I was going to have to question my entire life. Do you know how grumpy this guy is?” he asks with a point at Iwaizumi (who scowls back at him). Suga nods, not quite in agreement, but to indulge him. “I’m not blackmailing you, either, am I?”

“You just pay me exorbitant amounts of money,” Suga replies cheerily. “I generally just do quiet odd jobs for you, but lately, you and I have been in a mess of tengu politics and trying to keep Iwaizumi’s, ah, previous employer from ruining things.”

“Already went over that,” Iwaizumi grumbles. The tips of his ears are pink, how cute.

“Did it jog his memory at all?”

“He remembers staying the night on Halloween at that healer’s, and _apparently_ , you two were trying to figure out my tattoos?” he asks with an arched eyebrow, and Suga innocently averts his eyes.

“You broke into his home. We didn’t know what you were, precisely. Speaking of, since I’m not sure Oikawa’s told you, but the tengu will be giving us back your other pelt soon. They’re still mad at him, but I’m tengu friend on a technicality.”

“Snotty birds,” Tooru mutters.

“So you remember _them_ but not me?” Suga asks, honestly a little offended by that. Not that it’s Tooru’s fault exactly, but _why_.

“I’d rather he forgot both of us entirely if it meant I didn’t have to read anything to him,” Iwaizumi flatly tells him, and Suga’s mouth drops open.

“I thought that was a _joke_! You honestly forgot how to read?!” _Wait, and he’s starting to remember Iwaizumi too?_ He’s known this man for how many years and he remembers the not-selkie with the nice arms first, how rude.

“Look, I’m just glad I’m still psychic, okay?” Tooru huffs and folds his arms sulkily over his chest. He looks a bit like a child with an impending tantrum, and Suga can’t fully blame him, given how stressful this situation must be for him.

“That was a little spotty at first, too,” Iwaizumi admits and Tooru smacks him. “Oi, stop being an asshole. We’re trying to help you.”

“You’re both just aggravated and annoyed with me,” he points out.

“Okay, I have to get mine in—I _told_ you not to go to the Dreamlands! I told you, and I _told_ you, and what did you _think_ would happen to a psychic in the Dreamlands?! God, you're lucky just to be alive!”

“At least I didn’t get beheaded,” Tooru replies thinly.

Suga turns a disappointed look on Iwaizumi. “It’s not like I remember it, either, but I couldn’t not tell him what I did see there. You’re going to have to fill us both in on the details there.”

“I was _dead_ , I don’t know! I only know what Daichi and Noya told me.”

Iwaizumi sighs and Tooru’s expression droops. “Alright, well, we’ve figured out that just seeing you didn’t bring back all of his memories of you. But he can regain some memories, too, so we’ll just have to keep trying. Before you two launch into your shared life story, I think we need to tell you a bit more about the thing I scared out of him.”

“What was possessing him? I thought it was just some nasty spirit from the Dreamlands,” Suga says with a confused frown. Tooru shakes his head with a dark look. “What did it look like?”

“Humanoid, but like it was made of pure light. It had a face, though, dark eyes and a dark mouth. Reeked of black magic but I didn’t see it actually use anything.”

“Was it solid?”

“I think so, but I didn’t touch it, so I’m not certain.”

Suga taps his chin, trying to think. Something capable of possession, potentially tangible on its own, and _black_ magic? “What else did it say? How did it act?”

“It was aware it was stealing someone else’s body, and it said it was hungry. Pretty sure it ate the memories of his since it didn’t seem to burn through all of them at random. I mean, it took _all_ of you, Spanish, and his reading comprehension, and normally possession burn is a little more random, right?” Iwaizumi asks, and Suga nods, a little surprised that he’s so knowledgeable about it. Then again, with how often he and Tooru have been subjected to possession lately…

So something that has enough self-awareness to be picky about what it eats, and it’s _hungry. It’s not a baku, but what else eats parts of spirits like that?_ Eating spirits isn’t a rare trait, but Suga isn’t sure if following the memory trail is the best idea. It could just be a combination of the possession and some psychic collateral damage from whatever fighting they did in the Dreamlands. “You sure it smelled like black magic?”

“Something pretty damn close. I think I’m familiar enough with it to pick it out from normal magic,” Iwaizumi points out. “It wasn’t necromancy or any kind of curse, though.”

“It felt like a demon,” Tooru mutters.

And it clicks in Suga’s mind.

He really wishes it hadn’t.

“You said this came from the Dreamlands, right?” he asks weakly, and Iwaizumi cocks an eyebrow at him but nods. “You’re _absolutely sure_ this is a native of the Dreamlands?”

“It came from there. Must’ve found him and rode his body on out with the rest of the crew you sent in after me. Why?”

“What I think it is—those don’t come from or live in the Dreamlands. I’m not an expert on the place, but I’m pretty sure _anything_ from there, barring more deities, would be a better alternative, and I’m saying that as someone who was haunted by a nightgaunt for three years.”

“Why did you have a nightgaunt?” Iwaizumi asks with narrowed eyes. “You’ve been there _before_?”

“Nevermind that—what do you think it is that you’re so jittery about?” Tooru interrupts, almost eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

“It sounds like an angel,” Suga confesses. It explains the weather, and it explains almost everything about Tooru’s memory loss, but he has no idea how an angel would have gotten into the Dreamlands. Had Ptar-Axtlan opened a portal to another realm and ended up with one? Had someone else tried to banish one and messed up? _How can you fuck up so tremendously_ , Suga sourly wonders. Not that he’s one to talk.

 

\--

 

“Are you _stealing_?”

Kenma jumps badly at the loud, sudden cry. The magic covering him fails, and he’s momentarily frozen, arms full of goods he’d walked out of the store with. No alarms go off and no angry owner comes out to berate him.

“You idiot, you just broke his spell!” comes a second voice, and with the additional noise, Kenma pinpoints it as behind him and to the left. He finds a pair of boys on the fire escape, half a story above him, although the orange-haired one hops off before Kenma or the darker-haired of the two can say anything.

 _Shouyou_ , Kenma realizes, still off guard. The tengu is wearing a glamor; human legs are beneath the sundress he’s wearing, and there are no feathers on his bare arms, although he still moves with excited bird-like movements. He bounds over to Kenma, up on the tips of his toes, in his space but careful not to touch him. Kenma shies away on reflex.

“You put magic on yourself to hide and then you took a bunch of stuff—that’s stealing, even for humans!” Shouyou exclaims.

Kenma looks away. “Oh. Um. But I needed these…”

“Don’t be rude,” the other of his stalkers growls and smacks Shouyou upside the head as he nears them. Kenma freezes again; he’s never seen someone hit a tengu without severe repercussions before. But Shouyou just jabs him in the stomach and keeps his eyes on Kenma, unperturbed.

 _There’s a power imbalance_ , Kenma notes, _or at least Shouyou thinks so. Is he indebted to him? Working for him?_ Belatedly, Kenma recognizes the other one, too, as one of the witches who attacked Kiyoko’s group on the day of the dragon migration. The younger one, the one who ran away. Though tall, he has a rounder face, making him seem even younger, and put next to the tiny Shouyou, they barely look like they’re out of high school. _Young and naive? How much does he—_

A crow flaps over and lands on the witch’s shoulder. Kenma immediately recognizes it as a familiar. “Was that what spotted me first? Or did you see through my spell?” he asks Shouyou.

“Nah, Kasa found you first, and then she told me about it.”

So he may have fixed it enough to guard against nonhumans, but now he has to try to cover for animals. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate.

“We didn’t mean to break your spell,” the witch says solemnly, and his crow, Kasa, bobs her head in agreement. “And I don’t care what you’re doing.”

“Stealing is wrong!” Shouyou angrily pipes up.

“Dumbass, you stole my lunch just today!”

“My _hired help_ doesn’t seem to realize how much food tengu need,” Shouyou says with his nose in the air.

 _…Weird dynamic_ , Kenma thinks. “Why did you hire a witch…?”

“Remember that egg I told you about? He’s gonna help me find it! Though he’s doing a shit job of it so far—”

“I _told_ you, Ushijima is better at this than me and he already—”

“You should’ve taken it when you had the chance—”

“That would be _stealing_ —”

Kenma backs away from their bickering, both intimidated by the growing volume and not wanting to be caught with them. Shouyou’s glamor looks unstable, although he’s smart enough to at least have hidden the charm for it, and Kenma doesn’t want to be near the other witch at all.

“Wait,” the black-haired witch says suddenly, noticing Kenma edging away. “We need your help. He said you could be trusted.”

 _Does he not remember me?_ “Um, with what? You can perform magic, too…”

“He only messed it up!” Shouyou exclaims and the other witch’s face pinches in. Shouyou reaches into his dress and pulls out the little wooden glamor attached to a chain around his neck. It hasn’t been refined at all, and Kenma feels his own nose scrunch at the low level of magic. Normally glamors are applied to jewelry or clothing, but this clearly wasn’t done by anyone who was familiar with the human realm. And it wasn’t meant for long-term use, either; the tiny spiderweb of cracks branching out from the darkened gem in the middle tell him that much.

“You should replace it,” Kenma advises and shifts his bag to his other arm. He can’t resist leaning in a little to examine it. It doesn’t look like witch work.

“It can’t be fixed?” Shouyou asks nervously.

“It wouldn’t be worth the effort.” He’s privately surprised the other witch tried. “You should just get another—”

“Can you make me one?”

“I’ve never tried making a glamor,” Kenma admits. He probably could, but he has so much other work to do right now. The angel summoning is almost done, but he still has to test it with Kuro, and—

“We need to be able to move freely,” the other witch tells him, and Shouyou nods. “He’s avoiding other tengu, and we’re both trying to stop my old employer from summoning a Great Old One. We’re trying to prevent an apocalypse.”

He likely means it as a way of convincing Kenma their cause is noble, but Kenma just ends up cocking his head to one side to regard him. _Prevent it?_ You can’t just prevent an apocalypse, and certainly not with a young witch and an even younger tengu. They’re wasting their time.

“Even if you could just teach me how to make and maintain a glamor, it’d help a lot.”

“…I thought you wanted your family’s egg back,” Kenma says, addressing Shouyou.

“I did! I still _do_. But once I got Kageyama talking about all the shit he’d helped with, I figured I had to _do_ something!” he replies, chest puffed out.

“You can’t just stop an apocalypse.”

“But we can?” Kageyama—it’s nice to have a name to the scary face—replies with his own head tilted, confusion written across his expression. “I know how we were going to start it. It’s just a matter of _not_ doing that, right?”

Kenma looks away from them both and tightens his hold on his bag, hefting it defensively in front of himself. _They’re idiots. They can’t just_ do _this, and they’re going to get themselves killed_. Shouyou’s words still ring in his head, though. _He had to_ do _something…_ He’d probably get along well with Lev. “I can… probably make you a new glamor.” This counts as doing something, right? Kenma shifts uncomfortably, guilt sitting heavily in his stomach. He hasn’t felt this badly since his fight with Lev.

“Thank you!” Shouyou squeals and seizes him in a tight hug. Kenma hopes he didn’t just break the candles. The tengu shifts and _lifts_ him, twirling him awkwardly, and Kenma quickly wiggles until he’s set back down.

“Um, but in return, Shouyou,” he says, stepping away to preserve some distance between them, and Shouyou nods, “I want to know exactly what you’re trying to do.”

“Sure!”

“Why can _he_ call you by a human name? I thought you said you haven’t been in the human realm long. Should we really be going to a tengu friend if you’re trying to avoid your clan?” Kageyama asks archly, and Kenma blinks at the way Shouyou goes crimson.

 _He didn’t mean to give me his name_ , Kenma realizes with faint amusement as Shouyou stumbles his way through a half-lie explanation of Kenma being _his_ specific tengu friend. Kenma won’t ruin it, and just nods along with whatever he says, because if nothing else, he’s just allied himself with a tiny part of a tengu clan, and that has its advantages.

Kenma isn’t an expert but he can spot half a dozen holes in Shouyou’s explanation. But Kageyama seems to take it at face value.

 _These two are so confident about stopping the apocalypse…_ It must be nice to have so much faith in such a simple plan.

 

\--

 

Greed isn’t a concept that Tendou understands. Especially not in a human context.

He’s perfectly content selling information in return for gold coins and food. Any half-sane wealth spirit would do the same. And the human he’s making a deal with? Same boat—what’s wrong with wanting _more_?

“So, why’re you trying to hunt down spirits, anyway?” the matagot asks, twining his way beneath Wakatoshi’s chin, curling his tail up around his jaw. “Humans can’t eat them, although I’d love to watch one try.”

“My employer needs two of them for a spell of their own.”

“Tch, you humans and your magic.”

“I doubt my employer is human,” Wakatoshi admits frankly. He picks the fox up by the scruff of the neck and tosses him into the air in front of him. “And stop that.”

Tendou somersaults in the air with a huff. “So you’re working for some mystery being and you don’t know _why_?”

“The pay is good.”

Oh, Tendou likes him. Human morals can get _weird_ at times, especially since they all scramble to deny that they simply _want_. More food, more money, more power, it’s more or less the same to him. “So, my two-for-one deal requires seventy-four pieces of gold and the first bite from each of your meals for as long as you live in this city. Can your boss handle that expense?”

“I’ll handle it,” Wakatoshi replies. “But why can’t I just give you food up front?”

Tendou sighs heavily. “It’s not about the food, it’s about it being _your_ food. Work with me here. Where else are you going to find a higher spirit that’s so easy to catch, _plus_ a wayward little human ghost?”

“There’s a higher spirit right in front of me.”

He scoffs and lashes his tail. “I’d be halfway to _le marais poitevin_ before you could catch me.”

The witch holds up the plucked chicken. “I already got you here once.”

“If you’re so keen on keeping all that money you’re getting from your boss, I wouldn’t try it,” the matagot hisses. “So, human ghost and a luck spirit. Yay or nay?”

“Yes, I’ll buy your information. Do I still have to give you the chicken?”

“ _Yes_.” God, had he never dealt with a spirit before in his life? Tendou snatches the chicken before he can do something stupid with it and curls around it, snuffling at its neck. “There’s a human spirit that’s running an experiment, and I’m actually not sure if it’ll satisfy your lower spirit requirement. _But_ he has a luck spirit babysitting him, and I’d bet money that if you catch him, the other spirit will come running. And just a young human spirit is a lot easier to trap than one of those _and_ a higher spirit, right?”

Wakatoshi nods with his usual stern expression. Would it kill him to act a _little_ grateful? Anyone else would be frothing at the mouth with excitement over this deal, and Tendou’s stuck with the boring one. At least he’s smart.

“I can tell you where he normally haunts once you give me the gold. And when I say first bite of every meal, I mean _every_ meal. If you skip, I’ll eat your bank account.”

He turns back into a human shape to shake hands, chicken held in his teeth. Tendou smiles around it and Wakatoshi doesn’t bat an eye.

 

\--

 

Daichi isn’t sure why Suga wanted him here until he finishes his _long_ explanation with, “And so that’s why I’d like you to make a summoning spell for this.” He points to the cloth-wrapped sword on her table.

Kiyoko, whom he has _just met_ , stares at them both with her glasses halfway down her nose. It takes her a long moment to push them back up. “Oikawa… _did all that…_ ” she says faintly, sounding like she can’t believe it. Daichi can’t blame her. He’d only known about half of that stuff, and hearing it _all_ makes his head spin.

“And he can’t remember either of us right now, so that’s why I’m here explaining this to you instead,” Suga confirms.

“Psychics sound like they need a lot of babysitting,” the tan cat on the far counter says, pausing in his bath, and Daichi jumps at the sound of his voice.

“I notice you came back the other night missing another collar,” Kiyoko replies, and the cat pins his ears flat, looking sheepish. She adjusts her glasses again and looks at the covered sword. “I can do this for you, yes. But Suga…” She looks up at him with a pointed look, and Suga looks appropriately shame-faced, and Daichi wonders if being her type of psychic actually entails some sort of telepathy.

 _Or were they…?_ They seem close, and Suga has mentioned her name before. Daichi shakes his head to clear the thought. He doesn’t even know what he and Suga are right now, and honestly, wondering about his romantic history should really take a backseat to wondering about his _magical_ history. Because Daichi is certain he’s gotten a very truncated version and it’s still full of shit he can’t believe.

“I’ve got this under control,” Suga says to the unspoken remark.

Daichi and Kiyoko give him matching looks of _really_. “You just told me you died,” Kiyoko adds.

“And you and I both know that we should move on from that subject and instead discuss—”

“Yaku gave Tadashi his other collar to try to track Tsukishima. You should help him with that, Suga, so he doesn’t get too lost—or in case their reunion doesn’t work out amicably.”

“They’ll be fine,” the cat says loudly.

“Not that I’m opposed, but aren’t there more pressing issues?” Suga asks with a nervous glance toward Daichi.

“Life goes on even in spite of… everything else. He hired you, Suga, and this is the first solid lead you two have gotten since you found out he had finder’s magic. I can handle everything else for the time being,” Kiyoko replies calmly. She reaches out and touches the cloth on the sword with a hum. Looking up at Daichi, she asks, “I can put this into a couple different items, so it depends on what you’d prefer?”

“I’m not sure what it _can_ be put into, but I’m sorry, did you say Tadashi?” He knows a Tadashi. He knows a Tadashi who came into work yesterday with a leather collar wrapped around his wrist. Daichi hadn’t said anything, thinking it some sort of weird fashion, but the small chimes every time he moved had grated on his nerves by the time he was done with his shift.

Kiyoko delicately arches an eyebrow. Suga suddenly finds a jar of something blue and chunky very interesting and studies it with the most obvious forced air of thoughtfulness Daichi has ever seen. “He is one of our clients,” Kiyoko says after a pause in which Suga makes it clear he’s not answering. “I can’t tell you much more than that.”

“Suga,” Daichi starts, and Suga shakes his head. “Suga, are you really telling me one of my coworkers—”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiyoko breaks back in. She taps the sword again until Daichi turns back to her (though he’s not happy about it). “I can put a charm on some sort of jewelry, like a bracelet or a watch, or I can attach it to something like Suga’s bag.”

Daichi grumbles but let the matter drop. “This is supposed to be for self-defense, right?”

“Yes, so perhaps something you’d have on or with you frequently.”

He doesn’t carry much with him, and he thinks it’s a bad idea to enchant his keys or phone. He’s also not sure about a _sword_ being his first line of self-defense when he can, you know, _fight_ , but he supposes something that can cut magic shit would be a good idea to have. “I’ll see if I can’t dig something up to use.”

“Most of the weight will be preserved, so keep that in mind while choosing. But it won’t damage the item itself,” she tells him, and he nods. She turns a significantly cooler gaze on Suga. “Let’s revisit the topic of Oikawa’s possession, if you’d please.”

“It sounds like an angel,” Suga repeats. The only time Kiyoko had interrupted his explanation of Oikawa Problems had been to question that particular tidbit, and Daichi wonders what the big deal is. “Tell me what else is human-shaped, glows white, is tangible, affects weather—”

“ _Can_ they be summoned in other realms? There has never been any successful summoning of a demon or an angel in any realms we know of. Not even a demon, Suga,” Kiyoko says, and she sounds like she’s pleading.

Daichi crosses his arms and leans against the counter. He’ll just stay quiet on this one, too, and see what he can pick up. And _then_ prod at Suga until he fills in the blanks later.

“I don’t know how it got there, either. Who knows what Ptar-Axtlan had been getting up to without Iwaizumi around.”

“But this angel-possessed Oikawa killed it.”

“Sounds like it. The infection is gone, at any rate, so dead god or one _hell_ of a banishment. He was speaking that language before he killed it, but Noya said it didn’t sound like casting.”

Kiyoko sighs, and says again, “But an angel. Outside of its home realm or this one. It has never happened.”

“If it starts raining blood or brimstone, then I’m just going to say I told you so. But trust me, I don’t want it to be an angel anymore than you do. Tell Tanaka to keep an eye out for it, though, and I’ll dig through my research and see if I can’t find anything similar. For all we know, it could be something even worse from the Dreamlands,” Suga admits with a humorless smile.

“Raw luck can’t prevent you from jinxing yourself with things like that,” the cat calls over. “And you’re still trying to fix yours.”

“Oh come on, it _has_ to be close to zero by now—”

“I’ll ask Ryuunosuke and Saeko to keep an eye out, but with so much going on lately…” Kiyoko trails off meaningfully. “How are Yuu and Asahi doing?”

“I’m.” Suga’s shoulders hunch. “Working on it.”

“See, you have enough to work on right now, so I’ll handle this angel business. I want you with Yuu and Asahi and Tadashi’s job. And don’t let Saeko or Ryuu bully you into helping with their jobs again, you shouldn’t have had to play decoy for them,” Kiyoko says with the faintest hint of disapproval in her tone.

“I got paid in uniform pictures.”

It takes a beat for Daichi to realize that they must be of _him_ , and he lets out an undignified snort. Kiyoko sighs again.

He waits until Suga wraps up his defensive explanations and cryptic _looks_ with Kiyoko and they’re leaving the shop before he innocently remarks, “So, pictures, huh?”

“I refuse to be embarrassed,” Suga replies. (His cheeks are a little pink.) “And you saw me in a skirt, so this is just the universe balancing itself back out. Karma via clothing.”

Daichi grins. For all of his teasing of others, Suga’s far from immune to it himself. Good. “Uniforms. Not what I would’ve pegged you for, but I suppose it works in my favor, doesn’t it?” Suga tilts his head enough to give him a suspicious look, and with great pleasure Daichi explains, “I still have some. Well, just ABUs with the rank is stripped off, but, you know.” There’s a definite blush on Suga’s face now, and he feels like he’s won some award. Daichi can’t help but laugh.

Suga gets his revenge but slipping his hand into the back pocket on Daichi’s jeans and giving him a firm squeeze. Daichi tries not to smile as he takes Suga’s hand out of his pocket; Suga (again) retaliates by lacing their fingers together. He can’t really win. (And Daichi doesn’t want to let go anyway, even if how cool Suga’s skin is worries him.)

 

\--

 

“So,” Ryuunosuke begins as Daichi sips at his beer, “how’s it going?”

“With what exactly?” he asks warily, because Ryuu being circumspect is a cause for concern.

“The magic stuff,” he replies. He gestures with his hand, nearly spilling his drink, and then sets it down when he twists to put his elbow on the bar. He _stares_ at Daichi, serious and intense, something Daichi wasn’t expecting when this evening began.

He has to look away. “I think I’m doing okay. _You’re_ worrying over me now, too?”

“It’s not every day that someone’s first job is in another realm and ends up killing a _god_.”

 _And Suga_ , Daichi thinks and takes another sip. “Job? I _have_ a job. I don’t want to do this for a living. Like, apparently, _you_.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, we hadn’t talked for years before Noya found you in that bookstore. And we’re not supposed to spread this shit around, right?”

“Alright, alright, I’m not blaming you for any of it. Just curious why you invited me out to talk about it.” Ryuu is very much a Go With The Flow type of person, and that was fine, but it was startling when he did stuff like this. And while he can be nosy, Daichi had been expecting this night to be gossiping about Suga and listening to Ryuu brag about his past jobs.

“First off, I wanna know if you want that jackalope back,” Ryuu says, surprising Daichi once again.

“That… rabbit? Thing?”

Ryuu scrubs a hand over his face to hide his grin. “Yeah, the rabbit _thing_ you won playing cards. Suga nearly had a stroke when you got it, but hey, you can take the goddamn thing back now. All it does is chew on everything and glare at me.”

“Why didn’t you give it to someone else?”

“Sae has dogs, Suga has a cat, and Yuu would probably lose it in his mess of an apartment.”

“Why didn’t you eat it or something?” Daichi asks.

Ryuu gives him a flat look. “Yeah, because I want to spend my free time trying to skin a jackalope over my kitchen sink. Plus it’s _cute_ , dude!” He reaches up to mimic rabbit ears on his head with his fingers. Daichi grins against his drink. “Its ears do this little twitching thing, and whenever I make cracks about turning it into gloves or something it looks so _sad_! I can’t do tiny, fluffy things.”

“Fine, I’ll take it back, and then when I completely flounder while taking care of a magical creature—”

“You have Suga, he won’t let you neglect it too bad,” Ryuu cuts in dismissively. Daichi waits a beat, waiting for the other shoe to drop—Suga’s been brought up again, so _surely_ he wants to gossip— “Speaking of,” Ryuu continues with a faked air of nonchalance, “how’re you doing with the magic stuff on the whole?”

“Back to this?” Daichi asks before he can stop himself.

“Look, getting dragged into this stuff can be rough. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Sounds like personal experience.”

“Well, yeah,” Ryuunosuke replies with a shrug. Daichi raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know about any of this shit until Sae accidentally dragged me in. And let me tell you, I would’ve preferred the unicorns as a starter. She came home with a werewolf. A _werewolf_ , in full giant wolf monster form, and _I_ ended up having to fuckin’ kill it! We didn’t speak for a month.”

“Why?” Daichi asks in confusion.

“Well, she kept it a secret from me for most of our lives, and I was pissed about that. She also wanted to try to wipe my memory with magic after the incident, which was not fuckin’ cool. Basically, it was a whole bunch of ‘let us make decisions for you about what’s best for you’ when I was a grown-ass man, right?” Ryuu’s shoulders slump, and he doesn’t look at Daichi, instead batting his drink back and forth on the bar. Daichi hunches forward beside him and finishes his beer. “Don’t let them baby you, but don’t let it overwhelm you. You can’t help that you’ll be playing catch up.”

“I’ll survive, and like I said, I’m not aiming to make a career out of this,” Daichi says, just a touch defensive, to hide his own uneasiness. “I’m just not going to tag along on any more of your guys’ jobs and I’ll stay afloat in all this weirdness.”

Ryuu gives him a look out of the corner of his eye. Daichi meets it with a frown. Ryuu pushes back from the bar with a groan and gestures for more drinks, then stretches his arms up over his head with more feigned casualness. “You don’t get to pick and choose what shit you end up with, Daichi. Look at Noya and Asahi. Look at your new boyfriend.”

“We’re not. Yet.”

“Give it a week. … _Officially_ I don’t know anything about this, but you know that he has his own bundle of magical issues, right? He’s all spiritually connected and shit.”

Daichi tries not to smile at the protective note in the other’s voice. “He’s told me, and I think I can handle that.”

“You say that, but wait until he brings home a werewolf.”

“Isn’t that _your_ job?”

“Suga _says_ he’s a noncombatant, but have you seen the _messes_ he gets into?” Ryuu snorts. Their drinks arrive and Daichi wrinkles his nose at the straight tequila. He should have suspected as much. Can’t they at least mix it with something? Ryuu takes his shot without batting an eye, then tells him, “Ask him about the manticore sometime.”

“Manticores are the lion-scorpion things, right?”

“Yes, and god fucking help you if you ever get within sight of one. I want you and Suga to be happy, but be careful about all of this magic shit. Kiyoko and Suga get in over their heads _all the time_ , and don’t even get me started on the absolute shitstorm Oikawa started. Me an’ Sae clean up their messes, but you can’t just sidestep this stuff once you’re in. If you want out, that’s fine, but you can’t go halfsies when you want to bang an exorcist.”

“If you are all having this much trouble with your jobs, why am _I_ the one with the magic-killing sword?” Daichi asks and sets his chin in his hand. He stares down at the tequila shot.

“You’re the only one who can touch it without burning, and dude. _Vorpal sword_. Do you know how fucking cool that is?!”

“Because I know how to use a sword,” Daichi complains. Give him a gun and he can figure things out. He’s seen Ryuunosuke’s crossbow, too, and feels he’d be better with that than a _sword_.

Ryuu makes a chopping motion with his hand. “Can’t be that difficult. Most things will freak out or die if you stick it in ‘em. Oh, but if you want a handgun, make sure you spring for silver bullets. It’ll put a dent in most things—”

“I don’t want to kill things for a living, and I’m supposed to be lucky, yeah? Maybe I _will_ sidestep all of this trouble that the rest of you find yourselves in,” Daichi interrupts. He picks up the glass and downs it, staunchly ignoring Ryuu’s grin when he cringes at the burn in his throat. “And if you’re done mother henning, Tanaka, _I’d_ like to pick the next subject.”

“Shoot.”

Daichi misses the way he signals for another drink; he buries his face in his hands with a heavy sigh. “I’m going to take your advice to heart, but goddamn, I’m trying to date an exorcist. Advise me on that instead of being uncharacteristically serious.”

Ryuu laughs loudly and claps him on the back. Two more shots slide across the bar to them, and Daichi glares at the tequila. It’s not even _good_ tequila.

“We’re never coming back to this bar. Go get me a salt shaker if you want me to keep drinking this shit with you.”

“ _Sim, sim, volte a falar sobre seus problemas amorosos, cara_ ,” Ryuu snickers.[1]

 

\--

 

Suga doesn’t really like hospitals, but it’s been so long since he’s been to one that the feeling is dulled. From the look on Tadashi’s face, he can see that he does not have that benefit. “You’re sure it’s pointing in this direction?” Suga asks gently, and Tadashi nods with a tight, nervous expression. He has white knuckles from how hard he’s gripping the collar wrapped around his hand.

Since it isn’t technically Tsukishima’s, it means it only works when he’s within a certain radius. They can’t afford to ignore it, especially since they’re both here now. (Tadashi has confessed to running around town trying to follow it on his own.) But it’s far after visiting hours, since they went ghost hunting after Tadashi’s shift, which means they get to break into said hospital.

It’s like high school all over again.

“Well, at least it’s a lead,” Suga murmurs, shifting his messenger bag against his hip. They’re prepared this time. Suga has gone over a list of things he has with him with Tadashi, just in case he tries this alone again, and Suga’s back to teaching him basic spells, too. Very basic, very Not Dangerous spells, but it keeps the teen happy for now. It’s slightly an apology for outing him to Daichi. It’s mostly because he’s an eager student.

“We’re actually going to break in?” Tadashi asks with a quick peek over at Suga, double-checking with him.

“It’s not like we’re going to steal.” They find a side door and Suga puts his ear against it while he tries to unlock it. It’s actually Tadashi who figures out the last lock, and Suga can’t help but smile at how quick he’s been to pick this up. _Yes, he’s picking up breaking and entering quite well_. That wipes the smile off his face. Even if it brings back (pleasant) memories of the trouble he and Yui got into.

They creep into the half-lit hospital. It’s not terribly late yet, but they’re in a part of the building that’s well away from the ER and busier places, so it’s quiet and empty. It’s not the city’s largest hospital, but it’s not its smallest, either. Suga shows Tadashi a silencing charm to muffle their footsteps, and he stubbornly practices the wards on his hands when he doesn’t get it right away.

Well, it seems to be half stubbornness, half distraction. Tadashi is still acting too wound-up, tense, even for the breaking and entering. They duck into an empty room when someone walks down an adjacent hallway, and in the darkness, Suga whispers, “Are you alright? You’re acting pretty jittery.”

Tadashi jumps at the sound of his voice and knocks against a chair. It clatters noisily, and he curses, and they both dive for the bathroom in the room when the footsteps turn in their direction. It’s only after Suga locks the door that he realizes he’s put his hand over Tadashi’s mouth on reflex. He releases him with a quiet apology.

“…You really don’t like hospitals, do you?” he asks gently.

Tadashi shakes his head, only the tiniest bit visible from the faint light from the crack beneath the door. “I think, um, Tsukki might’ve died here. The c-cancer wing is upstairs, and…”

And his mother, Suga surmises. He puts his hand on Tadashi’s shoulder and gives it a comforting squeeze. It’s a good lead to follow Tsukishima, and it makes sense for him to be here, but he knows this must be rough.

Before he can say anything, the light in the room outside clicks on. The footsteps draw nearer and both of them hold their breath. Suga quietly slips his hand into his bag.

The doorknob jiggles, and a questioning sound is heard from outside. Suga grabs a packet of sleep soot as the magic lock clicks open and blows it into the face of the poor nurse who discovered them. The woman’s eyelids flutter, and she stumbles forward. Suga catches her before she falls.

“Okay, so I guess you’re not a shining beacon of luck anymore,” Suga grunts as he stoops to pick her up.

“No, not really. I think I used it all up,” Tadashi admits, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as Suga sets the woman on the empty bed. “She won’t remember us, will she?”

“Probably not, but let’s hurry. Upstairs, you said?”

They sneak over to the nearest stairwell, not wanting to risk the elevators, and narrowly avoid an exhausted-looking doctor jogging down the hallway when they reach the second floor. It’s still quiet and eerily empty, but there are more signs of people here: the distant beeping of machines, occasional footsteps, more occupied rooms. If they had luck on their side, Suga would give thought to trying to borrow some labcoats just for a little more cover. He feels incredibly exposed.

His nerves aren’t doing Tadashi any favors, however, and he knows this. Suga takes a deep breath and means to ask him if the finder’s magic is getting any more specific, but instead, he chokes on his breath and shoves his arm against his sleeve to stifle his coughing. Tadashi looks to him in a panic. Whatever he had just smelled, it is _foul_.

“There’s… something else here,” Suga rasps. It smells like death in this corner of the hospital, and not the normal, lingering type that tends to be in them. It’s not a human ghost, and it’s definitely not Tsukishima. Holding his sleeve over his nose, Suga tentatively leads the way down another hallway; Tadashi glances back down the other way with an almost inaudible sad sound. “After this, I promise.”

“I know. There shouldn’t be anything else here, right?” Tadashi asks, voice firmer than Suga expects. There’s an undercurrent of _we can’t let these people be in danger_ that makes his heart swell with pride.

They tiptoe down the hall until they find the second-to-last door. Suga peers through the window, but the blinds are almost completely shut. The door isn’t locked, and there’s no light on inside, so with a nod, they push it open.

The room doesn’t have a human occupant to disturb, and it’s not some hideous higher spirit that could kill them on sight, which are the only bits of good news in the situation. Suga shifts to stand in front of Tadashi as he closes the door. It’s a preta inside, curled up in the chair beside the bed, long, bony fingers covering its face. Its distended stomach heaves with tiny little sobs.

“Wh-What is _that_?” Tadashi squeaks.

“A hunger spirit,” Suga responds, nose still wrinkled at the smell of death. “It looks like it’s here to feed on someone who just died. Do you have any food on you?”

“Food?” Tadashi parrots back, confused. Suga digs around in his bag. He usually makes a point of _not_ having food on him to not attract hungry ghosts. But they’re going to need an offering to peaceably banish it.

“Literally anything remotely edible.”

“I have some… gum?” There are more rustling noises as Tadashi goes through all of his pockets, and while Suga pats himself down as well, the preta looks up at them with sunken eyes. It opens its mouth a couple times, revealing cracked, yellowed teeth, and its tongue lolls out over its blackened lips.

Suga freezes when he notices its attention on them. Tadashi continues digging through his stuff, oblivious. The preta wasn’t covering its face earlier; it was shoving something into its mouth. All Suga can see now is something faintly blue and goopy dribbling out of the corner of its mouth. The preta opens and closes its mouth mutely a couple of times, not quite chewing but mimicking it, silently asking for _more_.

“Tadashi, give me whatever you have. Right now,” Suga says, putting his open hand behind himself without looking. The preta shifts in the chair, sitting up, mouth hanging open now. Its stomach rumbles loudly. Something presses into his hand and Suga closes his fingers over it.

He ends up holding out a half-eaten Snickers and two sticks of spearmint gum to it.

The preta sniffs the air disdainfully, but gets onto its wobbly legs to approach them. Suga’s glad there are three things to offer it, even if none of them are very large, and with his free hand, starts pushing Tadashi away to circle around it. “Do you remember those confinement wards I taught you? The two—the basic one and the one for spirits.” They don’t have the time or room to try to trap it in a circle, so they’re just going to have to hit it with mostly-raw magic and hope that works. It should work. It’s been a long while since Suga’s run into a hunger spirit.

He tosses it one of the pieces of gum as the preta staggers toward him. It catches it out of the air with surprising speed and chews with plenty of slobber. Suga cringes, both at the sight and because he’d sort of hoped that gum would stall it a little. Tadashi perches himself on the hospital bed to circle around it but he freezes when the preta turns to him.

Suga quickly holds out the Snickers bar. “C’mere, look at all this sugar! Look at this nice offering.” He still has the flower clip Saeko had given him for the afanc, and he pulls it out of his bag to hold out in his other hand. “A flower and food as offerings. We just want to help you, preta.”

It growls low in its throat and Suga quickly shoves the fake flower back into his bag.

“Sorry, only food! Look, chocolate!” He peels the wrapper off and waves it, and the room begins to smell of chocolate instead of preta, thank god.

Tadashi creeps across the bed, wincing at every squeak of the mattress. Suga beckons the preta closer before he tosses the chocolate over, and it eats it in one wet bite. Suga quickly unwraps the last piece of gum and the mint smell is even stronger than the chocolate smell, but the spirit doesn’t seem to care. It whirls around on Tadashi, chocolate dripping off of its chin, and the boy yelps at its attention, arms raised defensively.

The preta’s hollow eyes follow the movement of the leather collar wrapped around his hand.

 _Oh no_ , Suga thinks as he realizes its goal. Tadashi jumps back up onto the bed, bouncing unsteadily, and the preta struggles to get up after him. Suga writes runes on his palm with the melted chocolate still on his fingers. “ _Please_ just accept the offering!” Suga begs. Tadashi leaps off of the bed, landing behind him, and Suga holds out the hand with the three runes scrawled across his palm. “ _Preta, hamārī bhēṇṭa svīkāra!_ ”[2]

The preta doesn’t stop and lunges at them, so Suga is forced to put it down. The magic makes his entire hand tingle and when the banishing spell hits the spirit, it lets out a shriek that comes out as a sad, breathless rattle. It thrashes once, then slumps, gone. Its body begins to dissolve just as the magical exhaustion catches up to Suga and his knees buckle. Arms catch him from behind just as he blacks out.

 

\--

 

“Oh my god,” Tadashi whispers into the now-silent room. The spot where the preta disappeared fizzles faintly, releasing a single wisp of pale smoke, and Sugawara is now dead weight in his arms. “Oh my fucking god,” he repeats, because _what else can he do_. He has no idea how to handle Unconscious Magical Instructor, especially when it comes on the heels of What The Fuck Is That Starved Mummy Thing.

Okay, Suga is getting heavy, and with a grunt of effort, Tadashi flops him onto the hospital bed. He’s still breathing, although he looks a little pale, but hey. He’s breathing. Tadashi has been warned time and time again about the risks of overusing magic, but this is the first time he’s seen it with his own eyes. …It’s a little scary, but no one died, so that’s good.

The collar is still warm against his palm, but it’s fading, and he unthinkingly pushes a little more magic into it. The thought gives him chills when he realizes it; that could happen to him, too. How can you tell when you’re approaching the limit of your magic? Is there a feeling, or do you just pass the fuck out and hope what you were dealing with doesn’t eat you?

…But the finder’s magic within the collar is still warm.

Kei could still be here. (Tadashi knows the chances are slim at best.) But he definitely _was_ here, and fairly recently. He had come back to the place where he died. The thought makes Tadashi’s stomach flip over, and he’s torn between waiting for Suga to wake up and trying to find the ghost himself. The preta is gone, so there’s no more danger here, right?

But Tadashi knows all he’ll find is a specific hospital room. He has no idea if there’s someone new in it or not. Even without the tracking magic, he could find the room where Akiteru hung around by memory.

He has to pass his mother’s old room from this direction.

Tadashi goes into the connected bathroom and cups cold water in his hands. He splashes his own face first, to try to get his mind back on track, though it doesn’t do much more than make him feel chilled. The second scoop is carried messily out to Suga and dumped on his face. Suga twitches, and murmurs something as his eyelids flutter, but he doesn’t wake.

He waits one more agonizing moment, debating, before he leaves Sugawara in there. He makes sure his messenger bag is within arm’s reach and wards the door so nothing else can get in, and hopes neither of them are that unlucky. Tadashi rubs his eyes as he tiptoes back into the hallway. He knows they’re bloodshot, and Suga didn’t say anything, but if he gets caught sneaking around on his own, his tired appearance may make him look like he’s on something.

 _Maybe Suga, but I’m not that unlucky_ , he wryly thinks. Tadashi all but jogs past what had been his mother’s room. He’s unsure if he’s relieved or not that it’s in use by someone else, but it’s a hospital, so _shouldn’t_ he be glad that it’s helping someone else? …He’s mostly relieved that he has an excuse not to wonder if he should go in or not. He’s doing alright so far just being here, but he doesn’t think he could handle that.

There’s glittery gold luck, growing dimmer by the second, around Kei’s old room. The room Tadashi had seen Akiteru visiting. That room, too, is in use, and Tadashi peeks in to see an older woman sleeping peacefully in the bed. There’s no golden dust inside, and no convenient trail leading elsewhere to follow. The collar is already back to normal temperature, sweaty from being clenched in his hand.

Tadashi doesn’t want to wonder if Kei had been here when they were facing the preta. Had they missed him that recently? He certainly doesn’t want to know, because he doesn’t want to think of taking out a monster in a hospital as a bad decision. They’ll just catch up to Kei later, that’s all.

 _What will I even say to him?_ He’s pretty sure trying to stalk him across the city over the past two weeks mostly makes up for Kei haunting him. What _will_ he say to him? Berate him for leaving? Ask him not to do it again? Apologize? All of them have their appeal and Tadashi’s worried he’ll just end up doing something embarrassing or stupid if he doesn’t have some sort of rough game plan.

Embarrassing or stupid like telling him how fucking lonely he’d been without him, or how much magic he’s been trying to shove down his throat so he can make his own opinions instead of taking everyone else’s advice, or running up and wordlessly hugging him. (He’d probably just phase through him, anyway.) It makes Tadashi’s face feel hot just thinking about it. Everything feels wrong about that sort of reunion, anyway—any of the ideas he has feel wrong. It’s not appropriate. No, it’s not _them_.

He trails his fingers through the lingering luck and likes to imagine he can actually feel it. With a resigned sigh, he goes back to see if he can’t get Suga up and moving again before they get caught. Again.

 

\--

 

“I brought you gifts!” Kuro announces, arms indeed full carrying a lumpy paper bag. Kenma raises an eyebrow, expression otherwise closed off. Kuro doesn’t let it deter him, as used as he is to the witch, and plus, he’s just so happy that he isn’t immediately banished again that he can’t help but grin anyway. Kenma sits on the edge of the hotel bed and folds his hands in his lap.

Kuro sets the bag down on the bed next to him; every other remotely flat surface is covered in notes, books, or what can really only be called _mess_. There’s wax and blood and ash all over, and the heavy smell of magic hangs in the room, practically visible to the demon. When’s the last time Kenma even left? He should try to drag him out with him and Bokuto sometime.

To fill the silence, because Kenma hasn’t said _anything_ yet, Kuro starts explaining himself. “I spent the past couple days going around the city, and I spent some time with Bokuto and Akaashi. And guess what? Tengu friend now. Amazing, I know, and I’ve been trying to sweet talk them into letting you into this club, too—”

“I’m already a tengu friend,” Kenma interrupts softly.

Kuro stares at him. “… _What_.”

“Crow clan. I think it was a misunderstanding, but he committed to it because he was too proud to say it was a mistake. We could use this, though…” He trails off, eyes shifting off to the side, thinking. “I’m just not sure how.”

“Tengu are powerful friends to have, but only for proactive people,” Kuro remarks, and Kenma frowns sourly. He quickly continues, “And I don’t know if you _can_ be in more than one’s good graces, but Bokuto’s a great guy and he totally wants to adopt you. So I’m pretty sure the favor you’d have to do would be pretty low-key. …Maybe something to keep in mind?”

Kenma makes a noncommittal noise and moves to start digging in the bag himself, since Kuro’s evidently taking too long. The demon chuckles and extracts him.

“Here,” he says and grabs the plush Pusheen toy on top. He puts it in Kenma’s arms and the witch hugs it to his chest with a poorly-concealed look of wonder. “I got you a cat thing. We went on a date yesterday, and we agreed that you’d like this.”

At the word ‘date’, Kenma’s expression shutters again. He regards Kuro suspiciously over the grey ears. “You’re dating a tengu? Does he know you’re a demon?”

“That has a different connotation when it’s a verb, doesn’t it?” he asks nervously. Why does he feel like he messed up already?

“Does he know you’re a demon.”

“No. He’s never said anything about it, and neither has Akaashi. Should I have used a different term? Akaashi called it a date, so—”

“What else is in the bag,” Kenma says flatly, hugging the cat plush tightly to his chest.

Kuro still feels like he’s messed up somewhere along the lines, but he can only think of two explanations: Kenma Doesn’t Want Him Friendly With Tengu (which is clearly wrong because he’s a tengu friend himself and there’s no disadvantage to this), or Kenma Is Jealous (which also can’t be true, because he and Kenma go out to buy things together all the time). And if he were jealous, why tell him to leave for so long?

“Food. I found candy apples that taste like apple pie—” Kenma’s expression relaxes significantly and a little sparkle returns to his eyes, “—and Bokuto ate so many that he got sick. Don’t do that, please. When’s the last time you ate anything other than junk food?” He holds the box of treats just out of Kenma’s reach, especially after the way Kenma momentarily looks guilty. “Alright, I’m taking you out to eat!”

“What about the rest of this?”

“Nothing will expire or explode.”

“How did you get all of this?” Kenma asks, and it’s not suspicion or confusion in his voice, but _that_ sounds almost like jealousy. _Weird._

“I have money now. I got paid for returning the egg.” He sort of wants to ask about dates and dating in the human sense, but he also doesn’t want to see that look on Kenma’s face again. Kuro sets the box of candy apples on the nightstand and quickly delves back into the bag to stop Kenma from stealing one. “Look! Normal tengu egg. You can use that in your magic stuff, right?”

“Oh. …Yes.” Kenma takes it, setting it in his lap next to the cat plush, and taps his fingers on it while he looks thoughtful again. Kuro doesn’t know whether to take it as a good or bad sign. He just feels so off-kilter, and he’s not sure how to fix it. “Was this also your payment for the job? Or did he just give it to you?”

“Mostly payment. A grateful tengu is really something.”

“…What else did you do on your date?”

“He bought some stuff for Akaashi, we chased pigeons in a park across town, he showed me around another goblin market—”

“You went to _another_ realm?!” Kenma doesn’t wait for an answer before shooting to his feet. He tugs Kuro down by the shirt collar and digs the amulet out, squinting at it. Kuro swallows thickly at their sudden proximity. Kenma’s mouth is pinched shut, almost pouting, bottom lip stuck out just the tiniest bit. He’d probably be very different to kiss than Bokuto.

“Uh, yeah,” Kuro replies after he remembers Kenma asked him a question. “Problem with that?”

“We’re lucky it didn’t overload this or something…” Satisfied, Kenma drops the necklace again and leans back, out of Kuro’s space. He doesn't understand; he's been to the goblin market before. This was just a different one. 

Without thinking, the demon follows him, one hand coming up to tentatively touch the ends of his hair. Kenma’s eyes are wide, shocked, but he leans just the slightest bit into the touch. “What’s the difference between a date and dating?” Kuro asks, gaze dropping down to Kenma’s mouth again.

Kenma licks his lips briefly before responding—and then Kuro’s stomach growls.

Kenma jumps away from him, nearly tripping over the edge of the bed, and Kuro just stares in fascination at his own belly. “Huh.”

“Are you… hungry?” Kenma asks warily, arms raised in some sort of defensive gesture.

“I’ve been eating human and tengu food the past couple of days when Bokuto or Akaashi would offer it to me. Maybe that’s it?” It had been a lot of meat in varying degrees of cooked, mixed in with whatever human things Bokuto thought looked good. Kuro could stomach most of it, but he hadn’t thought he’d be _hungry_ for it.

A little too late, Kuro realizes that Kenma was startled because of his usual diet. He groans and runs a hand back through his messy hair.

“I don’t want to eat _you_. I just ate on Halloween. I mean, I wouldn’t complain if you were to somehow conjure something for me, but I have no idea—” Kuro freezes and realizes what he’s just said. He looks over at Kenma, and slowly repeats, “I don’t want to eat you, Kenma.”

“Then why were you staring at me like that?” Kenma shoots back. Figures that it didn’t escape his notice.

“Can I kiss you?” Kuro asks.

“No.” That’s a quick answer. Kuro wonders if the feeling in his chest is his wounded pride. “Why do you want to?” Kenma asks in return. His voice is steady but lower than normal, and there seems to be a tremble in his hands.

“Isn’t that what people do when they like each other?” Kuro wants to close the distance between them once more, get back in his space and use his size to his advantage, but the very thought of it feels _wrong_. Yet he doesn’t like this gap between them.

He still doesn’t know how to bridge it, and now, he feels like he’s getting further and further from any chance.

“People do. You’re not a person,” Kenma asks, eyes averted.

“Ouch. Wasn’t I a person once?”

“You’re a demon now.”

“I have my own thoughts. My own form, even if it’s a little fluid at times. I still have an ego and a sense of self.” Kuro sighs, and puts his hands on his hips. He’ll get in an even worse place if he continues to push the issue. “Look, fine, I’m a demon. I’ve come to accept that humans—most things—don’t like that. I’ll stop it now, I’ll drop it, but don’t pretend like I’m not someone again.”

“Fine,” Kenma concedes, and a little of the tension drains out of his shoulders. His own stomach grumbles, and he wraps his arms around himself, a bit of a blush coming to his cheeks. “…Weren’t you going to buy me food?”

Kuro laughs. It’s only a little forced. “Let’s go feed ourselves. My treat.”

“I can pay,” Kenma says, a touch defensive, and grabs the broom by the door. Kuro swallows apprehensively at the prospect of flying again. “And when we get back, I need to test some angel magic on you to make sure you don’t die.”

“What an interesting date,” he mumbles, and Kenma narrows his eyes at him.

“What?”

“I prefer you to Bokuto, don’t worry. Food time now, let’s go!”

 

\--

 

“Daichi, stop it, you’re scaring him,” Suga scolds. Tadashi’s quaking in his sneakers, despite the fact that honestly, Daichi isn’t even trying to look all that scary right now.

“He was using magic in the store,” Daichi says reproachfully, arms crossed.

 _He is going to shit a brick when he finds out about Matsukawa_ , Suga thinks, and puts a placating hand on Daichi’s arm. “I’ve been asking him to practice some things for one of my jobs with him.”

“Jobs? He _works_ with you?”

Tadashi’s expression lights up and Suga momentarily balks. “I, um. I mean. J-Just this one thing—?” Sure, they banished a preta together, and the day before Suga showed Tadashi how to write a strong but general confinement circle that should protect him for everything up to a demon or so, and Suga has _enjoyed_ going out on jaunts with him, even if they lead to disappointment at the lack of Tsukishima…

Ah fuck.

Suga’s totally training this kid.

He hasn’t even _noticed_ —okay, he’s aware he’s been teaching him tricks, but he had mostly been thinking of them as protection, but why would he need so much specific protection being a normal teenager? He’s going to have to have a _long_ talk with Tadashi about this and his feelings on the matter. Risking a peek over at his expression, Suga has a sinking feeling that his feelings are fairly positive.

“Alright, he’s not my coworker, he’s _yours_. But he and I have been trying to find someone lately, so that involves some level of magical skill. Why, Daichi, jealous? I can teach you a thing or two—”

“He gave himself a nosebleed this morning,” Daichi deadpans.

Suga gives Tadashi a questioning look. The freckled teenager looks away with a sheepish chuckle. “Ah, w-well, you remember that floating spell? I wanted to see if I could stand on it, and apparently air doesn’t have enough friction to stand on, so…”

“So he faceplanted into a shelf,” Daichi finishes. Tadashi nods, shame-faced.

Suga gives him his best Disappointed Parent look, because goddamn, he absolutely shouldn’t be experimenting with magic for as early as he is into this.

…But Suga remembers doing the _same exact thing_. And a couple years younger to boot.

“Try not to do too much magic at work,” Suga says, and Daichi gives him a look. “Okay, any.”

“There wasn’t anyone else in the store. And since _my boss_ knows about magic now,” Tadashi says meaningfully, eyebrows raised, and Suga purses his lips. For all of his supposed innocence and shyness, Tadashi can sure be sassy at times. It's great. “I figured I should get practice time in while I could. I study for regular exams here sometimes.”

“You’re not going to get tested on this,” Suga replies.

“You don’t know when I could need something like this! It’s like self-defense, a-and Morisuke said something bad might happen soon—”

“He _didn’t_ ,” Suga gasps, because he had sort of forgotten that the bakeneko is privy to a lot of information at Kiyoko’s shop. Granted, now more people know of the apocalypse, but why tell _Tadashi_? He has enough to worry about. “Oh my god, I need to have a talk with that cat.”

“Actually, I won’t complain if someone else knows a thing or two about magic around here,” Daichi breaks back in, and Suga and Tadashi exchange an uneasy glance. “I think the store might be haunted.”

“…Haunted?” Suga asks hesitantly. With as much time as he spends here, he’s pretty sure he would’ve noticed something. Although it’s entirely possible that something could have been attracted by all of the luck.

“A kid, tall, glasses. But he put his arm through a shelf and then _vanished_ —”

“ _Tsukki_!” Tadashi crows, bouncing on his feet. He’s suddenly crowding Daichi, in his personal space, oblivious to the way his boss reels back. “When did you see him? He was blond, right, taller than me? What was he doing?”

“I—he just looked lost, so I asked him if he needed help—”

“You _saw_ him?” Suga asks, concerned. Daichi certainly can’t see spirits.

“Maybe he’s been getting better at being a luck spirit!” Tadashi says eagerly, still bouncing. Suga reaches over without looking and puts a hand on his shoulder to calm him. It doesn’t really work. “He’s been able to touch me more and more before he left, and even Kenma—”

“You _know_ the ghost?” Daichi asks. Suga nods as he struggles to keep Tadashi still. “That kid is the one you’re trying to find, then? How do you know a ghost, Yamaguchi?”

“Oh, uh, he was haunting me for awhile? We sort of became friends.”

Daichi mouths ‘friends’ over at Suga and Suga just shrugs.

“I’ve never seen him around here, so he must still remember my schedule,” Tadashi murmurs, mostly to himself. “Can I—”

“You have a school schedule, so no, you can’t mess with it,” Daichi tells him sternly but Tadashi hardly lets it faze him.

“I’ll try to come here during earlier hours to check to see if I can’t find him. And Daichi, call me if you see him again?” Suga gently interrupts, hopefully finding a middle ground for them both. Daichi nods, and Tadashi starts to, but something catches his eye and holds his attention.

Suga follows his gaze and they must use up every single drop of luck in the entire city block when they see none other than Tsukishima hurriedly walking away from the store’s front window.

“ _Tsukki_!” Tadashi is off like a shot.

Suga’s a bit later, scrambling to try to grab his messenger bag from where he laid it down. Daichi shouts after him, “Wait—you’re still on shift, Yamaguchi—Suga, is this really that big of a deal?” He catches him by the elbow before he can dart off, too.

“He’s been trying to find him for awhile. I don’t know everything but—Tsukishima, the ghost, has been haunting Tadashi, and they’ve been working through some issues. It’s a benign haunting, and he’s the one responsible for all of the luck here. He’s trying to become a luck spirit, but there’s a danger of him becoming a demon, and I don’t know where he is on that, and Tadashi just ran out to probably go make out with him,” Suga babbles, tugging against Daichi’s hand.

“I thought they were _friends_! Do you need help?”

“We just have to _catch_ him right now. You just stay here and guard your shop, I’m sure it’ll go fine once we catch up with him—”

All of the windows are abruptly blown in.

Suga and Daichi are far enough from the front that they miss most of it, and Suga does not miss the way Daichi moved to shield him. There’s an obvious tang of magic in the air, but nothing that Tadashi or Tsukishima could create. “Are you okay?!” Suga asks, kneeling beside Daichi, watching him pick splinters of glass out of his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be doing that, should you?”

“I’m not leaving them in there, but I’m fine. What the hell _was_ that? There wasn’t any sound, so it wasn’t an explosion, was it?” Daichi stands first, and Suga quickly follows, still fretting over him. “This is more magical shit, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Suga replies, glancing between Daichi and the broken windows. Some of the stores across the street seem to have also been affected, which means a _lot_ of magic. Suga’s mind is reeling with the possibilities of what it could have been, but even that takes a backseat to the simple fact that _Tadashi and Tsukishima were out there_.

“Go,” Daichi says with a grimace. “Of course I don’t have that fucking sword here _now_ …”

“…Call Kiyoko, tell her someone or something’s using a _lot_ of magic in the open,” Suga says and resists the urge to fret any further. Or do something stupid like kiss Daichi out of relief before he grabs his bag and scrambles out of the store. Broken glass crunches under his boots and a few people in the area are peeking out of other buildings. The bookstore is on the end of whatever caused the blast; stores further up are unharmed.

The few people outside seem to be unconscious. Suga checks the nearest man’s pulse, and it’s steady.

 _What could do this?_ There was no noise, so no explosion. Raw magic? Some sort of large-scale stunning spell? That’s a powerful witch, if it’s human, otherwise he’s automatically dealing with higher spirits. There’s an eerie lack of noise outside, and people are afraid to come fully outside. There’s probably not that much time before someone calls the police. Magic is _very_ illegal when used in public, especially stuff like this, so he can’t imagine who or what would willingly risk such a large amount of trouble.

Suga finds the source of it just up the street. And, predictably, it involves Tadashi and Tsukishima.

Tadashi is pressed up against the wall of a building, chest heaving, out of sight of the man advancing on Tsukishima, who is apparently caught in a binding circle of some sort. One of the ghost’s arms is blackened, ending in sharp claws, and his terror is visible even from where Suga is. Suga has no idea who the man walking over is, but he looks human, with dark hair and an even darker expression.

Tadashi locks eyes with him, and Suga sprints over to him. Somehow, he doesn’t think he’s spotted by the witch with Tsukishima. “Y-You stay here,” Suga gasps out as soon as he’s near enough, and he grabs a fistful of Tadashi’s hoodie when he opens his mouth to argue. “That is an _order_. From here, I want you to distract him, but for fuck’s sake, keep your distance from that man. I’ll save Tsukishima.”

“I can help—” Tadashi starts but Suga fixes him with a fierce look.

“That man just broke two or three magical laws and we’ll be lucky if we don’t have the human police and half a dozen angry witches on us in fifteen minutes. If you want me to get Tsukishima out of there, I need you to stay over here and out of this. Do you understand?”

Tadashi nods, chewing on his lip, but he doesn’t look like he’ll bolt on his own.

Suga digs around in his messenger bag, pulling out sleep soot, his silver knife, and a warded pocket knife. He hands the pocket knife to Tadashi before tossing his bag to the sidewalk in front of him. This is going to hurt.

Tadashi peeks around the corner, and after writing runes down the bricks he’s pressed against, he throws the floating spell out. The first one misses. Suga holds his breath while he writes it again, and this time, the spell hits the ground right where the witch is about to step. His foot flies out from beneath him and he falls heavily on his ass with a surprised yelp.

Suga runs for Tsukishima, eyes straining to read what kind of circle he’s in. The ghost looks at him with mixed relief and dread, and Suga hopes he looks reassuring in turn. The circle isn’t anything fancy, but it’s strong and secure, so it’ll be a bitch to rewrite.

Suga dumps the sleep soot in the general direction of the witch as he runs past and doesn’t look to see how well it works. Tsukishima bangs on the invisible wall of the prison he’s trapped in, gold glow sparking up around him in response to his own panic. It pools near his feet and all of the light makes the blackness of his demonic hand that much starker.

 _That’s a problem for later_ , Suga tells himself, although it gives him pause. Had the man been _trying_ to turn him into a demon?! No one wins in that situation, least of all Tsukishima and Tadashi, so Suga grits his teeth and skids to a stop in front of the circle. The magic makes his teeth hurt this close, like biting on metal, but he falls to his knees and starts reading. The _confinement_ mark is always the easiest to find and break, as general as it is, but it’s flanked by _shelter_ and _freedom_.

The _luck_ rune scattered in amongst the others makes him wonder. This man _knew_ what Tsukishima was. This was specifically written for him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there,” Suga tells him bravely.

“Look out!” Tsukishima barks and Suga ducks on reflex.

The witch misses with the swing. He has a _sword_. Suga freezes up, eyes wide, and _stares_ at the red blade. It doesn’t look anything like the vorpal sword, but he can’t help it, can’t fight against the memory of it sliding through his throat—

The witch snarls and drops the sword, arms reaching back and scratching frantically at himself. An itching hex. The sword splashes into liquid at his feet, dark red and lending its own tang to the air. _Blood magic? Blood magic witch—!_ Kuroo and Kenma had mentioned one as being one of their attackers during the dragon migration. It’s not a common enough skill for it to be coincidence.

Tadashi hits the man with another well-timed floating spell, and the man falls badly onto one arm. Suga turns back to the circle. He doesn’t have time for anything else; he grabs his silver knife and slices open the back of his arm. He smears his other hand in his blood and presses it into the circle.

The magic fights him, only going to show how strong it had been. Suga smears more into it, and Tsukishima beats on the circle until it fails. He falls out of it with a squawk, onto Suga, and then stumbles back onto his feet. They share a single scared, wide-eyed look before Suga remembers he’s supposed to be the adult here. “Tadashi’s over there, go to him and I’ll—”

“Watch out!” Tsukishima shoves him down and raises his blackened hand to block the blade. Suga grabs his silver knife.

He simultaneously shoves Tsukishima away from the witch while twisting up and stabbing at the man. He easily dodges out of the way, cocking an eyebrow at the attack, then glances between Suga and Tsukishima. “…You broke my circle too fast. How?”

 _Fast spell, need a fast spell_ , Suga thinks, but all he can do fast is sleep spells, and the man is already standing after a dosage of sleep soot. He _really_ wishes he had enough magic to do something concrete. Anything. He draws a rune, and the man recognizes it, bringing up his arms to brace as Suga yells, “ _Push_!”

The man flies backward and lands on his back. Suga grabs Tsukishima and gives him another shove in Tadashi’s direction. The witch is back on his feet in a flash, murder in his eyes, and pulls another blade out of a scrape on his forearm. It’s smaller than before, but Suga still starts at the image of it.

“You have dead blood,” the man growls, as if offended. Not the first time Suga’s run into people of that opinion. “You can’t eat that spirit, he’s _mine_.”

Suga can hear Tsukishima’s huff from where he is. “I’m not going to _eat_ him! I’m still a living human!” Suga snaps back, and shakily raises his silver knife.

“ _Stop-confine-sleep-ghost_!” the witch commands and Tsukishima crumples mid-step. Suga scrambles toward the new circle trapping him while the blond struggles to stay upright against it.

Tadashi has apparently given up on playing sideline, too.

With a burst of heat, there’s suddenly _fire_ there, making them all rush to get out of the way. Tadashi runs up to them, shoulders shaking, looking pale. “Where did you learn that?!” Suga asks, then reaches over and puts his hand against his forehead. He’s clammy and cold to the touch. “No more magic today, just grab him and _run_!”

Suga smears more blood across his hand and bends down to break the new circle. “Morisuke,” Tadashi breathes, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. “H-He thought it’d… be a good idea for me to defend myself…”

 _I’m going to have the longest fucking talk with that cat_. “C’mon, Tadashi, stay with me.”

“Yamaguchi, stay awake,” Tsukishima commands, and Tadashi blinks up at him, smiling a little. “We’re going to have to run, and I’ll probably drop you if I have to carry you.”

“I can still…” He wobbles, and the fire behind them dies out. Suga breaks the second circle just in time. He gets to his feet, triumphant, and doesn’t see the witch too-close behind him in time. Tsukishima grabs Tadashi, yanking hard, and Suga jerks forward as the red blade cuts through his side.

He stares down at it. It’s not vital things. Right? It doesn’t even hurt yet. But the image of a _sword_ sticking out of him is too much.

There’s the new, sharp tang of magic in the air and the man sags against Suga’s back. Suga crumples with the new weight, body suddenly realizing _oh yeah pain_ , and the blade is ripped out of him without any finesse. He wraps his arms around himself, trying not to panic, but warmth is spreading down his belly and legs.

 _Daichi is never gonna get over this_ , Suga thinks as he pitches forward—only to be caught by a fist in his hair.

“Perfect timing. Or luck. Hold still, otherwise I’ll take more blood than I need and you’ll probably die,” the witch says, and Suga feels a strange, disconnected sort of _pull_ on his injury. There’s a wet sound, and then he feels colder than ever. He can’t feel his hands or his feet, and everything’s sort of become blurry around the edges.

The hand in his hair releases him, and he collapses.

 

\--

 

Kenma’s first shot hits him cleanly in the head. Just like the first time.

“Nice shot,” Kuro flippantly comments. “Although now we have a pissed witch about to start shooting fire at us.”

Kenma’s second shot misses him, by a hair, and nearly hits Sugawara instead, who falls abruptly. With the runes scrawled on the inside of his wrist, Kenma can keep pulling back for more magic arrows. He ignores Kuro and tries to keep the broom steady with just his knees, but he can tell it’s not going to work.

Tsukishima catches Tadashi and gives him a tug on the arm. Kenma lowers the broom, drawing back for another arrow, and the witch turns on them with a glower. “The demon again.” His eyes flick over to Kenma, and his lip curls further. “You two are still working for the psychic witch?”

“No,” Kenma replies curtly and pegs him in the throat with an arrow. The other witch staggers back, coughing badly, and Kuro jumps off of the broom. His hands are already claws, sharp and black, and he advances on him with a grin.

Something about this feels off, like there’s something too easy about it. Kenma scans the area for an accomplice, mind working overtime to try to find the missing piece. _Shouyou said that he’s after a lesser and higher spirit, so he wants Tsukishima_. Why did _he_ have to be the one to come across them? Shouyou and Kageyama would have better odds—and certainly better motivation—to stop this man.

Kenma isn’t even certain why he interrupted.

Kuro hadn’t seen them at first. They had been far enough away that no one would have blamed him for not sensing the magical outburst. It _wasn’t his business_.

Oh, Kenma has the sinking feeling that he’s too guilty about a certain fight to think on this situation logically. Because it was very far from logical to get into a magical fight in broad daylight in the shopping district with another witch.

Kenma lands the broom and lets it clatter to the ground, arm drawing back for another arrow. The draw on his magic is minimal, but already noticeable. He’s running on little food and next to no sleep, and it’s going to show if this doesn’t take care of itself quickly. _Tsukishima? Can’t fight_. Kenma’s eyes widen when he sees the demonic hand already on the ghost. _He needs to get out of here. Yamaguchi?_ He seems to be exhausted as well, but he’s the better option. _Sugawara?_

More or less out cold on the ground. Bleeding. Kenma frowns, and then the puzzle clicks together.

“Kuro, get away from him!” Kenma shouts, but it’s too late.

A stab from the witch glances off of his arm, and Kuro draws back with a pained hiss, surprised and off-balance. An opening. Kenma shoots another arrow, but it’s not in time. The blade made of dead man’s blood pierces Kuro’s chest, going clean through, and Kenma feels it as acutely as if he were the one stabbed.

He can’t switch spells with the runes written on him. The arrow he released too late hit the man in the eye and he staggers back, holding his face, blade dripping as he temporarily loses control of the blood magic. Kenma sprints over to Kuro as he scrambles unsteadily backward, trying to put distance between them, chest heaving around the red blade sticking out of him. “You shouldn’t have made a contract with a demon,” the other witch says flatly, and the the blade splashes back into liquid.

Kuro groans, hands closing over the wound in his chest, his own dark blood overtaking the red and staining his shirt. “No, you’ll be okay,” Kenma says, catching him as he staggers. His pupils are dilated and his breathing is rapid, but it seems to be shock rather than any outright damage. His own chest burns as he tries to keep his voice even for Kuro. “You’ll be alright, just hold on. We have the broom, we can—” Leave them there? Kenma’s voice catches on the words.

“I can’t use a contracted demon, but you shouldn’t be allowed to wander freely,” the witch says, and Kenma turns to glare at him, shifting to stand protectively between them.

He draws back another arrow despite the way he’s struggling to stay upright. “You’re trying to start an apocalypse, why do you think you’re on the higher moral ground here?”

“I’m just doing my job,” the man replies with a puzzled tilt of his head. He doesn’t approach them, and is actually backing up, though he remains facing them. Magic arrows don’t open wounds; Kenma _wishes_ he could see the man bleed, but the burns along his cheek and throat are a consolation, at least.

Kenma’s breath hitches and he feels more than sees Kuro get back to his feet behind him. “Kuro, you stay behind me,” Kenma orders coldly. His demon growls in response.

Kenma finally realizes why the man is backing up: his feet bump Sugawara. More dead blood. He opens his hand, preparing to draw more into another weapon, when Tadashi hits him in a full-out tackle. They skid away from him, Tadashi ending up on top, and he’s quick to try to pin him. Tsukishima rushes to their side, inadvertently dousing them both with luck as he steps on the wrist that Tadashi hadn’t pinned and puts his claws over the man’s throat.

There’s a pause.

Tadashi and Tsukishima probably won’t kill him. Kenma turns from them, around to face Kuro. He’s still bleeding, face scrunched up with pain, but he forces a smile when Kenma looks up at him. “Not how I wanted this date to go,” he admits.

“This is the worst date ever,” Kenma mutters and grabs his hand. The demon’s eyebrows go up—and he tries to pull away when he sees Kenma try to open a wound with his claws. “Stop it, hold still.” He gets a scratch across his palm and hisses at the sting, but it’s welling up with little droplets of blood. Kenma presses his hand against Kuro’s chest. “Turn around—”

Another snap of magic in the air, and Kenma whirls back around to find the man holding Tsukishima by the front of his shirt, gashes down his collarbone bleeding freely. “Why are you so invested in this spirit?” the man demands. “You’re not the bakeneko—”

“Let _go_ of him!” Tadashi snarls and throws himself at him again.

Tsukishima phases through his arm and lands with a _thump_ beside Sugawara. Tadashi is quickly disarmed of the silver knife and thrown onto his front. The witch pins him with one arm twisted behind his back and a knee pressing just below that. He glares up at the ghost. “You come with me, or I’ll kill them both. And you, demon and contractor, behave or it’s the same.”

He needs Tsukishima for his plans, and it sounds like he’ll use him to draw out Yaku. Kenma did not get involved in this just for it to fail now.

The priority has to be to separate him from his goal. “Kuro, broom,” Kenma says lowly, and he sees Kuro sneak out a little tendril to drag the broom over to them. The witch’s attention is on Tsukishima, who’s frozen, mouth working wordlessly. Tadashi squirms on the ground, legs kicking ineffectually, and Kenma would almost consider him as collateral to be acceptable. But Tsukishima’s already partly a demon, and Kenma is somewhat startled to find that it’s hard to write the kid off as acceptable damages when the situation is right here in front of him.

They’re going to get one shot at this, and it’s going to hurt either way. Kenma regrets talking with Shouyou. _Doing something my ass_ , he thinks sourly as his hands close on the broom handle.

Kenma reaches over to Kuro and swipes his fingers through the black blood. He hisses at the sting and quickly spreads it over his wrist and the writing on it. It burns, and Kenma blinks back tears, but he was right: the demonic blood is enough to temporarily overpower the runes. He jumps on the broom, tugging Kuro on behind him, and doesn’t have the time to draw anything more. “ _Blindness_!” he shouts, throwing the magic at the other witch.

He swears and jerks, head swiveling to try to see them, but Kenma and Kuro are already pelting toward him on the broom. Kenma isn’t exactly a large person, but Kuro has some muscle to him, and he’s the one who leaps off of the broom and bowls over the other witch. They tumble over each other and Kuro ends up on top.

Kenma drags Tadashi to his feet, ignoring his wheezing, and shoves him in Tsukishima’s direction. “You two have to go, _now_. You absolutely have to get away from him, no matter what else happens here.”

“B-But what about,” Tadashi croaks, and Kenma shakes his head.

Kuro is knocked into Tsukishima and of course the spirit had to be tangible _then_. The witch, rubbing his eyes, advances on them with a black sword clutched in his hand. “Enough,” he calls irately. He draws runes in the air, and Kenma recognizes them before he’s halfway done with the symbols.

“Kuro, take Tsukishima and Tadashi and _run_. I order you to leave with them and get them somewhere safe,” Kenma commands.

His demon looks up at him, hurt written across his expression, but Kenma has no time for this. The other witch finishes his spell and they’re all blown backwards. Kenma hears the distant sound of glass breaking between groans of pain. Kenma uses the broom to get back to his feet. The blood on his arm has dried enough that he can pull back for another arrow, and he manages to get the man’s attention on him, at least.

“Kuro, _go_!” Kenma repeats sternly.

“Goddamn it, Kenma! Grow a heart some other time!” Kuro snarls.

Kenma releases another magic arrow, and this one is blocked by the demon blood sword. “Order. Go. _Now_.”

“Wait, what about—”

“We can cry about it later, Freckles. Time to go.”

Even injured and carrying two people, Kuro is faster than any human, and the witch starts after them until Kenma nails him in the back of the head with an arrow. The man turns back to him, livid, until he sees the broom held underneath Kenma’s arm. _That’s it, give them time to get away_. Kenma backs up, eyes flicking over to Sugawara, and fires another arrow. The drain on his magic is definitely there now. He needs to get the marks off of his skin so he can use other spells, but he has no way of doing that on his own, in the middle of a magical fight.

“Give me the broom,” the man commands.

“Bite me,” Kenma replies dryly and shoots him with another arrow, this time in the sternum. The man grunts and rubs at his chest, and Kenma takes the lapse in his attention to mount the broom and make it to Sugawara. He’s still alive, but still bleeding, and Kenma can’t help but cringe as he tries to drag him bodily onto the broom with him.

“ _Push_!” the witch barks and Kenma, Suga, and the broom all go skidding across the concrete. The broom clatters out from his grip, landing between him and the other witch, and Kenma won’t make it to it in time, much less with Suga.

Kenma shoves his marked wrist against Suga’s blood and shouts, “ _Burn_!”

The broom bursts into flames before the other witch gets halfway to it. He could probably put out the fire, but the magic would be mostly gone, and he’s waited too long to try to follow Kuro and the others. He’s probably waited too long in general. There’s no way this fight has gone unnoticed, and as the witch angrily stalks over to them, Kenma wishes he were lucky enough to have tengu help arrive.

He looks up at the man, sulky but defiant, and doesn’t try to leave Sugawara. This is technically a victory. Shouyou and Kageyama can thwart him next time, if the man manages to find something else to give to his boss to use. Kenma definitely filled his quota of Doing Something with this mess.

Distantly, Kenma wonders if Lev would have been happy with this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( thank you to the wonderful [voissane](http://voissane.tumblr.com/) for the portugeuse fix! maybe one day i'll write a language properly!  
> 1Sim, sim, volte a falar sobre seus problemas amorosos, cara. = "Yeah, yeah, go back to talking about your love problems, man."  [ return ]  
> 2Preta, hamārī bhēṇṭa svīkāra! = "Preta, please accept the offering!"  [ return ] ))


	16. Michimiya Yui Is One Hell Of A Hot Mess

Kuro isn’t sure what else counts as ‘safe’ so he defaults to bringing the kids to the hotel room. …Maybe not so safe in hindsight; Tsukishima shies away from a dish of angel blood with a cringe and Tadashi’s eyes are _huge_ as he takes in all of the magical mess. But it satisfies the order. Kuro puts his hands on his knees, taking his eyes off them for two seconds while he tries to quell his churning stomach.

“Are you… okay?” There’s a tentative brush against his shoulder and Kuro looks up at Tadashi.

“No, I’m probably about to die because _Kenma_ is about to die, and this hurts like a bitch,” he growls, rubbing at his chest. He’s still bleeding, although Kenma’s blood stopped the worst of it. Hurrah, they won’t have time to bleed out because Kuro just left Kenma in front of a hostile witch. He feels like he’s going to throw up, which is weird, because he doesn’t really have anything in his stomach, and this strikes him as a decidedly human way to react to panic.

He doesn’t feel the usual restlessness he gets when Kenma is feeling particularly anxious or fearful, though, which is the _only_ bright spot in this incredibly shitty situation.

“We need to get back there to rescue Suga and Kenma,” Tadashi announces, and Kuro glares at him through his bangs. The freckled teenager twitches and wrings his hands.

“You probably could’ve gotten away if you hadn’t just said that. I have to follow orders—you two are staying _here_. Mr. Blood Magic wants Tsukki, and I have to keep you two safe. Going after him is the last thing either of you are going to do,” he tells him. Tsukishima doesn’t even complain about the nickname. He stares down at his claws, expression blank.

“Does it hurt if you don’t follow orders?” Tadashi nervously asks.

“Nothing compared to this,” Kuro replies with a flap of his hand toward the black blood staining his shirt, “but still, yeah. I’ve satisfied most of it by hauling you two out of there, but I’m not risking anything else. I have to be able to move as freely as possible when I head back there.”

“Why do _you_ get to go back? You’re hurt! A-And if you die, Kenma dies, right?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And if you’re there, that guy is only going to want to use more of Suga’s blood,” Tadashi continues, fidgeting. He glances back at Tsukishima with a frown and another twitch of his fingers. He lowers his voice and asks, “Who _was_ that guy? What did he want with Tsukki?”

Kuro could lie to him, but he doesn’t see the need. His mind is still mostly elsewhere. “As far as I know, that witch is trying to jumpstart the apocalypse for his boss. And he needs a lesser and a higher spirit for that.”

“Who _wants_ to start an apocalypse?!” Tadashi cries. Kuro shrugs. His chest is beginning to burn again, but still nothing he can feel from Kenma’s side of things. That’s good, right? The demon tries to keep his breathing even, yet he can’t help but pant, and he sinks onto the bed next to the silent Tsukishima. “Do demons count as lesser spirits?” Tadashi asks.

“Technically, but demons aren’t worth the hassle when human ghosts satisfy the requirement easily enough. No idea why he specifically targeted him, though,” Kuro wheezes and presses his hand against his chest again. “Say, do either of you know how to stitch someone up?”

Tadashi shakes his head. Tsukishima continues staring at his claws.

Tadashi moves to kneel between Tsukishima’s legs as he sits on the bed, and he reaches up to gently touch his face with one hand. He makes contact, and Tsukishima’s gaze refocuses on him, but he still doesn’t say anything. “Tsukki, you okay? Tell me you’re okay.” His other hand lands on the bed, right near Tsukishima’s thigh, and his fingers draw little patterns as they edge nearer to him, as if itching to touch him further.

Tsukishima looks away again, this time with the edge of a pout in his closed mouth. Tadashi grabs his jaw and forces him back into eye contact.

“Tsukishima Kei, you _will_ be okay. But I need to know how you’re doing right now. You can ignore me again later when everyone’s not in danger of dying,” Tadashi says firmly, and Kuro raises an eyebrow at the first name. How cutely intimate. He’d feel more awkward right now if he wasn’t still worried about Kenma.

Tsukishima sighs, but now he’s smiling, just a little. “Fine. I’m just—I was so _careful_ , and now look.” He raises his hand and Tadashi doesn’t bother looking at it.

“You’re not a demon yet. We can fix this. Suga or Kenma will know how—but first, I have to go save them.”

Kuro and Tsukishima both stare up at him, slowly processing the _I_.

Tadashi activates the spirit confinement circle he’d been drawing, movements hidden by his fidgeting.

“O-Okay, so _please_ don’t worry, because I have a plan!” Tadashi begins, and Tsukishima’s shock slowly darkens into outrage. Kuro just gapes at him. The sneaky little shit.

“You’re exhausted, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima snaps.

“But there’s a flask of magic rejuvenation potion in Suga’s bag that he started carrying with him after he passed out at the hospital.”

“You’re serious about this,” Kuro says dumbly. “You’re seriously going to leave us in here. And skip off and get killed, too.”

“I can help!” Tadashi scowls. He puts his back to them, digging through some of Kenma’s things, and Kuro places a tentative hand against the circle. It’s solid. The kid actually put together a circle strong enough for a demon. Holy shit.

“I thought you were supposed to be some innocent novice!” Kuro exclaims.

“You obviously don’t know him that well,” Tsukishima deadpans. He doesn’t try to touch the circle and instead sits with his arms crossed like the world’s tallest toddler.

“Wait—if you go, that’ll be violating my order. It’ll hurt me, and I’m already injured, right?” Kuro tries, standing up, hands flat against the wall of the confinement circle. “That will hurt Kenma, too,” he adds with an edge of desperation in his voice.

Tadashi comes up with a small jar of ash. “What’s this?”

“Don’t mess with things you don’t understand. What are you even looking for?”

“Sleep soot.”

“Kenma doesn’t use that. That’s Sugawara and Kiyoko’s thing.”

Tadashi sets the jar down with a thoughtful tilt of his head. Tsukishima is still _strangely_ quiet, but if he’s not going to be any help, then Kuro will fight this on his own. Tadashi does one more sweep of the hotel room, careful not to mess anything up too badly, and Kuro’s throat tightens at the way his eyes linger on one of the dishes of angel blood. The _absolute last thing_ they need is that witch with an angel blood sword.

Kuro feels a strain in his sternum and tries once more. “They’re moving. How are you going to find them? Even if you can find your way back to Suga’s bag—”

“Finder’s magic,” Tadashi replies simply, holding up his arm. A magnetic bracelet is barely visible beneath his sleeve. There’s a collar wrapped around his wrist right above it, bell _dinging_ with the movement. Tsukishima’s eyes go wide behind his glasses. Tadashi quickly hides it with his sleeve again, cheeks coloring, and steps over to the circle. “The magic will probably wear off soon, so, uh. Don’t hate me?”

“The second it drops, I’m going to haul you and Kenma and Suga back here by the scruff of your necks,” Kuro threatens.

Tadashi grins at him. “To be honest, we’ll probably need a cavalry. But I’m going to do my best to find them and help them first, so don’t worry.” He reaches through the circle and puts his arm on Tsukishima’s shoulder. He goes through him after a second. “Tsukki, some luck?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking for a favor right now,” Tsukishima sneers.

“Well. Y-Yeah, I guess I am? Pretty please?”

Kuro debates grabbing him and hauling him into the circle until he agrees to let them go. Tadashi seems to catch that and draws his hand out, through Tsukishima, earning a flinch. He’s not going to wait around now, luck or not, and Kuro reaches for him before he can completely escape—but the teenager ducks back into the circle.

He quickly presses his lips against Tsukishima’s. They touch, for one solid, long moment, and then Tsukishima jerks back with a too-delayed startle reflex.

Tadashi yanks his head back out of the circle, red-faced, and stammers out, “F-For luck, right? What could be m-more lucky than, um, kissing a luck spirit? I’ll be going now!”

The door slams behind him. Kuro sinks back onto the bed, palm pressed to his chest again, and looks up at the way Tsukishima’s face is _slowly_ going scarlet. “Y’know, I would’ve expected you to put up a bigger argument against your boyfriend running off into danger like that. Alone. Magically exhausted. And still pretty unlucky.”

Tsukishima covers his mouth with his normal hand and seems to have reached a critical point for the color in his face. “Shut up, demon.”

“He also left a spirit alone with a demon.”

“He’s not the smart one in this partnership.”

“Ooh, is _that_ what you two are?” Kuro coos, hoping to rile him up enough to get him to _do_ something. His calmness is off-putting; Kuro doesn’t want to be the only one semi-literally climbing the walls with nerves.

Tsukishima spares him a disdainful look. “He made this circle after he figured out you were a lower spirit. Guess what aren’t lower spirits.”

 _That_ explains his calmness, and Kuro watches, half impressed and half annoyed, as Tsukishima stands up and slips through the circle with hardly a hitch. It would have been aggravatingly impressive and cool and useful, in fact, had his blackened hand not gotten stuck in the circle. Tsukishima’s mouth falls open, expression absolutely _affronted_ , and tugs on his arm. It’s stuck about at his elbow.

“Guess what _are_ lower spirits,” Kuro replies with a sharp grin. “Did someone get a little too close to too much magic? Or were you just panicking and wanting to protect yourself?”

“Stop laughing and help me,” he grinds out, face reddening again. He pulls, hard, and only ends up hurting himself with a pained grunt.

“You better hope this magic doesn’t start thinking you’re still a ghost when you’re stuck in it like that,” Kuro advises, half-seriously.

“Then help me break it! Or—Or help me get rid of this,” he orders and wiggles his claws.

“How would I know how to get rid of demon-ness?”

“It’s not _permanent_ , is it?” Tsukishima asks with fear heavy in his words. He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls again, straining, luck shaking off of his shoulders with the effort.

“Hell if I know, now quit trying to pull your arm off. Kenma should know how to fix this much of it. So there’s an incentive to not leave us to die if you make it out of here before I do.” Kuro scans the room, thinking, then finds a mess of jars near one of the chairs. “See those red jars over there? One or two of them should be dead man’s blood. If you can get them over here and dump it on the circle, we’re both free.”

“That’s _across_ the _room_ ,” Tsukishima points out.

“You’re still part ghost! Float it over!”

“I never learned how to do that properly!”

“ _Start_ learning!”

 

\--

 

“He’s going to die,” Kenma says, nodding down to Sugawara.

“He shouldn’t have moved when I told him not to,” the witch replies and tightens the ropes around him.

“If you don’t care, then why bother bringing him with you?”

“He could get healed by first-responders.”

 _He wants to keep us quiet_ now _?_ Kenma wonders, eyes narrowing. Attacking with more magic than necessary in the middle of the city doesn’t really scream stealthy to him. And as terrible as it is of him, he doesn’t want to push the issue of this witch healing Sugawara; if he could just get to more of his blood and cross out the runes on his arm…

“Why did you and your demon try to stop me? Why are Shimizu Kiyoko’s employees trying to interfere? The dragon job was nothing personal, we weren’t trying to stop her,” the witch says, not quite conversational, but frank. “We were only paid to prevent Oikawa Tooru from obtaining a dragon.”

We. Kageyama. Kenma wears his most neutral expression and asks, “What happened to your partner?”

“He ran away.”

“Why are you trying to start an apocalypse? You can’t stand to benefit _that_ much.”

“I’m only doing what I’m paid to do.”

“Then _who_ is trying to do it?” Kageyama had confessed that he hadn’t known his employer, and the subtle shift of uncertainty in the witch’s eyes tells Kenma that he doesn’t know, either. He doesn’t answer. “What are you going to do with us?” Kenma asks quietly.

“I’m going to ask if there’s anything we could use you for, otherwise, I’m going to have to kill you both.” The man looks down at Sugawara, frown tightening. “Is he a spirit somehow?”

“No.” _Don’t bother trying to sacrifice him._ Although Kenma isn’t certain _what_ Sugawara technically is.

The man nods solemnly, taking that at face value, and Kenma wonders if there would have been any value in lying to him. He walks away, leaving them in the empty corner of the warehouse, and Kenma takes advantage of the space to better survey his surroundings. Warehouse, somewhat filled, but with nothing specific that he can identify. Boxes and barrels. It doesn’t smell or look overly magical, although Kenma can spot the faint remains of scorch marks on the floor near Sugawara’s feet.

He and Suga are bound by simple ropes. Normally, it’d be laughable, but now, it’s just pathetic. Kenma can’t cast anything except his arrows while those marks are on him, and Suga’s just silently bleeding out next to him. Kenma isn’t sure how long it will take for the other witch to contact his employer. Without outside help, he doesn’t see either of them getting out of this alive.

It’s strange to face his own mortality like this.

Kenma leans back against Suga, head tilting back as he studies the high ceiling. He’s not that old, although he’s not a child. …His life sort of sucked, though. And there are a _lot_ of things he would have done differently. Would he have come out to his parents? He can’t stand the thought of living as a girl, even in hindsight, but he probably could have come up with something that didn’t get him kicked to the curb. The magic probably ruined his chances for a normal childhood, anyway, so maybe it had been a foregone conclusion at that point.

It’s a really weird realization to make that moving here had ultimately been one of his best decisions. Still resulted in some shitty happenings, but also some bright spots. Kenma sighs at himself and closes his eyes. _If I get out of this without Kuro or I getting into more trouble,_ he vows, _I’ll apologize to Lev_.

He’s not sure who he’s really praying to. But they don’t respond.

 _I’ll let Kuro kiss me,_ he adds. Still nothing. Isn’t this supposed to prompt a plot twist of another party member coming in to save them? Some heavenly voice telling him what to do next? _I’ll help Shouyou with his plan. I’ll try to learn about potions from Kiyoko._

Worth a shot.

…He didn’t really want to do this, either. He’s not really fine with dying right now, even in the name of potentially throwing a wrench into apocalyptic plans. It’s not quite regret that he feels, but it comes close, hovering between that and general sorrow. It’s surprising he isn’t having an attack right now, but he’s not going to complain too badly; he’s alright feeling sad and otherwise calm.

“ _Ya ah yhafh’drn,_ ” a voice booms without warning, bottomless and ageless, and those words burn Kenma’s ears like fire. He groans and bends over, trying to get away from it, and Suga’s body twitches beside him. He can only press one of his ears against his shoulder; he’s forced to listen with the other.

 _What the hell is that?!_ his mind demands as it feels like his heart rate doubles. There’s a very basic fear reaction to this language, that _voice_ , and Kenma isn’t sure _why_. _His boss_?

Kenma can just barely hear the witch’s voice float over to them, but he can’t make out any words. He struggles against the rope around his wrists, braced for hearing more of that voice, but it isn’t enough. When it speaks again, it still makes him jump. “ _You will try again. You will obtain the last two pieces._ ”

He can understand it now, and it confirms both _boss_ and _last two_. Great. Not information he can use if he’s about to die, however, so Kenma keeps struggling. It hurts his shoulder, but he manages to pull his bound wrists up under his butt and legs, getting his hands in front of him. He doesn’t know a thing about knots. He stares at the mess of rope and swallows down the growing lump in his throat.

 

\--

 

By the time Tadashi makes it back to the bookstore, there are people milling about. Some cops, some angry-looking people, and a lot of fretful shoppers. He’s not going to be able to duck in and duck out, least of all with a bag full of magical shit.

Okay, so his plan already has to change. That’s okay. He can think on his feet. He flexes his half-numb fingers as he tries to think of a place where he could get some sort of magic juice.

“Tadashi?”

He definitely does not make a high-pitched squeal when he jumps. The adrenaline is going to kill him. Working up an embarrassed smile, he turns to find Kiyoko blinking up at him, looking surprised behind her glasses. “O-Oh, hi. Um, what are you doing here?”

“Sawamura called me and said there was some sort of magical accident or fight? He said you and Suga were involved,” she replies, concern and confusion bleeding into her even voice. She holds up a necklace—dogtags—and Tadashi cocks his head to the side. “I thought it prudent to come here, but the coven enforcers have already arrived. I’m not allowed on the scene until they’re done questioning him.”

So if he’s caught here, they’ll probably throw a fit and question him for three hours. While the others are busy… hopefully not dying. Tadashi eyes the tags, puzzled. Wait, she makes potions. “Do you have anything else with you?!”

“Well, yes…” She twists and shows a backpack off, decorated with stars and buttons. Tadashi must make a face, because she colors and mutters, “It’s an emergency bag someone made for me. Where is Suga?”

…Will she help him? He won’t turn down a witch, but she’s always struck him as incredibly cautious. “Um. Well. I was actually about to go, uh, get him. H-Help him, I mean.” _Real fucking smooth. She’s going to ground you here with Daichi!_ “I can track them! And I’m eighteen now, and all I can use magic!” Tadashi hastily adds.

He watches the realization sweep over her expression. “He needs _rescued_? Who did this? What happened, Tadashi? …Who is _they_?”

She’s not immediately stopping him. A good sign. Tadashi launches into a very abbreviated explanation of the past hour; the longer he goes on, the more wild his hand gestures become, and the paler her face gets. By the time he admits he locked Kei and Kuroo in a hotel with the last of his magic, he’s feeling faint again, both from worry and exhaustion. Kiyoko gapes up at him.

After it all, the only thing she asks is, “What do you have of Suga’s or Kenma’s?”

Tadashi holds up the warded pocket knife.

Kiyoko’s expression hardens. She grabs Tadashi’s wrist with a grip like iron, dragging him away just as a few of the more official-looking people seem to take notice of them. “Here, use this.” With her free hand, she pulls a flask out of a side pocket on the backpack and pushes it at him until he takes it. “And I’m sorry for asking you for help like this—”

“Suga’s training me!” Tadashi exclaims, and Kiyoko gives him a look he can’t really decipher. He hastens to add, “And I was going to help them anyway. I _want_ to help.”

“Just drink that.”

He spills more than a little of the mystery drink down his chin as she yanks him down the street. Some of it slops down onto his hoodie when she pulls him abruptly around a corner, into a dirty alley not even wide enough for a car. He empties what’s left in the flask when she pauses for a moment to root around behind a dumpster. The concoction tastes rotten-sour, but it brings sensation back into his fingers, and he feels like he’s just downed straight espresso.

The image of prim and proper Kiyoko digging around behind a dirty dumpster is a strange one, nearly more of a contradiction than Tadashi can handle, but soon enough, she pops back out with a broom in her hand. He gives her a confused stare until it clicks. “Oh shit—uh, god. Witches actually _fly_ on brooms?!”

“Of course,” she replies indulgently and holds it up beside her. It doesn’t seem to have any weight to it at all, even though her touch is light. “Please, use your tracking magic. And you’ll have to hang on. This one can be finicky at times and I don’t want you to fall off.”

Tadashi pales and bites his lip. Does he have a fear of heights? He can’t really remember. He’s never flown before, and definitely not on a _broom_.

“I would catch you,” Kiyoko adds quickly with a firm hand on his shoulder. “This just isn’t my main broom, that’s all I meant. I can still get us there easily.”

He nods, and pulls out his magnetic bracelet. The renewed flow of magic through him is soothing, both in itself and because it means he’s not about to pass out, and soon the familiar warmth is back. He points and Kiyoko mounts the broom. He gives it one last nervous look before carefully climbing on after her.

He’s worried about being gentlemanly, but the second she kicks off into the air, those thoughts are out the window. Yes, definite fear of flying. He has to be squeezing the air out of her, but she doesn’t say anything, and only pauses briefly to tie her hair into a ponytail to keep it (mostly) out of his face.

After a couple of moments of trying to talk over the rushing wind, Tadashi ends up just thrusting his hand out, pointing wherever the finder’s magic leads him. He keeps his other arm wrapped even more tightly around her waist and buries his face in the back of her neck, even though it hurts his back to be this bent over and _tense_ at the same time. She’s going to have to pry him off of this with a spatula when they land again. At one point, a hot updraft catches them by surprise, and Kiyoko actually wheezes when both of his arms grab her.

Tadashi accidentally lifts her a little in his fright, and for a brief moment, she loses contact with the broom.

If he’d been afraid of flying before, nothing can prepare him for the sensation of freefall. Kiyoko grabs the broom handle again and it rights itself before they really fall. Tadashi keeps hunched behind her, half-wondering how he can possibly hold on any tighter without strangling her, and points in the proper direction while keeping his arm pressed against her stomach.

The tracking magic takes them nearly outside of city limits, toward a warehouse on the river. He mumbles something into the back of Kiyoko’s neck and she lands. Tadashi jumps off before her feet touch the ground and he regrets getting all of that energy back now. He feels like he’s about to explode, wound-up and shaking with tension.

Kiyoko, massaging her stomach, gives him a sharp look. “…You drank all of that potion, didn’t you,” she asks flatly.

“Was that one supposed to be put in my eyes or something too?” Tadashi asks with a guilty bob of his head. She shakes her head, and _maybe_ she rolls her eyes at him too. It’s hard to tell with her windswept bangs. Tadashi hopes she didn’t.

“I should have been clearer. You aren’t poisoned this time, at least, but that potion strength was meant for someone like Suga, not a teenager…” She sighs and massages her temples, but straightens after just a moment. All business now. Tadashi can’t help but straighten his spine too, standing at attention while she sweeps her hair out of the way and sets the broom against the wall of the building. “Our priority here is to rescue Suga and Kenma, not get revenge on that witch. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am!”

She makes a face at the formality, but doesn’t remark upon it. “I will try to distract or deal with Ushijima. I want you to wear the noise muffling spell and sneak around after I’ve created an opening for you. Do you know any general binding or offensive spells?”

“I know fire magic!” he exclaims, perhaps too eagerly, judging by the way she arches her eyebrow. “Um, I have faith in my abilities, I mean. I was distracting this guy before pretty well, and we just have to watch out for that sword of his.”

“Hopefully he hasn’t magicked the place…”

Silencing spell cast, they creep along to the nearest door, and Tadashi unlocks it without a hitch. Inside, there’s a noticeable smell in the air, something faintly metallic. It’s not until they’re both fully inside that he places it as _blood_. Tadashi covers his nose with his sleeve and nods to Kiyoko as she separates from him, creeping toward the source of a voice.

So his job is just to find the other two. Easy, right? It’s not like there’s any rooms in this, and the tracking magic is still pointing him weakly toward his left. Tadashi crouches lower, nearly crawling to hide behind various things.

It surprises him that he finds Suga and Kenma before he hears Kiyoko engage the Ushijima guy. He’s halfway to them before Kenma spots him. Kenma jerks his head to the side, and Tadashi shakes his head in response; Kiyoko’s already in that direction, so she’ll deal with the other guy. When he gets closer, however, the smell of blood is even worse, and he sees that Suga isn’t conscious. His wound hasn’t been dealt with at all, it looks like, and he’s deathly pale.

Tadashi swallows as he takes out the pocket knife and starts cutting through Kenma’s bonds. “Are you alright? Is _he_ alright?”

“He left him to die, but if you can scrub this off my wrist I can at least stop his bleeding. Why did you come back here?!” Kenma hisses, eyes narrowed.

“Tsukki and Kuroo are back in some hotel. They’re safe, but they’ll probably be on their way here when the circle dies. I brought Kiyoko—”

“You brought _her_?” Kenma whispers. He tears an arm free from the ropes, not caring about the loop still around his other wrist, and rolls back his sleeve. He presses the skin with the marker scribbled across it against Suga’s side and then holds it out to Tadashi. “The marks are _clean, magic,_ and _ink_.”

“I don’t know _ink_.”

Kenma huffs and draws it in Suga’s blood on the floor beside them. It burns into the cement with a sizzle. Tadashi does his best to recreate it, and he feels a worrying wobble in his stomach where the potion sits heavily, but the marks are gone from Kenma’s wrist. Kenma makes signs with one hand, pressing his other against Suga’s side, all without looking. He scans the warehouse, eyes still narrowed.

“That should stop his bleeding, but I don’t know much else I can do for him. He needs to be taken out of here,” Kenma says meaningfully.

Tadashi sets his mouth in a firm line. “Look, I know I’m not the most… talented, or confident, or knowledgeable. But I don’t know healing magic, either, and I can’t work a broom. Unless you want me to just drag him out of here, I’m staying until someone with a broom can rescue him. We need to get Kiyoko safely out of here, too.”

“If you leave now, you could head off Kuro and Tsukishima, if they really are on their way here,” Kenma mutters, sounding doubtful.

 _Like Kuroo isn’t on his way right now?_ Tadashi thinks.

“We don’t need to bring any more spirits to this man. He only needs two more, a higher and a lesser, and then his job is _done_ ,” Kenma finishes. “We can’t risk them.”

“I can’t stop a demon,” Tadashi replies faintly. He knows he’d only stalled him, and if it came down to any sort of serious fight, he’d lose. Badly. “He won’t listen to me. He’s worried about you.”

“Kuro’s badly hurt, and I won’t taunt him with two lesser spirits,” Kenma snaps. He stands, rubbing his rope burnt wrists, and despite his size and exhausted appearance, he makes for a temporarily intimidating figure.

At least, until the bakeneko pops into the scene and all of the color drains out of his face.

Tadashi can’t judge; he’s in the same boat. Morisuke’s tail lashes and he surveys them both with disapproval (and thinly veiled relief). “You two nearly scared the whiskers off of me, you know th—mmph!” Kenma seizes him and claps a hand over his mouth, and Tadashi is quick to drag them both down to help silence him. The air around them grows in temperature with the growling of the higher spirit beneath them, but both of them wait and listen, hard, for any sign that his entrance had been noticed.

There’s a shout from the other side of the warehouse. It echoes, just slightly, and is soon answered by Kiyoko’s wordless yell and a clap of thunder. Tadashi feels the hairs on the back of his neck raise from the static in the air and Morisuke’s tail is bottlebrushed (although admittedly that may be due to anger, too).

“You need to leave,” Kenma says, and his voice cracks on the end. He and Tadashi both release him, but Kenma’s expression remains panicked, uncharacteristically open. His shoulders shake and his chest is heaving. “Yaku, you need to get out of here, i-immediately.”

“Are you okay?” Morisuke asks instead. His ears are still pressed back in annoyance, but there’s concern in his eyes and he reaches up to touch Kenma’s shoulder. The witch jerks back as though stung. “Kenma, you’re hyperventilating.”

“N-No, not now, you just need to—you need to go,” Kenma grinds out. Tadashi isn’t sure whether to be more worried for him or Morisuke’s presence.

“I think you both need to get out of here. I mean—we all should, but you two can carry Suga, and I’ll go get Kiyoko and make sure she’s okay,” Tadashi tells them, and Morisuke briefly looks away from Kenma to peer up at him suspiciously. “This guy needs a higher spirit! And those are luck spirits, right? So, um, you should go. Please. And take Suga with you!”

Morisuke looks down at Suga’s body. Then back to Kenma, tail curling. “I’m not leaving either of you here,” he said firmly.

“You can’t take us with you when you cross borders, you’ll kill us, so you have to go alone,” Kenma says quickly, breathlessly, and he brings his arms up to wrap around himself. “Yaku, you need to go, _now, please_ —”

“He’s right,” Tadashi agrees with a lot of nodding. He’s not sure what _he’ll_ do, but Kenma is getting to be more and more Not Okay, and Suga absolutely needs medical attention. “You have to stay away from that witch, he’s too strong to fight—”

“I didn’t teach you fire magic for you to get into fights,” Morisuke points out. His voice is half drowned out by another clap of thunder behind them, followed by the sound of something large getting knocked over. The fighting sounds are getting closer. That man had been prepared with a confinement circle specifically made for Kei, so he could probably handle another luck spirit, and they can’t count on Suga to break it for them.

He’s so going to get bitched at for this later.

Tadashi grabs Morisuke by the scruff of the neck and hauls Kenma up by his upper arm. “You two, _go_! Kenma, order Kuroo back when he finds you, and grab Tsukki if you can. I’ll get Suga, and Kiyoko, but you two need to leave!”

Maybe his plan would have worked had the warehouse not gone dark at that moment.

The only source of light—no, the light sucking all the other light out of the room—is a sphere on the other side, casting flickering shadows and making the air buzz with magic. Ushijima stands in the middle of it, dual-wielding short blades, furious, and bleeding from his mouth and nose.

Tadashi can’t see Kiyoko, but he sees what must be her shadow from the bright light, twisting up along one of the warehouse walls. He raises an arm to cover his eyes just as Ushijima lets his swords melt and he puts his hands flat on the floor.

“ _Ya uln, ph’nglui, Northot!_ ” the witch shouts.

 _Something_ erupts out of the floor, massive and stinking and Tadashi fights down a primal fear reaction unrelated to anything actually _about_ it. He wants to run from its presence, and it’s not even _done_ yet, boiling up further and further out of the light, until he realizes it’s _claws_. Claws longer than he is tall, connected to a _hand_ that he can’t stand to look at.

His entire being screams at him to _fucking run already_.

He hates that he can’t bring himself to move.

The air is suffocating, freezing, and thick with magic. Tadashi isn’t aware his nose is bleeding until he opens his mouth to try to suck in a breath and he ends up coughing on the copper taste.

“ _Yuln, yhafh’drn,_ ” _something_ rumbles and Tadashi feels it reverberate in his starving lungs. He’s not sure he can actually _hear_ anymore, other than a low, droning note, although the words seem to have a physical sharpness to them. “ _K’yarnak, lloig. Yathg!_ ”

“N-Never!” comes Kiyoko’s weak but firm shout.

“… _Yhafh’drn. Seize the higher spirit. If your plan is sound, we will not have to use your body again._ ”

“Time to go,” Tadashi wheezes.

Morisuke turns into a cat, long tail still puffed up, and curls around Tadashi’s shoulders with a faint hiss. He’s burning hot against his neck, but he feels wonderful in the cold room. Tadashi lets go of Kenma, who is full-on trembling now, and gives him what he hopes is a gentle shove in the direction of the exit.

Suga cooperates about as well as a sack of potatoes, but Tadashi can feel his fluttery pulse, so he won’t complain too much. He’s taller than Suga is, but he’s not made of muscle, and he’s still trying to balance a cat spirit with _very_ sharp claws, too. Somehow, he gets Suga draped across his back, forcing Morisuke to more or less hang onto his front with his claws, but oh well. Tadashi just hopes he won’t have to kick Kenma to get him moving, because that seems really cruel when all he clearly wants to do is have a breakdown in a quiet corner.

Tadashi sort of wants that, too.

He _definitely_ wants that when he turns, already out of breath in the magic-humid room, and finds Ushijima weaving toward them through the boxes and barrels like he’s drunk. His expression is serious, eyes solid black, and he looks utterly _terrifying_ despite the lack of obvious weapons. There’s blood actively dripping out his nose and down his chin, but he doesn’t pull it into any swords, and instead reaches for them with blackening fingers.

Fire roars up between them, and the witch draws back with an inhuman growl.

“What do you two get up to when I’m not around?!” Morisuke demands and slithers out from between Tadashi’s neck and Suga’s shoulder. He catches himself in midair and turns back into a human form before he lands on the floor.

Kiyoko finally reappears on the scene, and she seems in just as bad of shape: there’s red pouring down her chin and her eyes are bloodshot. She seems to be staying upright through sheer force of will and with every step her knees threaten to buckle, but there’s still purpose in her movements and a long, shining sword in her hands. The fire dies down just as she reaches Ushijima, and this close, Tadashi can see the blisters on her hands where her skin touches the sword.

She raises the sword. Ushijima’s back is to her and his reflexes seem slowed by _whatever the fuck is going on_. Tadashi wishes he had a hand free to grab Morisuke back again, because dear fucking god he should not be anywhere near the _terrifying fucking hand from hell_ that specifically asked to capture him.

They’re all sent tumbling backwards. The warm suddenly feels a lot warmer, and Tadashi scrambles to pull Suga back up into his arms. He thinks it’s one of those overly strong push spells that the witch used earlier, at least until he catches that smell he usually associates with Kuroo. It’s usually faint around the demon, but now it’s stronger, amplified by the magic in the air, and Tadashi turns around with horror, thinking _oh fuck no there’s a high and a low spirit here we’re going to start the apocalypse right now holy shit_.

It’s not Kuroo, though.

“Someone smells like bad magic,” the figure says, amusement dripping in their words. Tadashi squints at the light that seems to make up the person—spirit? Tadashi is about up to _here_ with new, horrifying magical things today.

Ushijima and Kiyoko backpedal away from it, being the closest ones, with matching expressions of raw _fear_.

Tadashi knows this just went from bad to worse, and he’s not sure he’s reassured that the bad guy is also shitting himself over this. “Someone smells like…” The figure inhales, breath rattling and going on way too long to be even _remotely_ human. “…black magic. Not, no—Not necromancy, a little like a curse, but… hmm.” It steps over with too-long legs and sniffs Ushijima, shaking off sparks as it moves. “You smell delicious. I’m still so hungry!”

The glowing thing reaches out to touch the witch, and the blackness on his skin and in his eyes sloughs off as it nears.

Before it can actually touch Ushijima, Kiyoko and Kenma react in unison. “ _Bind-confine-magic-not-demon-imprison!_ ”

Tadashi has no idea how they both can string together such a long chain of runes without passing out, but whatever they do, it works; a circle goes up and the figure of light screams, drawing away from Ushijima and curling in on itself. Kiyoko wobbles and sinks slowly to her knees. The sword clangs to the floor at her side. Kenma wipes at his eyes, unable to keep looking at the thing in the circle, and likewise sinks down into a crouch on its edge.

Ushijima blinks slowly at the whining figure cut off from him. “That is an angel,” he rasps, thickly, like his throat is raw and his nose has been badly broken.

Tadashi has no reason to doubt him, because _why the fuck not_. Of course it’s a fucking angel. Having a demon on the way isn’t bad enough, no, there had to be an angel they were unaware of— “What the _fuck_!” he bursts out.

“We have to force it to settle,” Kenma says quietly.

“Like hell! We have to get rid of it!” Morisuke replies at once. “I don’t care if it’s a damned angel, that’s still a lower spirit and _that thing_ needed one!” He jumps up into the air, hovering, and glowers across the circle at the bloody witch. “ _You_! You go near that thing and I’ll sear your bones!”

“We need to get it to settle,” Ushijima agrees solemnly and wipes his mouth. Morisuke’s tail lashes and he creates a pair of fire wisps over one hand.

“Let the angel eat him.”

Said angel looks up at the bakeneko’s voice, hollow eyes big and dark against the light of its skin. “Oh, I like cats. You sound so good, kitty. Heeeere, kitty-kitty…”

“We need… to get rid of the rip…” Kiyoko pants. Her voice is softer than ever, but she’s still heard clearly, and Tadashi looks over at the clawed hand. It’s shrunk a little, receding back into where it came, and its nearer nail seems to have chipped. But it’s still present and it’s still entirely possible that Ushijima could finish its summoning right here and now.

Tadashi really, really just wants to grab Suga and leave. Let the witches figure it out.

“Force it to settle and it’ll be more manageable,” Kenma says. He sounds almost normal again, although he’s still trembling. But there’s focus in his gold eyes.

“Just… tell me what to do,” Tadashi says, and Kenma looks at him like he’d forgotten he was there. (He should have snuck out with Suga when he had the chance.)

“I just want to eat. I don’t want Northot here, either,” the angel moans. It sounds pathetic, and Tadashi almost feels sorry for it.

He probably would have, had it not broken through the circle and speared Morisuke with a shaft of light.

The bakeneko snarls and thrashes, and it drags him over before anyone can reach. The angel’s jaws unhinge and open wide to seemingly swallow him whole, and Tadashi feels himself move forward on reflex. He draws the mark for fire and flames spring up between them just as he throws himself bodily at the angel.

To his pleasant surprise, it doesn’t burn him or anything terrible where it touches him. He pulls Morisuke away and simultaneously pushes the angel back into the fire. It shrieks and thrashes in it, light blending in with the flames, and stumbles out on the other side—straight into Kiyoko’s sword.

Tadashi looks down at Morisuke, who doesn’t seem hurt so much as incredibly agitated. There’s blood, though, seeping into his shirt, so Tadashi keeps his arms around him and pins him against his chest. “Hold still! I just threw myself at a fuckin’ angel for you, so stop complaining about that! _Please_!”

“That just tried to _eat_ me!” Morisuke yowls, then calms down briefly. Tadashi heaves a sigh of relief. “And _you_! Don’t you _ever_ tackle any magical creature ever again. I don’t care if it’s a lower spirit, angels are bad business, and—”

“Save the lecture, please,” Tadashi begs. He pushes more magic into the fiery wall separating them and it springs back up. The angel has gotten away from Kiyoko although the sword is still stuck in its stomach, and Ushijima has gotten back to his feet with his own blade in hand.

The angel stares at Kiyoko, light fading, hardening, solidifying—and with one last bright flash, the glow stops altogether. It looks human now—female, or at least feminine, about average in size and still with a sword sticking out of her belly. There’s a messy mop of short, brown hair and big, round brown eyes. She’d be pretty if she weren’t still in danger of killing any one of them or getting sacrificed to kickstart an apocalypse.

The angel finally pulls the sword out of her stomach and drops it with a squeal.

Kiyoko looks as if she’s been stabbed instead.

“…Yui,” she breathes.

The angel kicks the sword away before turning to look at the witch. “Who’s Yui?”

 

\--

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Iwaizumi demands, nose wrinkled, arms crossed, brow furrowed—the picture of animalistic wariness. Which is all well and good, and maybe even a little touching, if he wasn’t broadcasting that same angry-slash-protective instinct so _loudly_.

“Ooh, you must be the ‘selkie’,” complete with air-quotes, “bodyguard that went and got our poor Tooru’s brain eaten,” Mattsun coos. One arm is slung around Tooru’s shoulders, matching the man beside him. The man who Tooru is pretty damn sure he’s supposed to know. Hanamaki Takahiro, but the name isn’t one he ever remembers hearing before.

“This dumbass got himself possessed by an angel—”

“What kind of bodyguard doesn’t take Tooru’s dumbassery into account?” the stranger replies with a dramatic gasp. His hand tightens on Tooru’s shoulder and the brunet risks a peek over at him. Takahiro is simultaneously familiar (there’s something that’s just _right_ about meeting up with him and Mattsun, and if Tooru doesn’t think about it he can _almost_ remember some sort of fuzzy silhouette in most of his memories) and very strange. He can’t get anything from him, but that should make sense, right? Mattsun is mentally silent beside him, too, and if they really _do_ know each other, the guy would have plenty of practice at shutting psychics out.

But Tooru can’t help but prod. He wants to _know_ , wants to drag those memories back into him and stop feeling so off-balance. So he pokes at Takahiro’s mental walls, looking for cracks or crumbs. Spending so much time with Iwaizumi has spoiled him, since the skinwalker has the mental barriers of a toddler at best, even if half his conscious thoughts are in a language that gives him migraines.

 _He smells like a wild dog_ , Iwaizumi thinks, still too loud. Tooru cringes and wishes that, too, would be fixed for him. Maybe teaching him to get a filter in place would be a good idea…

“ _Imbécil, ya deja eso_.” The stranger grabs Tooru’s jaw and turns his head to look him in the eye. His expression is flat, stern, and very much used to it. [1]

“Friends don’t let friends try to break into each other’s minds,” Mattsun says, mirroring the movement and yanking Tooru’s face around to him.

 _Familiar_ , Tooru thinks again. This back-and-forth is _frustratingly_ familiar, like the most intense case of déjà vu _ever_. And the longest. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’d had this exact conversation before somehow.

He whines when his hair is tugged, a signal to turn him back around. Takahiro certainly has no problem manhandling him like Mattsun does, and the physical intimacy doesn’t really help his mood. This time, his expression is softer around the edges; his eyes are open a little wider, and there’s something not quite hurt (but damn near close) in them. “…You’re not joking,” he realizes aloud. “ _Mierda_. Mattsun, you win the bet.” [2]

“You made a _bet_ about me?!” Tooru squawks and yanks himself fully away from their grasps. He stands, turns on his heel to face them both, and plants his fists on his hips. “No, this is not a joke, so stop treating it as one.”

While there is still something genuine about Takahiro’s expression, Mattsun’s is normal. That is, annoyingly unperturbed. “We had to make sure you weren’t giving us shit,” he says with a shrug. He keeps his eyes on Tooru and Iwaizumi, but inclines his head to the side, addressing his friend, “ _No puedo creer que lo poseyeran y se olvidó de tí_.” [3]

“I forgot Spanish, too,” Tooru admits, face hot. This conversation is turning into an exercise in irritation and embarrassment.

“And how to read, and shallow details of most of the people he knows, and most of his short-term memory,” Iwaizumi lists off. Tooru elbows him without looking back.

“Is there anything it _didn’t_ eat?” Takahiro asks, shocked.

“He’s forgotten other people, too, if it’s any consolation,” Iwaizumi answers for him.

“I cannot believe,” Mattsun says seriously, and reaches over to grasp the stranger’s hand in both of his, “that you forgot my husband.”

Tooru balks—that’s mortifying, maybe even worse than partially forgetting his own sister—but they don’t have rings on, and there’s the briefest of flickers of a smirk at the corners of Mattsun’s mouth. He hazily remembers something about a significant other, but nothing about their gender _or_ anything close to an engagement or marriage.

So he smacks Mattsun upside the head, and, after a moment of hesitation, does the same to Takahiro. They both break into snorts of laughter, still holding hands, and Tooru glowers down at them. “Don’t take advantage of my innocence!”

“Is that what he calls it?”

“He must have forgotten me if he thought we’d pass up that opportunity.”

“Wait—have you forgotten what he _is_?” Mattsun asks with something approaching _glee_. Worrying. Reluctantly, Tooru nods, while Iwaizumi’s amusement rapidly shifts into alarm behind him.

“We’re outside,” Takahiro reminds him, craning his neck around for other people nearby. With the nice weather, the park has a fair amount of traffic, although no one immediately in their area.

“You’re not human?” Iwaizumi asks sharply.

“ _Con un poco será suficiente_.” [4]

“ _No_! And I’m technically a little human. Mostly. Half-human for sure. Is Mr. Extinct Species _really_ the one to be judging me here?” Takahiro asks, one hand pressed coyly against his mouth. Mattsun snickers again.

“How do you—?” Iwaizumi asks, and the alarm gives way to pain. Tooru takes a step back and is winding their arms together before he realizes he’s doing it. Iwaizumi takes a breath and tries again, “How did you know that?”

“He’s a werewolf,” Mattsun says with a grin.

“I am _not_ ,” the not-werewolf snaps back. Before he can say anything else, he hastily tells him, “I’m half nagual on my mother’s side. Which is technically all nagual or not at all, depending on your definition. So, still human.”

“And what the hell’s a nagual,” Tooru asks, because that hasn’t explained a _thing_ to him. And it doesn’t ring any bells. Worse: Iwaizumi’s expression is light and open and _he_ at least knows what’s going on. Tooru feels more lost than ever.

“I didn’t know they were still around. What sort of nagual? Is it genetic or—do you pick? Can you ever change forms?” Iwaizumi asks eagerly. He radiates excitement and a sort of nostalgic happiness that Tooru has never felt from him before.

Tooru barely knows what a skinwalker is, even now. As the nagual-stranger launches into a rehearsed but happy sounding explanation, punctuated with plenty of Spanish, Tooru tries to rein in his growing annoyance. It’s not anyone’s fault. (That makes it worse.) He tells himself to be happy that Iwaizumi is getting along with his apparent friends, and he should be grateful for the straight answers for once, but. _But_.

“Oi,” Mattsun says with a gentle tug on his wrist. He pulls Tooru back onto the bench, on his other side, away from the two shapeshifters. “Still nothing coming back about Makki?”

Makki. _Makki_ —the name is a painful pinch in his brain, but he feels some color return to his memories. Definite, concrete memories of high school and pranks and staying out too late and sleepovers and mud and fur and _wait why am I remembering a dog_. It’s not quite a full return of anything, but it fill in gaps he had been unaware of having, and Tooru breaks into a bright grin.

“ _Creo que eso ayudó. ¡Pudiste haberlo llamado Makki desde un principio! Intenta usar más historias y nombres familiares, Mattsun, creo que eso comprueba que mis memorias pueden regresar si_ —” Tooru stops himself; Mattsun just gapes at him. There’s a jarring disconnect with what he thinks he’s saying and what he’s hearing.[5]

Makki and Iwaizumi stare at him, their conversation cut short.

After a long, awkward silence in which Tooru worries about what _else_ could go wrong, Iwaizumi facepalms and groans, “…You broke him further.”

 

\--

 

Kiyoko doubles over with what sounds like a sob. Kenma had to have heard her correctly; _Yui_? The name takes a moment to click. _She wrote the notes with Sugawara_. He’d suspected that she was dead, but an _angel_? From Kiyoko’s reaction, it’s clearly a surprise to her as well.

“Wait… I know you,” the Yui-angel says, heedless of the white blood splattering the concrete as she walks toward Kiyoko. Kiyoko looks up at her through cracked glasses. “You were in the memories from that psychic.”

If it were anything but an angel, Kenma would leave it to them and run, especially since Yaku is here now. But he can’t just leave an angel of all things, though how it got to be in this realm worries him. He absolutely would have noticed someone else trying to summon one.

And, as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he doesn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving Kiyoko to contend with something that makes her look like that.

“Y-Yui,” Kiyoko croaks, and her voice breaks on the name, “please. Don’t make me do this.”

“Psychics taste good,” Yui murmurs, still advancing.

The other witch raises an arm to cast a spell, but Kenma beats him to the punch. His arrow hits him in the temple and he staggers to the side with a grunt.

Priority A: keep the spirits from being sacrificed for the summoning.

Priority B: get the angel’s grace for himself.

Priority C: get everyone else out safely. Probably. Kenma is half-sure they can handle it themselves.

“Yui, please. _Please_ tell me you remember me,” Kiyoko pleads. The angel gives no sign of recognizing her or possessing any memories she may have held before death, but that’s to be expected. Kiyoko has to be deluding herself if she thinks that the angel is still a _person_.

 _But Kuro_ —

Kuro isn’t the same person he was before he became a demon. Yui isn’t the same, either. Kenma shakes his head to clear his vision, but the blurriness remains. He’s used too much magic, and the foul stuff pouring out from the rip where _that hand_ is is only making him feel worse. And Kuro’s injuries…

“I only have the psychic’s memories. The other psychic,” Yui replies.

“She’s an angel now, stop talking to her!” Kenma calls, readying another arrow. This one he casts with a sharp mark; he wants that man to _bleed_. The witch makes the mistake of getting up again. Kenma’s fingers are numb when he draws back, and his aim is off, so the arrow embeds itself just beneath his collarbone. It doesn’t dissipate upon contact like the others, and the witch looks down at it with confusion, then annoyance.

“We need to go,” Tadashi whimpers beside him.

“Then _go_ ,” Kenma tells him.

“You’re about to faint! Kiyoko is—we can’t leave the angel alone with Ushijima, can we?” He runs a hand over his face, still staring wide-eyed at the angel between his fingers. “How do you kill an angel?”

“I’ll handle it,” Kenma says quickly, hoping the panic in his voice isn’t obvious. Tadashi doesn’t seem to notice it.

Yaku is staring up at him with sharp eyes, though.

 _Later_ , Kenma tells himself. _Deal with him and Lev and Kuro and everyone later_.

There’s a definite painful pull in his stomach when he draws back again. He’s using too much magic per arrow, he knows, but he doesn’t have anything else controlled enough to target Ushijima but not the angel. The last thing they need is more magic near her.

“Don’t make me do this,” Kiyoko tries again. The angel is nearly within arm’s reach of her, and the sword is behind her, nearer to Kenma and Tadashi. “Yui, I can’t let you—I need to protect them.”

Kiyoko certainly sounds as if she’s not worried about the _angel_ looming over her. Kenma hopes she doesn’t have some quick trick to banish her. There’s no known magic like that, but Kiyoko and Sugawara have already surprised him with what they can pull out of their magical hat, and Kenma won’t risk it. If need be, he’ll put her down, too.

He needs the rest of his magic to steal her grace. Kenma releases his last arrow, and it glances off a blade that Ushijima pulls out of his own blood. So it’ll just come down to a race, then—

Ushijima writes runes in red down his arm, and Kenma can’t read them before he’s slammed down onto the concrete floor. Magic keeps him pinned, so strongly that he can barely breathe and he’s worried about his nose being broken, and he dimly hears Yaku shout. He sees the bakeneko charge at the witch—god, that’s the _last_ thing he should do right now, _someone stop him_!

The spell on him doesn’t lift completely, but it lifts enough for Kenma to roll over onto his back. He can feel blood trickle down the back of his throat and he coughs, but it’s easier to breathe like this and he can see what’s happening. Yaku seems to be more fire than spirit now, but Ushijima, like Kenma predicted, is prepared for a luck spirit.

A circle goes up, extinguishing the flames, and all that’s left in it is a very scared-looking cat with a long tail.

Ushijima looks down at Kenma, eyes merciless. Kenma still isn’t ready to die, but he’s not sure what he can do like this.

Tadashi, nearest to the sword, sees his opportunity.

Ushijima blocks the wild swing with his blood blade, and he has size and magic and power on his side, but the metal sword must be magic-eating. There’s one moment where they’re locked like that, but then the blood gives, and the actual sword wins out. The blade hacks into the space between his shoulder and neck, and the moment it sinks into the flesh, Tadashi lets go with a squawk.

Ushijima falls over, sword clanging out of him. His magic lifts, and Kenma sucks in a deep breath. Tadashi shakes out his burnt hands, wiping blood off on his jeans, and he looks torn between tears and pride. “That was so stupid!” Yaku yowls and leaps up into his arms. The bakeneko presses in against him, too firmly for it to be merely for Tadashi’s sake, and Tadashi finally lets out a wobbly little laugh. “You’re going to give me a heart attack yet, you stupid kid.”

“I-I feel like I’m having one,” he admits, then looks over at Kenma. “You okay?”

Kenma’s attention is back on the two women. Kiyoko is on her feet again, back pressed against the wall, and despite being taller than her, there’s not much other than fear in her eyes at Yui’s approach. But Kenma sees the marks she’s writing on the wall behind her. It’s too far for him to read most of them, but he catches a few.

They look familiar.

Kiyoko says something to her, voice low, and Yui cocks her head to one side. She’s stopped moving.

Kiyoko finishes the last marks sloppily, handwriting going big and loose in her haste, and Kenma recognizes them. Her hands glow with the raw magic, and she seizes Yui by the throat with one while the other reaches up against her sternum.

There’s a flash of magic intense enough to make his ears ring. Kenma rubs at his eyes, waiting for his sight to return, and hears Kiyoko make another choked sound.

By the time his vision clears, there’s no second figure in front of Kiyoko anymore. Her hands are glowing, pure white like gloves up to her elbows, and with a jolt, he realizes her eyes are, too, blank white and even brighter than the angel had been.

 _Kiyoko stole her grace_ , Kenma realizes. Kiyoko stares down at the spot in front of her where Yui had been. _Kiyoko stole_ my _spell._

But how? He’s never tested it, and no spell is successful on the first attempt, not even his.

 _But before_ —she had sealed the angel with him. She had sealed it using his own runes. He is the only one to use _not-demon_ instead of _angel_ , to take advantage of the magical inverse rather than trying to overpower it through brute force. _How did she steal my magic?_ He’s never let his more sensitive notes out of his sight, and Kuro would never tell. He didn’t leave behind anything at his old apartment.

Kiyoko turns her white gaze on the shrinking hand. The ends of her dark hair are slowly singeing off, and her sleeves have already become ash, trailing after her as she begins walking. Her steps leave behind half-melted rubber from her shoes.

Tadashi is still staring at the spot where the angel vanished. Yaku, still nestled tightly in his arms, also glares at the spot, and that’s when Kenma realizes that she’s still there. Kiyoko has successfully turned Yui back into a ghost; stealing an angel’s grace doesn’t kill the angel (which he knew), but just stops it from being an angel (which he didn’t know).

Kenma wonders about demons.

Kiyoko flinches at something the ghost says. She keeps walking, blinding hands fisted at her side, and two of the claws on the hand crack as she nears it. “Leave,” she commands. Her voice sounds distorted by the magic, gravelly and thrumming with power, and Kenma can’t help the chill that goes up his spine.

“ _You delay the inescapable, lloig_ ,” the voice rumbles. It’s still worse than hers: still painful, still inhuman, still wrong. It’s no great reassurance.

“I’ll stop it. You are not welcome here,” Kiyoko says. She doesn’t draw runes nor speak them to cast the banishment spell. Kenma barely shields his eyes in time, and the angelic magic wars with the foul one of the hand. But it’s over so soon.

Academically, Kenma knows that it was barely enough to call a partial summoning, and with Ushijima out of the picture it could have even been fixed with a hell of a lot of normal magic. But still. Kiyoko stole an angel’s grace and banished a Great Old One.

Kenma jumps a foot in the air when tiny cat paws land on his shoulder. Tadashi has shied over closer to him (Kenma isn’t certain he’s aware he’s trembling, face drawn) and Yaku weaves around Kenma’s shoulders. The witch isn’t prepared when the bakeneko reaches around to his face and licks across his eyelids. He wipes at it on reflex, but Yaku pulls his hand down with the threat of claws. “Watch,” he says lowly.

Kenma blinks over, and sees Yui again. She’s on her knees on the floor, tears shining on her cheeks, whispering, “Kiyoko, Kiyoko,” over and over again.

“Why?” Kenma asks.

“Why does Kiyoko know the angel?”

For once, Yaku’s paranoia over the motives of witches works in his favor. Kenma doesn’t tell him that he knows how they know each other; he watches and listens. He needs to gauge how big of a threat Kiyoko is going to become.

With most of her magic sapped, Kiyoko looks more human now. Only her fingers are white, ending in slight points, and her hair has stopped burning, though she’s lost two or three inches off of it. The skin that had been enveloped in glow is raw and reddened, and every step she takes is weak. Her blue eyes are visible again, although shimmering with unshed tears.

Kiyoko stumbles back in Yui’s direction with the air of a soldier returning to a lover.

“Kiyoko, Koushi is dying,” Yui says with a wet sniffle.

Kiyoko freezes halfway to her.

With a speed that Kenma didn’t know she still had in her, Kiyoko all but throws herself at them, and he, Yaku, and Tadashi scramble out of her way. This close, Kenma can smell the reek of angel still on her, but she doesn’t look inhuman. She’s probably still alive. He’s jealous, insanely jealous and angry and bitter that she stole his own goddamned spell, but if he could just _learn_ from this—

Kiyoko presses her ear against Sugawara’s chest. There’s the tiniest sigh of relief from her, and then, without further warning, she presses her hands against him and shoves raw magic at him. Yaku yowls and claws at him from the sting of it in the air, and Tadashi ends up tripping in his backpedaling. Suga jerks and coughs before sucking in a greedy breath.

Distantly, Kenma wonders how close he was to death while they were busy.

“What did he do to himself,” Yui murmurs. Tadashi squeaks at her sudden proximity, and Kenma quickly backs away from her. Ghost or not, he doesn’t want to get near her.

“How much do you remember?” Kiyoko asks, voice still rough but almost back to normal. She smooths back the light bangs from Suga’s face.

“I remember dying.” A long pause, and then Yui adds, “I remember… a place where I was stuck for a long, long time. I remember—” She cuts off and wraps her arms around her stomach with a low, pained moan. “I remember h-how hungry I was. I’m still hungry.”

Kiyoko looks over her shoulder, back at her, and Yui meets her gaze with something like resignation.

Ghosts aren’t supposed to feel hunger.

Kenma starts taking more backwards steps. Is it a failure? No, because that isn’t the spell’s primary function isn’t to try to change angels. Kiyoko definitely stole her grace. But Yui isn’t a spirit again, not fully, and that means she’s unstable.

He’s not looking where he’s going, concentrating on keeping Yaku still in his arms, and his shoe hits the sword behind him. The metal screeches across the concrete and everyone snaps up to look at him. There’s wide-eyed _fear_ in Kiyoko’s eyes.

“Kenma,” she starts, and Kenma shakes his head. “Are you alright? I’m not mad—I didn’t mean to take your spell. I only needed a way to close what Ushijima opened.”

“When?” he asks. _When did you steal it from me_. She claims not to be angry with him, but he’s faced down enough witches today, and even if she’s burned through most of her angel power, he knows firsthand how dangerous it is.

“I don’t know when.”

 _She doesn’t know? Then_ —then she saw it in the future. Which means he’s guaranteed to use it at some point, which means he still _needs_ a spell to protect himself, which means _they fail_. For all of Kiyoko’s promises and planning and spellwork, there is still a future where Kenma needs to protect himself.

So what’s the point of trying? Why did he risk his life, Kuro’s life, _everything_ to try to stop the apocalypse if it’s going to happen anyway? Why the fuck did he bother fighting against a foregone conclusion?!

“Kenma. Please, I’m sorry, but I needed this to—”

Kenma shoves Yaku in the vague direction of Tadashi. His chest burns, and it’s not totally from Kuro’s injury. He’d been so stupid to think Shouyou and Kageyama could do this, and even stupider to think _he_ could do something to help. Yaku digs his claws in to try to keep hold of Kenma, but he’s wearing long sleeves and he doesn’t care if it rips. “Stop it, Kenma, you’re not going to go off alone with that demon again!” Yaku starts, but Kenma shakes his head again.

“Kiyoko, I don’t feel well,” Yui mumbles, arms tightening on herself. She sways on her feet and sinks to one knee beside Tadashi. “What did you…”

Kiyoko looks momentarily torn between reassuring Kenma and trying to help Yui.

Kenma doesn’t blame her for turning to Yui.

“Yui, listen—look at me. You’re going to be alright. Alright? Nod for me.”

“I don’t think—”

“I can _fix_ this,” Kiyoko interrupts harshly.

Yui shakes her head, hair flying. “You can’t fix everything, Kiyoko.”

With that, the pendulum swings the other way.

Taking an angel’s grace doesn’t completely destroy an angel, and angels are created with a lot of magic acting over a short period of time. Kenma is horrified he didn’t think of this first; what single spell could be stronger than one operating on the grace of an angel?

They all scramble to get out of the way, except for Kiyoko, who remains crouched by Sugawara, reaching out in vain at the surge of light. A searing wind has whipped up, and Kenma isn’t sure if it’s the wind screaming or Yui, but it climbs higher and higher. His eyes are squeezed shut, one arm thrown over them, but he can still see _light_ , blinding light, and he’s beginning to think the warehouse is actually on fire.

Kenma blindly walks backward, trying to distance himself from the ball of heat and light. It’s like a miniature sun, and he hopes it stays miniature, but maybe their luck has finally run out, even with Yaku there. There is only so much meddling they can do with forces above them, and maybe they were all wrong.

The light dies with a fizzle. The room is dunked back into relative chilliness, although it still feels sweltering inside; Kenma feels a cold sweat break out on his skin. He squints through his loose bangs at the figure standing where Yui had been.

Still Yui, probably. Except an angel again, all dripping embers and hollow eyes and too-large mouth.

No, not an angel.

Kenma’s eyes follow the arch of the wings, the curve of the flight feathers.

 _Arch_ angel.

An archangel isn’t quite an apocalyptic event, but it’s damn near close. He feels too-calm again.

“Here, kitty-kitty,” Yui rasps and lunges at Yaku, in Tadashi’s arms.

All Kenma sees is fire, though from who he doesn’t know, and Kiyoko and Tadashi are both shouting. Kenma almost trips over Ushijima as he backs away, and he feels ready to vomit. Archangels are higher spirits, powerful and terrifying and nearly as eldritch as the fucking thing that the other witch is trying to summon. He’s never heard of one in anything remotely considered present-day; all the lore he dug up in his research put the last reasonably concrete archangel presence almost a thousand years ago.

It killed a large part of China and ended a dynasty.

This is far, far above his pay grade. And it’s all futile, right? Let Kiyoko deal with the mess she just created, and Kenma will fight tooth and nail to get to another day when he can better his spell. It’s _their_ problem and he’s fine never sticking his nose in like this again.

 

\--

 

Tadashi is on his back, one foot planted on Yui’s stomach, arms tight around the fiery cat spirit on his chest. The angel’s wings flap above them, beating the flames back down at them, and Tadashi is starting to believe he’s going to get cooked before he gets eaten. He can’t kick her off, he’s not strong enough, and nothing is within reach.

“Yui, _no_!” Kiyoko screams and throws herself at the new angel.

Yui goes still. Her wings drop to her sides, temporarily enclosing them, and all Tadashi can hear inside the cocoon is his rapid, panicked breathing. Yui’s eyes are black holes again, but there’s something _sad_ about them—Tadashi realizes that she still _remembers_.

“Pl-Please, don’t eat us. You don’t have to,” Tadashi tells her, voice not much more than a squeak, and Yui slowly closes her mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be their friend?” Morisuke hisses.

“I… was,” Yui confesses. “I _am_.”

“So pleasestoptryingtoeatus,” Tadashi wheezes. He can’t even move, bracketed in by her arms and wings, and her weight is still impossibly heavy against his leg.

“I-I am. So hungry. I’ve never…” The angel turns her head off to the side, squinting a little. “I can’t do this. You need to leave.”

 _Please let me_ , Tadashi thinks dizzily, though he doesn’t voice it. Slowly, Yui leans back on her haunches, wings folding up against her back. Tadashi, bakeneko still clutched against him, scuttles away like his life depends on it. Oh, haha, it probably fucking does. He’s pretty sure Suga has mentioned hazard pay more than once. He needs to demand that shit from here on out.

Kiyoko is pressed up against her back, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and Tadashi again feels like he’s eavesdropping on this. He doesn’t have the full picture, but he’s seen enough of it, and caught between the life-and-death-ness of it all, this feels too intimate.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko whispers between the angel’s new wings. “I’m so sorry, Yui. I-I couldn’t save you.”

“I.” Yui swallows and turns away from Morisuke and Tadashi. “I need to go, Kiyoko.”

“Let me help you.”

“You can’t. I need to go, I _really_ need to go.”

“Please, let me save you, too,” Kiyoko pleads against her shoulder blades.

The angel responds by vanishing. Kiyoko is left kneeling by herself, tear-tracks cutting through the ash and blood on her face, and the temperature in the room slowly begins turning back to normal. Tadashi feels guilty for his relieved sigh.

He doesn’t say anything while Kiyoko composes herself. It’s not his place, and he feels awkward—but more than that, he feels like he wants to pass out where he is. He wants to sleep for days. Maybe forever. He can see now why Suga is always going on about the dangers of magic.

He’s not sure how much time passes before Kiyoko is up on her feet again. Morisuke is curled around his shoulders, unusually quiet. He waits until Tadashi is on his feet too before he _pops_ out of existence without a word. Tadashi’s skin tingles where he disappeared.

“Could you…?” Kiyoko mumbles with a gesture toward Suga.

Tadashi nods, not trusting his own voice. He hauls the man up over his shoulders again, and he’s pleased to feel the rise and fall of his chest this time. Kiyoko looks around, and spots the sword. She retrieves it and makes it disappear into the dogtags she’d had earlier, which is a neat trick.

But a disappearing sword is secondary to a disappearing witch.

“Where’s Ushijima?” Tadashi asks quietly. Kiyoko stares hard down at the blood splatter where the man had been laying. Some part of Tadashi actually _hopes_ he got up and left, because he doesn’t want to think about the literal blood on his hands. _I can’t have killed him_ , he tells himself. He almost believes it.

“…I don’t know. Come, we should leave. You and Suga have injuries to take care of, and—” And her knees buckle when she tries to take another step. Tadashi throws out an arm to steady her, and Suga ends up slipping down his shoulders. He’s forced to let go of her to make sure he doesn’t fall.

“I think you should get yourself checked out, too,” Tadashi points out.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You just, um, sort of absorbed an angel’s power.” Who even _knows_ what the fuck goes on with magic. He needs a quiet evening to talk this over with Kei and figure out— _Tsukki_! Holy shit, he had almost forgotten that he _actually found him_ again, and he’ll be able to return to him, and _oh god no I_ kissed _him_. The elation is soured as quickly as it came by dread.

The dread worsens when he realizes that A: Kenma is gone. Which means B: his homing demon, Kei in tow, is headed toward _him_. And not toward Tadashi. He’d tear his hair out in frustration if he weren’t acting as a pack mule.

It takes quite awhile for Kiyoko to limp outside with him. He waits for her, because what else can he do, and sets Suga down beside her backpack in the dead grass. It has actually gotten almost cold out again, something he’d been fine avoiding, and Tadashi rubs his arms with a shiver. He notices with equal parts relief and disappointment that her broom is gone.

“I wish he’d stop stealing my brooms,” Kiyoko murmurs as she rummages around in her bag. She stashes the dogtags and pulls out a plastic water bottle of something that’s definitely not water. She downs half of it in one go. “When I get back to my store, I’ll call Hitoka. She can…” Kiyoko droops, and Tadashi worries for one horrible moment that she’s passed out. But no, she’s just gone pale, expression hiding something raw.

Tadashi had _thought_ there was something between them. (There definitely is something to the way Hitoka moons over Kiyoko.) Oh god, but that angel—oh _no_.

“She can help us all,” Kiyoko bravely finishes (although there is something thick in her voice). “And… Please, Tadashi, don’t tell Suga about Yui. You can tell him about the angel, about anything else—that’s the business between you and him. But… not her. Please.”

“Oh, sure. I-I mean, I won’t,” Tadashi mumbles. How would that conversation even go? _Hey, so while I argued with Kenma about getting you to safety Kiyoko ran into her ex-girlfriend, and holy shit on a stick did that go terribly._ Not something he wants to talk about with Suga. Not something he even wants to give much further thought to.

“Thank you,” Kiyoko says, mustering up something that Tadashi is hesitant to call a smile. She slowly stands up, the color still not back in her face, handing the other half of the not-water bottle to Tadashi. “Drink this, it’ll help.”

Tadashi grabs the bottle, staring at its contents dubiously. It’s not the same as the first one she’d given him, but it won’t hurt, right?

“You were lucky you didn’t…” She trails off, then another almost-smile. “Lucky, hm? I’m glad you weren’t more hurt, or that you didn’t end up unconscious from exhaustion.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m lucky again,” Tadashi mumbles. He doesn’t necessarily _feel_ lucky, but hey, he’s still on his feet, which is a far sight better than Sugawara (or even Kiyoko).

“I’ll call someone to pick us up, and then Hitoka can look you over before you leave. I’ll talk to Sawamura about your work and what happened. This isn’t… You’re not officially under my employ, but thank you for your help. I’ll offer compensation.” Before he can protest, she gives him a sidelong look that shuts him up, sharp and almost _calculating_. It unnerves him, and he expects worse than what she ends up asking. “You’ve reunited with Tsukishima now, haven’t you?”

“Um, I guess?” God, he’s going to be _pissed_ when he gets back.

…If he gets back.

It strikes him that Tadashi has no idea where that hotel had actually been. And Kuroo and Kei are probably en route to Kenma. And there’s no way Kenma would willingly lead him back here. So there's really no way he can reconnect with them. 

Tadashi wonders if Kiyoko would stop him from banging his head against the nearest wall. He’s lost Kei again already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( extra special thanks to [mizuouji](http://mizuouji.tumblr.com/), my [baecon scans](http://baeconscans.tumblr.com/) buddy who helped me with the spanish! thank you for enabling me!
> 
> 1Imbécil, ya deja eso. = “Idiot, stop that.”  [ return ]  
> 2Mierda. = “Shit."  [ return ]  
> 3No puedo creer que lo poseyeran y se olvidó de tí. = “I can’t believe he actually got possessed and forgot about you.”  [ return ]  
> 4Con un poco será suficiente. = “Just do a little.”  [ return ]  
> 5Creo que eso ayudó. ¡Pudiste haberlo llamado Makki desde un principio! Intenta usar más historias y nombres familiares, Mattsun, creo que eso comprueba que mis memorias pueden regresar si— = “I think that helped. You should have called him Makki before! More familiar nicknames and stories please, Mattsun, because I think this proves my memories can be brought back with—”  [ return ]
> 
> lowkey thanks goes out to mj for editing/italicizing this chapter for me, since apparently this story is a group project behind the scenes at this point. ))


	17. Akaashi Keiji Isn't Used To Altruism

Kiyoko looks tired.

But that’s not quite it.

Hitoka is well-acquainted with Kiyoko’s various expressions; when you’re head over heels for such a reserved (smart, beautiful, talented) woman, you learn to notice the little things. Being her team’s unofficial-but-totally-official medic only gives her more reason and opportunity to do so.

Sleep-deprived Kiyoko is not a new or particularly rare occurrence. Frustrated Kiyoko is a little more uncommon, but Hitoka has definitely seen that.

Kiyoko, while she seems drawn and exhausted and a little sickly, looks tired in a bone-deep, emotionally distant sort of way. Hitoka _knows_ something happened. But she can’t pry. That would be rude, it would be _insensitive_ , and if Kiyoko has already had such a terrible day, she doesn’t need to go and make it worse and probably say exactly the wrong thing and then she’ll trigger Kiyoko and she hasn’t had enough courses about panic or anxiety attacks—

Hitoka shakes her head. She’ll just… not say anything. No, she can’t keep totally quiet, but she’ll just questions related to their treatment. Yes. That will be nice and professional.

“What happened to you?!” Hitoka ends up blurting out.

Tadashi averts his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. Hitoka frowns at him over Sugawara, who’s unconscious across Kiyoko’s counter. Kiyoko sinks down a little lower in her chair. “…It was Ushijima again,” she admits after a tense silence. Hitoka relaxes a little, glad someone else is talking. Glad Kiyoko is talking. “I’m sorry to have called you on such short notice again—”

“It’s fine! This is important, and I’m very glad to be able to help!” Hitoka interrupts. “I just need to know what happened, beyond a list of your wounds.”

Kiyoko and Suga both are guilty of trying to squeak by on the bare minimum information, under the guise of not worrying her, but honestly, that only makes her worry _more_. She doesn’t remember who Ushijima is, though the name seems familiar. Her imagination can conjure plenty of horrifying things he could do, based upon what she’s seen. Stab wound, burns, and Kiyoko’s poor hair.

“Ushijima tried to kidnap a spirit, and things escalated. Do you remember the angel I was concerned about?” Kiyoko asks, voice heavy and thick. Hitoka nods with dread settling in the bottom of her stomach. “I… She…” Kiyoko puts a hand over her mouth like she’s going to be sick.

_She?_

“Um, the angel appeared. S-So, that’s definitely a thing,” Tadashi pipes up. He looks more nervous than usual, and Hitoka is usually not one to talk about others’ nerves. And he’s still not looking at her. (But she doesn’t feel like he’s lying.) “And the angel sort of… got worse. It may have wings now, which I have been told means an archangel—”

“How does that happen accidentally?!”

“It wasn’t an accident. I did it,” Kiyoko replies quietly. She’s holding her face in her hands, fingers and hair hiding any sort of expression, though her slumped shoulders seem to be shaking a little. Hitoka doesn’t know what to say to her admission—doesn’t even know how to process it.

She’s somewhat used to getting edited versions of goings-on, presumably to stop her from worrying. It’s lost its sting by now, and no one ever tries to dance around information about injuries, and Kiyoko knows to share information if it’s pertinent. Hitoka figures this is Personal, like it’s been lately when it comes to Suga or why Kiyoko has been having bad migraines, but that’s also what brings her up short.

It means that the angel into archangel information is what’s _safe_ for her to know.

 _How can that get any worse?_ she wonders faintly as she sinks into the nearest chair. _Who is ‘she’?_

Now’s not the time. Now she has to make sure everyone’s okay.

Sugawara should be up first. His shirt is still sticky, but most of the blood is on its way to drying, and pulling off the shirt confirms it: he’s stopped bleeding. In fact, if she didn’t have the ashen hair and recognizable scars in front of her, she’d almost think she’s looking at Kenma’s stomach. The wound has been haphazardly closed. It looks like a burn at first, and Hitoka absently asks, “Was Kenma there?”

She doesn’t actually expect an answer, so she jumps when Tadashi leans over the table and replies, “I saw him! He just stopped his bleeding, there wasn’t any other magic. He said he doesn’t know healing magic.”

“Kenma _was_ there?!” Hitoka peers down at the wound, and she realizes _no_ , not burns—it’s scar tissue, red and raised and magically forced. There’s a pinkish handprint just above it, overlapping slightly with the line, and _that_ looks like a mild burn, however.

“That was me,” Kiyoko mumbles. “I may have overdone it.”

She doesn’t get up to look, and remains hunched over in her chair. Hitoka reaches under the counter and pulls out her box. (She’s taken to keeping a box of her own supplies at Kiyoko’s shop ever since the dragon migration, and her decision hasn’t failed her yet.)

After a closer examination, Hitoka is relieved to find that the main issue with Sugawara is simply blood loss. The stab wound was frighteningly close to the top of a kidney, but it luckily missed, and with Kiyoko having healed most of him (no matter how messily), all he needs is rest and food. Kiyoko lets out a breath she’d been holding when Hitoka tells her that. The relief is nice to see on her, but Hitoka can’t help but warily watch.

She knows how much magic goes into healing someone to that degree.

Even if Kenma did half the work for her—and that seems to be generous—there’s no way Kiyoko should still be standing, let alone conscious. No potion in the world can restore that much of someone’s magic, especially in such a short amount of time. And she had to have been fighting; there are little cuts and bruises littering the skin she can see.

Hitoka’s eyes drift down to Kiyoko’s hands. Two kinds of burns, running up almost halfway to her elbow. Blisters on her palms, and redness on the rest of her skin. Parts of it are already peeling, though, which is strange. Those should be new.

If Kiyoko catches her staring, she doesn’t show it. She does, however, grab a bowl from a shelf with a wince. She runs water in it and lets her hands sit in it while Hitoka looks over Tadashi.

Tadashi also has the evidence of a fight written across his body. But his main issue seems to be magical exhaustion, too, so the best she can do is bandage the blisters on his palms—matching Kiyoko’s, albeit not as severe—and tell him to sleep it off. But there’s something dodgy about the way he’s avoiding her gaze again.

“I’ll give you my flat rate plus hazard pay,” Kiyoko sighs as she pushes away from the counter. “Then you can go—”

“Uh, can I just buy some more of that see-ghosts potion again? I think I know how to do it myself by now, and—and what’s that look for,” Tadashi cuts himself off with a squeak when he sees the way Hitoka is glaring up at him.

“You’re _still_ taking that? That potion isn’t meant for continued use! How long has it been—what side effects have you been experiencing?” She yanks him down by the collar and tilts his head back into the light. She stares into his eyes, noting how bloodshot they are. She’d chalked it up to exhaustion. This close, she can see the bags under his eyes, and he looks a little paler than normal underneath the layer of ash and dust and sweat. “When’s the last time you slept for more than four or five hours in one go?”

“Uh.”

“Tadashi, you shouldn’t still be taking it,” Kiyoko agrees quietly.

“I have to find Tsukki again, and then…” He trails off. Hitoka narrows her eyes. And then what? He doesn’t have any sort of long-term plan for them, and while she wants to support such a cute friendship, especially for such a sweet boy like Tadashi, hearts are going to get broken.

“…I’ll give you _one_ last dose for you to find Tsukishima once more. After that, please bring him here. I’ll pay you both for enough luck to get Suga zeroed out,” Kiyoko says.

“I’m also going to give you a mild sedative to take tonight. I want you to sleep this off properly,” Hitoka adds.

Looking a bit too much like a kicked dog, Tadashi nods and takes the two little travel-size bottles they give him. He gives one last look to Suga, then slinks out, head still hung low.

Hitoka waits a beat to make sure he’s truly left before she plants her fists on her hips and demands as sternly as she can manage, “Now, what was this about an angel?” _I have to know_ , she tells herself to justify her nosiness. _I have to know how to help her_.

\--

Kei jumps when Kenma literally falls out of the air into Kuroo’s arms.

A broom clatters down onto the pavement after a moment, and Kenma wraps his arms _tight_ around Kuroo’s shoulders with small, muffled sounds. Kuroo holds him just as tightly, burying his face in his neck, making enough happy and relieved murmurs to drown out Kenma’s. It’s all very endearing and embarrassingly intimate. Kei does a quick look-around to give them one last moment before he clears his throat.

No response from either of them, but he thinks he hears Kuroo say, “You’re okay now, I promise.” How trite.

“Where’s Yamaguchi?” Kei loudly demands.

Kenma peeks over the top of Kuroo’s head at him. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and there’s a smear of blood along one cheek. He doesn’t answer him.

“Where is he?” Kei tries again, unable to help the anger seeping into his voice.

Kenma looks away and down at the demon holding him. “He’s back with Kiyoko.” This communicates something else to Kuroo, because he nods, just a little, probably hoping to keep it from Kei.

Kei feels the last bits of his patience snap. He gives up on being tangible or visible and finds himself floating, using his height to glower down at both of them, but Kenma peeks back up at him. He can still see him? “You left him there with her? Against the witch that steamrolled the pair of you?”

“He’ll be with her,” Kenma replies evenly. He taps Kuroo’s shoulder, wishing to be let down, but the demon just tightens his hold. Kenma gives him an irritated look. Kei has no time for their bullshit.

“Why do you reek of angel?” Kuroo mumbles, mostly under his breath, but Kei is close enough to hear him.

And he’s close enough to see the way Kenma freezes.

Okay, what the hell, _angels_ are a thing now. An apparently very bad thing.

“What. Did. You. _Do_ ,” Kei hisses, floating higher, towering over both of them. His fingers twitch, movement aborted, but Kuroo sees it and shifts so he’s more in between them. Kei would scoff if he weren’t so close to boiling over with rage.

And worry.

He pretends it’s all anger.

“It wasn’t _me_ ,” Kenma maintains, a sharp edge to his voice that Kei ignores. He keeps those gold eyes on Kei but says to Kuroo, “There was an angel. Kiyoko… knew it.”

Right. So now Kei doesn’t only have to lowkey worry about a demon, but now an _angel_. …Right. Great. “And you left Yamaguchi there.”

“Ask _her_ how it went. He’ll be fine,” Kenma practically _growls_. Even Kuroo looks startled by the venom in his voice. Kei does his best to ignore that, too.

“He went back there to save _you_ and Sugawara, and you _left him there_. With an angel, and that witch!”

“Back off!” Kuroo barks and grabs Kei by the shirtfront. He can’t phase out of his grasp, but he does grab onto Kuroo’s arm with his own blackened claws. The demon looks down at the hand before releasing him.

Kei sullenly floats away from them both, still simmering with anger. _I knew they weren’t here to help us_ , he thinks, but it rings hollow, even to himself. He _wants_ that stupid deal off of the table, out of his reach. Maybe it’s already too late for it. He just wants to blame them.

Kei misses the way Kenma tugs on Kuroo’s shirt.

Kuroo reaches over and grabs Kei’s demonic wrist. “We can help you with this. And that angel is hungry. It’s not smart to go racing after Yamaguchi alone.”

“Isn’t it contracted to someone like you are?” Kei asks and pulls his hand free. Kuroo doesn’t try to reach for him again and his arm wraps back around Kenma. Kei surmises that angels are prone to eating ghosts like demons are. This just gets better and better.

“No. It’s free and…” Kenma pauses, torn between sharing more information and not. Kei raises his eyebrows expectantly. He damn well _better_ share more. “Well, not an angel anymore.”

“Then what is it?” Kuroo asks.

“An… archangel, maybe…”

Kuroo catches Kei by the hood before he can leave again. Is he really going to stop him? From trying to get to Tadashi, who was left alone with _an archangel_. He can sort out the details of spirit hierarchy later, but anything that’s hungry and upgraded needs to stop being anywhere near Tadashi.

…Not that Kei knows exactly what he’ll do. He doesn’t like moving without some sense of a plan, but dread is fraying his nerves, forcing him into action. (It’s like that night on the train.) Column A: He tries to find Tadashi and ends up acting as angel bait at best. He’s not a fighter. Column B: He trusts (ha) Kenma and Kuroo and lets them help him before he reunites with Tadashi. It’s true that if he’s with Kiyoko, she’ll do her best to protect him.

But against an archangel…?

“…I need to find Yamaguchi first. But if you could…” He trails off, staring down at his demonic hand. It churns his stomach. Which, by all rights, he shouldn’t have anymore.

“He has that finding magic now, right? We can take care of that for you later. You shouldn’t be in any danger of turning into a demon after so long of staving it off,” Kuroo says kindly. Kei nearly wishes he were a little meaner about it. “I’m not going to tell you not to run after him, since that’d make me a hypocrite. But try not to get yourself eaten, ‘kay?”

Kei nods, not meeting their eyes as he leaves them.

\--

Saeko clicks the safety off when she hears voices inside. She can’t take on an archangel, holy shit, but she could probably put a dent in most other things. Suppressor, check. Silver bullets, check. Warded silver knife, check. Holy water, check. Okay, that would fix _most_ problems, or at least slow them enough for her to run like hell in the opposite direction.

But an _archangel_?

She only woke up, like, an hour ago. She’s not a fast person to wake up. _Do it for the hazard pay_.

Two voices, she’s pretty sure, both male. She can’t make out what they’re saying, and she can’t tell if either is Ushijima. She scans the wrecked warehouse, careful with her footsteps, and doesn’t see any obvious traps, magical or otherwise. It’s been what, two hours since Kiyoko dragged herself back in? Plenty of time to cast some nasty shit if someone got back here right away. And she doesn’t want to think what may be possible if there was leftover angel or Great Old One magic anywhere.

There are scorch marks and blood splatters on the concrete floor. Saeko sidesteps them, trying not to dwell, and creeps close enough to finally make out words from her mystery guests.

“…and I _told_ you, didn’t I? There’s nothing here!”

“Shut up! I can still find _something_ …”

Scavengers? No, not even the sharpest scavenger would have heard about this place yet. They had to be connected. Saeko knows it’s not from her side. She’s pretty damn sure that Kenma doesn’t have friends, so Ushijima it is. It makes sense that he’d work with a team if his boss was the Big Bad, but their words aren’t quite matching up with that theory.

“There has to be something here I can find,” one of the voices growls, and there’s a crackling sound like TV static. “He tried to summon that thing! Something like that doesn’t just leave _nothing_ behind…!”

“Yeah, well, it looks like there’s nothing here except foul magic,” the other voice snips back.

Saeko really wishes she weren’t dealing with magic-users. Sure, a silver bullet would put a stop to a witch or tangible spirit as well as the next thing, but it’s two on one. Saeko may be brash but she’s not stupid. She really wishes she had some dead man’s blood or that vorpal sword Kiyoko had been working on. (Saeko hates herself for thinking of those blood splatters.) Hell, at this point, she’d take some fennel or nettles to throw at them.

“I’ve got it!” the first voice exclaims. Saeko doesn’t want to know what he’s got. “It was definitely just a partial summoning. So that means he doesn’t have enough to finish it yet.”

“Okay, but where did he _go_?” asks the second voice, impatient.

 _What are they doing?_ This… doesn’t sound like someone on Ushijima’s side. Saeko presses her back against the crates she’s using as cover and risks a peek over. She can only see one of them, and he’s crouched down by a pool of oily blackness on the floor. Saeko feels a shiver go up her spine at the sight of it. His back is to her, and she can barely see his head (only a glimpse of dark hair), but she could probably take him out with a single shot if need be. If he is, in fact, as human as he appears to be, anyway.

As she watches, he reaches out and touches the black stuff. Voice Number Two gives a _squawk_ and like something out of a nightmare, the black shit crawls up Guy Number One’s arm like a spidery eel. The poor sap screeches and falls back on his ass, flailing his arm, and Saeko sees that he’s much, _much_ younger than she’d originally thought.

The blonde scrambles out from behind her cover with a curse, shoving her gun awkwardly into her sweats. She grabs the idiot by the scruff of the neck with one hand, the other yanking his arm away from the black shit. It clings with goopy tendrils, as if _wanting_ to stay connected, and Saeko makes a conscious effort _not_ to follow that train of thought. Her palm brushes some of it on his skin and to her surprise, it doesn’t burn or hurt or anything. It only feels unnaturally cold.

“Let go of him!”

Oh, right, there were two of them.

Saeko is thrown backward by claws digging in through her hoodie, and even before she lands heavily on her back she’s pulling her .45 back out. Her hand stings upon contact with the metal, but she keeps her arm steady, only to find it trained on an even younger-looking kid.

A younger looking kid in a dress and with a shock of fluffy, bright orange hair.

“Hinata, stop it!” the idiot with the probably-cursed arm exclaims. He doesn’t meet Saeko’s eyes. “She’s probably… I mean, I think she’s with someone else. Not Ushijima.”

Loose clothing plus bright orange hair equals—

“ _Tengu_!” Saeko exclaims, accidentally pointing the gun at him again in her excitement.

He clutches an unseen necklace hidden by his collar with a guilty expression. A moment later (too late), he puts his hands back down rigidly at his sides. “N-No! I don’t know what you’re—”

“I was hired by your sister. Hinata, right?” She shifts her pistol to her other hand, shaking out her fingers. She catches sight of the wince of pain from the other one. The little tengu chick had been adorable and incredibly nice, so she was going to have to trust her brother _not_ to eviscerate her right now, because there are bigger things at hand. Saeko puts the safety back on and sets it down on the concrete, telling them, “Look, putting the gun down, okay? I have no idea what that shit is, but if we don’t do something, I have a feeling we’re both going to be missing limbs soon.”

“Why’d you touch it if you were just gonna get cursed?” the probably-tengu one snorts.

Saeko digs around in her hoodie pocket and pulls out the holy water. The dark-haired idiot scowls at them both and says nothing. She holds her hand out beside his arm, uncorks the vial, and dumps it out over their purplish skin. It burns and sizzles, but not unmanageably so, and it’s not like it rots their flesh off. So, that’s a good thing.

It doesn’t get the bruise-like coloration off, though, and her hand still feels tender when touching other things. They’re going to need a lot more than some water and glares for each other.

“Okay, so I’m going to have to haul you both back with me. I have a friend, a witch, and she specializes in potions and shit. And we know a healer, so—”

“ _I’m_ a witch,” the dark-haired one mutters.

“Okay,” Saeko says with a whistle, “so then why the _fuck_ were you stupid enough to touch that shit?! Pretty sure that’s nothing but a puddle of nasty magic, and you went and stuck your hand in it.”

“Yeah!” the other one pipes up.

“That’s not something I worked with before,” he explains, glaring daggers at the oily blob. He kicks at it, but mercifully he’s not close enough (or dumb enough) to actually get near it again. “I think he tried to summon something.”

The glamored tengu picks up the empty glass vial and, with the very tips of his fingers, scoops up some of the black stuff. He pulls a feather out of nowhere and wipes off the drip on the side before holding it up like a prize. “We can test this! Or something.” He casts an imperious look down at Saeko, eyes sharp, and Saeko meets his gaze without flinching. “…You talked to my sister?”

“Yeah. And she’s really missing her rogue big brother.”

He flushes, mouth set in a firm line but trembling a bit.

One with a curse and one with familial guilt. Saeko can work with this. “My, uh, partner is that witch I mentioned. She can help us figure out what that shit was, she’s the one who can put us in touch with the crow clan—” the tengu’s expression flashes dangerous, but Saeko stalls him with the gun pointed back between his eyes, “—and I’m sorry, boys, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter. The tengu have information we need, and you and I need to get this curse off before there’s anything _worse_ running around the city.”

Something sharp and _loud_ collides with the back of her head. Saeko shrieks and nearly drops her gun; she definitely drops it from her aim. She reaches back with her other hand to grab at her attacker, and she pulls away a crow. Shit, of _course_ the witch had a familiar—

She can’t bring up her arms in time before the tengu throws himself at her. The breath leaves her lungs and she blinks dazedly up at the warehouse ceiling before he leans over into her field of vision. His expression is like steel. She hadn’t expected a young tengu to be her eventual cause of death.

Something softens in his expression at the last moment. Instead of claws coming down at her, he just blows a claw-full of dark-colored down at her, and whispers, “ _Sleep_.”

\--

Kenma lasts as long as getting back to the hotel room before he’s ripping Kuro’s shirt off. Kuro winces when it scrapes against his wounds, but he stays silent. Kenma’s eyes rove over his chest, noting tiny cuts and scrapes, but his gaze ends up on the slice almost perfectly centered on his sternum. It’s still oozing blackness. And this is the better one.

He forces Kuro around, and sucks in a breath at the exit wound. He hadn’t had time to try to fix it, so it’s still open, and blood has left a wet smear nearly down to the waistband of his pants. With the shirt off of him, it’s more or less bleeding freely again.

“Shower,” Kenma chokes out. His own chest is burning, but he worries that it’s not for the same reason.

This is the closest he’s come to losing Kuro. To dying himself. And with all of that angel business… They very well could have died today. Either of them, which, of course, means both of them. Kenma still isn’t ready to face his mortality again, and his thoughts in that warehouse echo back at him.

Kenma stands in the shower, Kuro seated on the floor in front of him, back to him. Warm water runs over both of them, most of it grey by the time it reaches the drain. He presses his own bloody hand against the wound, feeling his palm sting, but he can _see_ the sliced skin begin to knit and scab over with his help. He keeps his hand pressed against Kuro’s back long after the bleeding has stopped.

The waters starts running cooler, threatening to run out of warm completely. Kuro makes a noise. Kenma becomes aware he’s crying. Huh.

“You’re okay,” Kenma breathes, but it comes out thickly, and he sniffs snottily. He wipes wet hair out of his eyes and keeps his head tilted back, away from Kuro. “You’re _okay_.” He hates that he needs to reassure himself.

“Kenma, what’s wrong?” Kuro asks gently.

Kenma waits until he can feel the lump in his throat leave. Then he ends up telling Kuro almost everything, carefully editing out his own panicked thoughts. (They’re probably obvious regardless. Kenma’s largely given up on outright lying to Kuro by now.) By the time he’s done, the water has run cold. Kuro has turned around to fully face him, and Kenma has sunk down, knees drawn up to his chest, in front of him. Kuro makes no move to touch him without encouragement.

“So what if she saw that you end up using that spell?” Kuro asks, tone not mean, but Kenma still stiffens. “You _wanted_ to use it, Kenma.”

“There are still flaws in the design,” Kenma mumbles into his knees. Does this mean he won’t be able to fix them? Could you _change_ the future? …It occurs to him that he’s not precisely sure how precognition works. Kenma raises his head enough to set his chin on his knees, eyes still downcast. “Why did I bother trying?”

“Because you care, deep down.”

Kenma snorts.

“Wait, I’m not done,” Kuro says, scooting forward and leaning down until he can catch Kenma’s eye. “Alright, I’ll admit it, because I’m a truthful demon. You probably don’t care about _them_ all that much. Maybe Yamaguchi, _maybe_ Tsukishima, I don’t know. But you care about what they represent. You care about Lev, and you care about the little tengu.”

“It almost got us both killed.”

“It almost got them killed, too. But look. We’re all still alive? Well, as alive as some of us _can_ be—”

“There’s no point. The end of the world is coming, and they can’t stop it, and I don’t even bother to help _then_ , so why should I _now_ —”

“December thirty-first.”

Kenma looks up at him, confused by the interruption. Especially Kuro’s expression (serious, firm, a little afraid). When it clicks, he can’t help the way his eyes widen. Kuro nods, once, answering the unspoken question.

“Right before midnight. I didn’t have enough energy when you summoned me to make the jump into next year. That’s when the contract will expire.” Kuro pauses, expression turning thoughtful, and he chews on his lip. “Unless I _really_ fucked up, and then it’ll be a surprise to us both. …Why didn’t you ever order me to tell you? _Seriously_ order me.”

“I figured I would feel the magic thinning, that that would give me enough warning.” And with everything else on his mind, it got pushed further and further back on his list of priorities. Especially after his fight with Lev, when it became just him and Kuro. Kenma looks down at his toes again. “And I didn’t want to alienate you by forcing the issue.”

“You’d have to try a little harder than that. Does this mean you trusted me a little?”

“Why are you fishing? I just said—”

“I trust you,” Kuro interrupts with a smile. Kenma squints suspiciously at him. “Now all my—ack, ow, okay, all but two of my cards are on the table. The biggest are on the table,” Kuro hurriedly corrects, rubbing his throat.

“What are the other two?” Kenma asks in alarm.

“They’re not as important to you or your plans as the contract date. I’m trying to lighten the mood here before we both freeze.” Kuro has been blocking most of the cold water, but it’s still plenty chilly in the tub, and Kenma realizes he’s been shivering.

“…We can get out and dry off, but what are the other two cards?” He keeps his voice soft, not trying to make it an order, since Kuro has kindly been so forthcoming with him today. (Even in spite of Kenma’s own behavior.)

But Kuro scratches at his chest anyway, just above the scabbed wound. Kenma reaches out to stop the gesture on reflex. “…I’ll tell you one,” Kuro compromises. He moves his wrist and catches Kenma’s fingers in his own. “Pick one. A or B.”

Kenma scrunches up his nose. “Why?”

“Because I sort of like having a secret or two of my own. It makes me feel like I’m not entirely along for the ride.”

Kenma still doesn’t get it, but Kuro’s expression is bright and eager. Kenma wonders if he’s hoping for a specific one to be picked, which is sort of stupid, because if he _wants_ Kenma to know, he should just tell him. It’s not like Kenma could just guess secrets without any sort of prompting. He’s not psychic.

“Um—”

Kuro’s growling stomach cuts him off.

Kenma startles backward, sliding in the wet tub until his back is pressed against the freezing tile, eyes wide. Kuro’s face is now red, expression pinched between embarrassment and irritation, puppyish eagerness evaporated.

“…That, uh. Well. That’s not my secret, by the way. I guess I’m still hungry, since you didn’t bring me back any snacks during your adventure with the angel,” Kuro says lamely. Kenma wishes he hadn’t called it that. Kuro sighs and stands, extending a hand down to the witch. “We can do the secret thing later, after you dry off. Before you catch pneumonia on top of everything else. I don’t want to find out if we share illnesses.”

Despite all of the cold water dripping off him, Kuro’s hand is warmer than his own when Kenma takes it.

Wrapped up in several of the fluffy towels from the bathroom, feeling a bit like a caterpillar in a cocoon, Kenma watches mutely as Kuro rummages around the room, looking for clothes that might be clean. There’s a jar of blood splashed across half the floor, something Kenma hardly noticed earlier, and some of it got onto what was the pile of cleanest things. …Kenma _might_ need to take a bit better care of his things. Kuro pointedly ignores it as he pulls on a pair of sweats.

 _Kuro trusts me_ , Kenma thinks, _more than he should just because we’re stuck together_. He’s not oblivious; he’s well aware the demon is startlingly attached to him. He’s just not sure how much of that attachment is out of self-preservation, and how much is simply the proximity effect. There’s not much else in it for him, that’s for sure. … _Would we share a sickness if I were to get sick?_

He feels exhausted from the day and his near-arguments with Tsukishima and then Kuro. Now, finally, the rollercoaster of adrenaline is finally over, and all that’s left is tiredness. Even with an archangel on the loose, all Kenma wants to do is sleep for twenty hours. He’d been _this close_ to sapping all of his magic today, and he’s normally very cautious about that. Even as a witch, he’s not used to having to regain large amounts of magic at a time.

Kenma can’t help but continue staring at Kuro. The way the muscles in his back move, the way the tanned skin stretches over and with the new scars, the way he—Kenma blinks and wonders if he’s blushing as Kuro bends over at the waist to retrieve something from the floor. The way his spine is arched, the way his knees aren’t bent at all—it’s definitely on purpose.

_Why?_

Kuro pops back up with a triumphant hum. He has the paper bag full of Kenma’s souvenirs in hand, and from the way he peeks back at him out of the corner of his eye confirms that his behavior is on purpose. How petty. Is that supposed to be connected to one of his secrets?

Kuro pulls a candy apple from its box and, now fully looking Kenma in the eye, opens his mouth inhumanly wide to crunch it down in one bite. Kenma purses his lips. “That was mine,” he mumbles.

“You don feef me anyfing elff,” Kuro rumbles back.

“I order you to stop eating my food.”

Kuro looks mildly panicked, cheeks still full, and gives Kenma a pleading look. Well, that’s not exactly how he meant that command, but it serves him right.

 _This is the guy who wanted to kiss me?_ Kenma thinks. _This is the man who was posing for me?_ “Just eat that one. I don’t want it if you’ve already chewed it up,” Kenma tells him, and Kuro swallows it with a relieved sigh and watery eyes. “Now put the box down and come here.”

He shoots him a questioning look but does as he’s told. Kenma picks up one of the towels from the bed and dumps it unceremoniously on Kuro’s head, scrubbing down the wet hair. When he pulls it back off, the black hair is a mess, sticking up in multiple directions in damp spikes, and yet _still_ not as messy as it normally is.

 _He looks so different with his hair down._ Down? Wet? Kenma isn’t sure what the right adjective is here, since he’s well aware that Kuro’s usual hairstyle is entirely on accident. Kenma finds himself cupping Kuro’s jaw, brushing his thumb over his cheek, fingers playing with the hair hanging down past his ears. He’s uncomfortably aware of Kuro’s eyes on him; Kenma keeps his own gaze on Kuro’s hair. “I should order you to sleep normally so I can see how this dries,” he mumbles, just to break the mood.

It doesn’t quite work. Kenma catches Kuro’s eyes flick down to his mouth. When he brings them back up to meet Kenma’s eyes once more, Kuro tells him, “Your face is red.”

Kenma releases him as though burned. “I was just—” Just what? Kuro is unfairly attractive, but it’s a different kind of attractive with his hair like that. And… he’s still half-naked. And trying to seduce him. “Why did you ask if you could kiss me?” Kenma shakily demands, and goddamn it, he can feel his face heat up further. That isn’t what he wanted to say!

“ _That’s_ what you were thinking of?” Kuro asks with obvious delight.

Kenma’s just digging himself in deeper here, isn’t he. He needs a nap before he says anything even more incriminating.

Like confess any of his bargaining in the warehouse.

Kenma is definitely in need of sleep. He’s stressed, and trying to think of anything important (like where they stand with one another, or rather, where they _should_ ) right now is going to backfire on him. He pulls on the nearest pants that aren’t bloodstained and halfway to pulling them up over his hips he realizes that they’re Kuro’s. Whatever, he’s just going to sleep in them.

“You shouldn’t sleep in that,” Kuro says when Kenma snags a binder from another pile. Kenma gives him an irritable look, because he doesn’t want to deal with any body issues on top of exhaustion and every other issue from today, but also because he’s _right_. (But Kenma also shouldn’t be fighting or having anxiety attacks when his chest is constricted like that, either, but here they are.)

“Then toss me a shirt,” Kenma replies. He sits back on the bed, expecting Kuro to hand him one nicely, but no. He semi-predictably gets one tossed at his face.

When he pulls the soft grey shirt—one of Lev’s that he’d given to Kuro—off of his head, Kuro’s expression is a hilarious mixture of apologetic and trying to hold back laughter. “…I thought you’d catch it,” Kuro says after a beat.

“You can sleep on the floor.”

“Hey! There’s no clear space on the floor with this mess you’ve collected!”

“You’re definitely sleeping on the floor.”

“Kenma, don’t be mean! I’m injured and fragile and really nice, remember?”

Kuro ends up in the bed with him. For body heat, of course, since Kenma is still worryingly chilly.

\--

Morisuke freezes inside the doorway to Lev’s room. It’s not the first time he’s been here, but it’s the first time in quite awhile, and he’s never before come here without warning.

But what causes him to pause is the _other cat_ curled up on the bed.

Lev doesn’t have a cat.

The cat, a relatively young dark brown tabby, looks at Morisuke through slitted eyes. Before he can say anything to the cat, Morisuke hears someone thumping up the stairs behind him, followed by the shrill squeal of a child. _What the hell?_ Morisuke thinks, but he recognizes the footsteps of Lev, so he doesn’t outright panic. Yet.

Instead, he reclines in the air and folds his arms across his chest. Lev opens the bedroom door, calling back over his shoulder, “Katya is in here, like I said! She’s—” Lev freezes upon seeing the bakeneko. As well he should, considering, y’know, Morisuke came back and there’s _another cat_ here.

The child’s noise grows louder and Morisuke balks away from his indignation when he realizes that it’s coming upstairs, too.

Morisuke quickly turns into a cat, ignoring the way his body protests the movement. He lands on the bed beside Katya just as a little girl bursts into the room beneath Lev’s arm. “Katya! Kitty! …Why are there two cats?”

“Uh,” Lev says. Eloquent as ever.

Morisuke hunkers down a little lower on the bed, trying to seem small and cute and harmless. The little girl has the same soft, silvery hair that Lev does, but her eyes are different, and her skin is darker. Lev sure as hell had never mentioned  _children_. Morisuke squints at them both. Is Lev old enough to have kids of his own? Humans age strangely, and he’d always assumed that Lev was well into his adult years based on his size (in spite of his stupidity in other areas).

“You told mama that you don’t have a cat, Lev,” the little girl continues, tone dipping into something accusatory.

Lev shoots Morisuke a pleading look. What does he want _him_ to do?!

Katya gets up and stretches, long and languid, and jumps down onto the floor. After a pause, the tabby runs out the bedroom door, and the girl squeals and gives chase again. Lev waits until he hears them both thudding back down the stairs before shutting the door behind him and sinking to the floor. “I thought you said you were supposed to be a secret,” Lev starts, and that is not the sort of beginning to the conversation Morisuke wants after the day he has just had.

“I thought _you_ didn’t have any cats! I stopped by and found _another cat_ on your bed—”

“Katya is my cousin’s kitten. She brought her over while I’m babysitting,” Lev points out. Well, that answers a couple questions, but Morisuke still feels vaguely insulted for reasons he can’t place.

“Yes, well, Katya is a _boy_.”

“I’ve never had a cat who can’t talk, so I dunno. Why’re you—you’re _bleeding_!” Lev squawks, then immediately clamps a hand over his mouth at the noise. Morisuke looks down at himself, and oh yeah, he is. A large part of his tan fur has been matted down with red. “Are you okay?! What happened?!”

“This is nothing.” He’s far more shaken at almost having been eaten than anything else. With a wince, he turns back into a human shape, perched cross-legged on Lev’s bed. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Kenma had a fight?”

Lev’s expression turns from endearing alarm to nervous aversion in the blink of an eye. Morisuke has no clue how he thought he’d be able to be a lawyer with a poker face like that. “He… told you? Wait, you saw Kenma?”

“Once when he was stalking your workplace and just today. During. Uh.” It’s over now, for the time being, but Morisuke is well aware that Lev doesn’t necessarily need to know the scale of the Bad Shit that went down today. (Up to and including the Almost Eaten By An (Arch)Angel.) “There was a fight today and I ran into him while I was checking on Tadashi.”

“Is everyone okay?” Lev asks, something still awkwardly raw about his expression. Morisuke isn’t sure how to handle it.

“They will be.” Aside from the angel and that other witch, but Morisuke doesn’t particularly care about them. “Back to the topic at hand! You had _another cat_ here!”

“You’re bleeding on my bed and _that’s_ what you want to talk about?” A pause, and then Lev’s prior nervousness is wiped out in favor of a blinding grin. “Are you jealous?! Are you, are you? Wait, Yaku, are you calling yourself my pet?”

“ _No_!” Morisuke snaps, ears laying flat. There is not enough emphasis in the world to accurately describe how _wrong_ that is. “It’s a—a territory thing,” he says primly and brushes down the fur on his tail.

Lev’s eyes are still sparkling, however. How troublesome.

“And now it smells in here. I like to come here because it _doesn’t_ smell like magic or demons. Or _other cats,_ ” Morisuke adds.

“I’ll babysit at my aunt’s house from now on. I only let them over today because I missed your visits.”

“So you _were_ trying to replace me with a cat!”

“No!” Lev backpedals, scrambling to his feet, hands out in a placating gesture. Morisuke narrows his eyes up at him. “Okay, it’s nice to have a purring cat around, but I haven’t had anyone to practice my magic with since you’ve been busy lately! Anya is good at memorizing things, too, and—”

“You’ve been teaching your cousin _magic_?!”

“Just the runes,” Lev replies with wide-eyed innocence.

“Can Anya use magic?” Morisuke asks warily. Lev shakes his head. “Don’t teach her, _if_ you’ve even gotten it to work yourself yet.” Lev shakes his head again. For all of Lev’s (scarily) growing knowledge of runes, it’s strange that he hasn’t gotten a single spell to work for himself yet. He couldn’t even pick up the cat magic that Morisuke offered to teach him, and he knows that that’s on Lev, too; Tadashi could use it fine and he’s human.

“It’s just another alphabet to her, and she thinks it’s really neat. We practice runes while she watches _Cardcaptor Sakura_ ,” Lev says with a shrug. “I told her not to do it on her own, and I think she listens. But if she does any magic before me, Yaku, I think I’m gonna cry.”

“You shouldn’t be trying to teach anyone else.”

“She knows that trying to do magic on her own is dangerous.”

“She _knows_ it’s magic?” Morisuke asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. Lev is going to send him into an early grave, which is a pity, because he’d really been looking forward to the next century. (Then again, if it’s not Lev, then it’s going to be either Tadashi or Kenma. Morisuke wishes he’d gotten attached to safer humans.)

“Yeah! Little kids still believe in magic, so it’s okay, right? She already _knew_ about magic.”

“That’s not the same thing, Lev.”

“…Wanna meet her? Properly?” Lev asks, changing tack, trying and failing to keep his tone serious. Morisuke can see the eagerness in his big frame clear as day.

“I’m a bakeneko. You can probably slide with the magic stuff if no witch catches you, but spirits are definitely off the table,” Morisuke sighs. It’s a pity. He sort of wishes he could sit downstairs with them and let Lev make him watch more horrible anime. He could lick his wounds and recuperate without worrying about anyone else intruding. (No angels or other spirits, anyway.)

And he really wants to teach that little girl how to properly interact with a cat. Poor Katya.

“Just put away your ears and tail!” Lev exclaims. He puts his hands over his head in a _very_ vague representation of cat ears.

Morisuke stares at him. _Really_?

Lev wiggles his ‘ears’.

“…I _can’t_ put them away. They’re part of me?” Morisuke explains, unable to believe he _has_ to explain this. He’s never asked Lev to put away an arm or a leg, had he? What sort of education had Lev _had_?

“But you turn into a cat sometimes, and now you look human.”

“I’m a _cat_ spirit!”

“Then meet her as a cat?” Lev suggests, but he averts his eyes again. He doesn’t sound nearly so enthused now. “Or you can just… stay up here. I’ll make sure Anya is settled in and then I can help you bandage yourself. Or do you lick yourself?”

“My saliva does not have healing properties,” Morisuke deadpans. He misses the age where people actually knew a thing or two about mythological beings.

“You have a rough tongue like a cat, even looking like that, right?” Lev continues, undeterred.

“I… guess?”

There is thumping back on the stairs, and Morisuke darts for the bed, landing on it with a _whump_ and in cat form again. That’s really starting to sting, and he couldn’t hide his wince from Lev. “I can try healing magic!” Lev whispers excitedly.

“You can’t do that,” Morisuke shoots back just as the little girl bursts back into the room.

“ _Lev_!” she barks, impressively intimidating for her age and size. Lev jumps up at attention. Morisuke hunkers down further, as if the unmade bed will save him. “You’re missing the episode! Внизу. Теперь.” [1]

“Yes, I’ll be right down—”

“And you can’t bring your talking cat if he’s going to talk all through my show,” Anya declares and marches back out.

Morisuke narrows his eyes at Lev. Lev rubs the back of his head, the picture of sheepishness. “Ah, I guess the walls are pretty thin here.”

“ _Lev._ ”

“But now it’s okay for you to come meet her! And we can watch _Cardcaptor Sakura_!”

He’s never going to win against this kid, is he? A talking cat is probably a little safer to deal with her, too, but Morisuke’s still not happy with any of it. He graciously allows Lev to scoop him up (mindful of his injury) and carry him downstairs. Katya is curled up on the couch and Anya is sprawled out on the living room floor, papers and one of Kenma’s books in front of her. Morisuke tenses when he sees her absentmindedly doodle a _light_ rune while the characters on the television screen start some sort of battle. Lev sets the tan cat spirit down on the coffee table and Morisuke shares a sympathetic look with Katya.

“This is Yaku, Anya,” Lev announces. “And Yaku, this is my little cousin, Anya.”

“Hi,” she replies, attention still on the TV. Morisuke wonders if he can simply stay quiet, but then she looks over at him with sharp eyes far too much like Lev’s.

“…Hi,” Morisuke says, ears down.

“Can you do magic?”

“A little.”

“Like that?” Anya asks, perking up, and points at the screen with her marker.

“No, like the runes we have!” Lev corrects.

“ _No_ , like my own magic,” Morisuke in turn corrects. “Cat magic.”

“…Could Katya do it?” Anya asks with a suspicious squint. Morisuke shakes his head and Katya snorts behind him. “So you’re magic! Like him!” She points at the TV again, where a small _vaguely_ cat-like creature is explaining some rule of magical summoning to the main character. Morisuke nods, since he doesn’t want to volunteer to try to teach anyone any more cat magic, and Anya takes that at face value.

And after that, it’s actually nice. Lev eventually grabs a first aid kit from the bathroom after he makes a remark about Morisuke bleeding on the table, and the bakeneko grumpily lets him (badly) wrap some bandages around his middle. They’ll just fall off again next time he transforms, but the sentiment is… nice. Inconvenient and nice.

Anya mostly spends the time trying to copy summoning-esque circles onto free scraps of paper, outlining them in a hilarious selection of runes. Morisuke gets more enjoyment out of that than the show. What sort of thing would get summoned by a circle with _pink_ , _lettuce_ , _water_ , and _float_? …Probably something on that show of hers.

Lev sprawls out on the floor next to her after making sure that the bandages wouldn’t fall off of his fur. He flips open Kenma’s book and starts pointing to different runes, correcting her circle, and it confirms the fact that she’s trying to mimic something in the show. Morisuke feels uneasy about their growing knowledge of various runes, and hopes that magic doesn’t run in the family.

With Lev’s help, Anya constructs a circle that would, hypothetically, summon her favorite thing in the show. Morisuke hardly pays attention outside of the fact that these runes make a _little_ more sense when hooked together. It’s unexpectedly endearing to see Lev in a teacher role, however, even if most of it is spent bickering with Anya about the nonsense magic in the show. …It’s endearing, he’ll admit his bias there, but he’s not really a good teacher. Morisuke snickers into a paw.

“ _This_ is the way it’s gotta be,” Lev says and points to the paper with his own marker.

“Your way is stupid! I want it to be pink!” Anya replies and tries to scribble over it with said color.

“Color doesn’t have to do with it! You have to do it the right way or else it won’t work!”

“Children, behave,” Morisuke drawls.

“Lev is ruining my magic!” Anya exclaims, eyes welling up with big crocodile tears.

“I’m making sure it works!” Lev replies with his own pout. He fixes another rune like he’s correcting an essay’s grammar. The monster on the screen raises big, feathery wings; it looks faintly angelic. Morisuke lays his ears flat. They don’t need another one of those running around the city, and suddenly the situation seems a lot less funny.

“Lev, stop that. You’re not a child, and you shouldn’t be teaching her too much.”

“But if you replace this rune with _glow_ instead, then you get this!”

Morisuke isn’t sure what _this_ is supposed to be. Actually, he may be on Anya’s side this time, since putting that rune there just seems to have messed up the otherwise pleasant harmony of the fake circle. He’s pretty sure Kenma would find this funny, too. Maybe that’s how they could make up?

“Этот способ лучше!” Anya declares and makes a grab for it. Lev holds it up out of her reach, easily considering their size difference. [2]

“Нет, этот!” Lev replies stubbornly.[3]

“Lev, stop acting like a child! Stop arguing with your cousin!” Shit, what is he, Lev’s mother? Morisuke gets up to his feet and prepares to get in between them. _He_ is not the babysitter here, and he can’t imagine them when they’re home alone. Poor, poor Katya.

“Так будет работать,” Lev insists. Morisuke jumps onto his shoulder, digging claws into his sweater warningly. Lev snorts at him. Rude. [4]

Morisuke leaps for the paper, but Lev predictably moves his arm. Morisuke ends up nicking the back of his hand and lands lightly on the floor beside Anya. “I’m going to burn that if you two don’t stop squabbling,” Morisuke declares.

“You know fire magic?” Anya gasps, starry-eyed. Oh no; they’re both reckless.

“Ow,” Lev mumbles, belated, and relinquishes the paper in favor of looking over the scratch on his hand. He wipes his other thumb against the droplets of blood welling up, then, as if he totally meant to do it all along, he reaches over and presses it against the crayola summoning circle.

A flash of light, a burst of magic, and a small, fluffy wisp is floating over the circle, making confused bobs though the air.

It’s pink.

Morisuke and Katya are both fluffed up to the point where they nearly match its roundness, and Anya _squeals_ with delight. Lev rubs the back of his hand again. “I told you it’d work. But it’s still not a _spell_ ,” he sighs. “Надеюсь, кровь его не испортила.”[5]

\--

“Noya, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Suga says gently, hands up in a placating gesture.

“Not-uh! We’re figuring this out right here and _now_ ,” Yuu declares, arms crossed, standing between them and the warded door. He’d activated the magic in the apartment, effectively locking them all in until Suga either hobbles over there and passes out trying to unlock it all, or Yuu does it for him.

Being at Nishinoya Yuu’s mercy is not a fun place to be.

“What are we supposed to be figuring out? I-I don’t think now is the best time,” Asahi mutters with a nervous fidget. He wrings the hem of his shirt in his hands and is looking everywhere but at them.

“Excuse you, did you not hear about all of the shit that went down yesterday? The motherfucking _archangel_? Ushijima pulling all this shit? What about Suga nearly dying again, huh? Look me in the eye and tell me you want to put this off, Asahi,” Yuu demands.

Asahi, of course, can’t do that.

Suga doesn’t particularly blame him for what comes next, but it’s still a low blow.

“Koushi is the one who needs to tell you something,” the ghost mumbles.

Yuu gives Suga an expectant look, arms still folded. Suga sighs. Between the prospects of that shitty potion, Kiyoko’s news of the angel becoming an archangel, and _this_? He’d rather go cuddle up to the archangel. But he can’t deny Yuu the truth, and he can hardly ask Asahi to tell him.

So Suga confesses everything. To both of them, because Asahi deserves to hear this from Suga and not his memories. The Door experiment, his first time in the Dreamlands, and his anxieties over being unable to write a new contract for them. It’s almost cathartic, in a way, even if Yuu’s expression becomes darker and darker. Suga will deal with the consequences; he wants to begin putting this behind him, once and for all.

When he’s finished, Yuu predictably circles back around to the topic of the Door. It’s really one of the only big things he hadn’t known about prior, as far as Suga can tell. “So, you and Yui were trying to _make_ a Door, not pull up someone else’s?”

“Yeah.”

“What would an unaffiliated Door accomplish?”

Suga looks down at his hands, folded in his lap. (He’s been confined to the couch or bed for bed rest, according to Kiyoko and gleefully enforced by Yuu.) Right now, it just makes him feel smaller, with Asahi floating above him and Yuu looming with palpable disappointment. “It wouldn’t disappear after someone used it. So we thought it’d be a permanent portal into another realm. We thought that maybe, it could help bring someone back…”

“Well.” Yuu lets out a long breath, deflating before them both. “That really sucks, that it didn’t work.”

“Yuu!” Asahi says, shocked and already sounding hurt.

“Look, the contract thing was supposed to be temporary, right? And it was. We have to figure out what to do _now_ , after it ended, even if it’s early. So, Suga, how sound was this research behind it?”

“ _Yuu_! That magic was wrong and Yui _died_ because of it!” Asahi outright snarls.

“I _know_ that!” Yuu snaps back. Asahi doesn’t back down, but does lean down with a glower. Yuu runs both hands through his hair, making the spikes settle even more haphazardly than usual. “God-fucking- _damnit_ , I know that, Asahi. I’m really fucking aware of who all has _died_ right now.”

His words hang heavily in the room. Yuu rarely talks about it like that. Suga can’t look either of them in the eye, and honestly? He really wishes Yuu was shouting at him, too, instead of rationalizing it.

“But if that experiment… If there was something to it, then wasn’t it worth it?”

“It was worth someone dying?” Asahi asks coldly.

“We knew the risks,” Suga mutters.

“And it _did_ open a portal between realms. So there had to be _something_ —”

Asahi floats over one of Suga’s books and throws it at Yuu. Yuu lets it smack him, too surprised to try to block it, and Suga ducks lower on the couch, in case there’s more. “…Since I can’t hit you right now,” Asahi says, face red from anger and embarrassment. “Yuu, you can’t be serious about this. That was black magic—”

“Which we already knew,” Yuu points out. Suga’s face burns.

“—and it could never be worth the cost. Two people died. It wasn’t worth it.”

“Noya, he’s right,” Suga breaks in softly. Yuu’s expression hardens again. “It was a mistake. _And_ it didn’t work.”

“It’s not like your research is gone,” Yuu replies with a sweeping gesture to the book-cluttered apartment.

“I _can’t_ do it again, even if I wanted to!” Suga snaps. “I can’t use that level of magic anymore. You know that. There’s no one else who can do that. You’d need a witch, at least, and Kiyoko wouldn’t do this. We _couldn’t_ ask Kiyoko to do this! It’s off the table, Noya.”

“But.” Yuu glances up at Asahi, then fists his hands at his sides. Usually by now in their arguments, Yuu got physical. But he can’t touch Asahi, and Suga’s still recuperating; it’s painfully obvious that he’s simply vibrating with tension. He’s not a violent person, but Suga knows he’s going to say something _bad_ soon if he doesn’t get any other outlet.

Suga scoops up the book from the floor and pushes it into Yuu’s hands. “Something else, Noya,” Suga tells him. _Give it up. Stop trying to defend it._ “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner. Both of you. But it was a bad decision, and I want to move past it.” _Even if I can’t._

Yuu digs his nails into the hard cover. “The contract, then.”

“I can’t write it again. Not enough magic,” Suga tells him. They’ve known this for awhile, too, although they’ve never spoken about it.

“Kiyoko might.”

“Maybe,” Suga replies noncommittally.

“There was necromancy involved in it, too, wasn’t there?” Asahi asks. He doesn’t sound so angry now, mostly sad. Suga nods. “She won’t do it, then. Yuu, we can’t ask her to.”

“What’s the point of knowing witches if you can’t ask them for magic favors?!” Yuu huffs and tosses the book against the couch. Tension snapped, he turns and paces, back and forth, just in front of the couch. It makes for very small laps, and Suga has to wonder how he’s not getting dizzy from it. “The contract isn’t that hard to do! What about Kenma?”

“You think you could talk Kenma into that? He’s been avoiding the shop for weeks,” Suga replies, eyes wide. Asahi cringes and nods in reluctant agreement. “Kenma doesn’t like us that much, Noya.”

“Then what _else_? What’s Yamaguchi doing to try to get cozy with his ghostly boyfriend?”

“His ‘ghostly boyfriend’ is becoming a luck spirit. _Somehow_ , it’s working. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t have a clue.”

“That won’t work,” Asahi tells them, chewing on his bottom lip. Yuu eyes him, halting in his pacing, so he quickly adds, “Tsukishima wasn’t a static spirit. O-Or, not as much of one. I _am_. The first contract ensured that, remember? Even if I thought I could, I can’t do something like that.”

Silence falls upon them. Suga looks back down at his hands in his lap. head bowed, mind struggling to break out of its exhausted haze long enough to pull an answer for them out of his hat. No such luck, but then again, he’s known that for awhile. They have to find someone who would recreate the contract for them or find another way.

There’s no one.

There’s no other way.

But they can’t continue on with the way things are now. Suga’s heart breaks every time he sees the flicker of pain cross Yuu’s face when he re-realizes that he’s lost contact with Asahi. Asahi’s own expression in those instances is worse. Suga can’t begin to imagine what they themselves are going through, and he doesn’t feel like he’s the person who should offer to help. He can’t stand the thought of failing them further.

“I think,” Asahi says quietly, barely breaking the heavy silence, “that I should… That I might pass on.”

Yuu blows up.

He lunges at Asahi before Suga can grab him, aiming to grab his shirt or shoulder or hand, and of course he just goes through him. There’s a brief pause—Asahi’s discomfort is clear, both from the movement and what the movement meant—and Yuu’s shoulders are rigid. Suga can’t quite see his expression.

Yuu turns on his heel with a wordless snarl and grabs the book from the couch again. Suga tries to grab it from him with a panicked, “Noya, _please_!”

He gives up the tug-of-war and instead grabs a pillow. Safer, probably, even though the way he swings it at Asahi is anything but harmless. Asahi cringes back as the pillow sails through the air and lands against the far wall with a _thump_. Sunshine slinks out of the bedroom with big, watchful eyes.

“You’re just running away! That’s _not_ the answer, it’s not even _an_ answer!” Yuu shouts, already building in volume.

Suga gets to his feet but knows better than to try to tug Yuu away from Asahi. He hovers between them worriedly. “Noya, he was just saying the other option, he’s not trying to run away—”

“It fucking _is_ running away! There are other choices here, and we’re not picking the easy escape route just because we can’t think of anything else right now!”

“It’s _not_ running away,” Asahi breaks in, quiet but resolute. Suga looks up at him, fear gripping his heart, and Yuu snorts like a bull ready to charge. “Both of you should realize that I… That I’m, w-well, _dead_. I’ve been dead for years, and this isn’t any sort of permanent solution.” The words look as if they pain him to say, and the _worst part_? On some level, Suga agrees with him. None of this was meant to be permanent.

“That’s why there’s _other options_!” Yuu insists. He half-turns to Suga and demands, “Talk some sense into him!”

Suga balks. Asahi gives him a surprisingly critical stare. “Koushi, you make a living off of guiding spirits on. You spent almost a month trying to talk Tsukishima into passing on. Why am _I_ the exception?”

“How long have you been preparing these arguments?” Suga asks faintly, because he’s feeling blindsided, and the gravity with which Asahi is speaking terrifies him. It’s rehearsed. _How long has he thought about passing on? Please not before the anchor was severed…_

“We can find another way!” Yuu snaps. “Suga and Kiyoko are smart and we have two luck spirits on our side! Kenma’s a spellwriter!”

“Yui was a spellwriter! Look at what that did,” Asahi replies in a forced calm voice.

“The research was sound! There’s no fucking way Suga _or_ Yui would go ahead and try something that they didn’t think was absolutely perfect—”

“And it still failed, Yuu! I’m not letting anyone risk anything else in some black magic plot! Not for _me_!”

“ _Stop_ it!” Suga shouts, pushing them apart himself. Yuu looks at the point of contact between them with something akin to envy. “I _said_ I was sorry for that! God, I am so sorry for what Yui and I did, and I wish every day that I could take it all back. But it _happened_ , Asahi, and I don’t need you trying to guilt me into taking your side!”

Yuu glances up at him with a sort of dark triumph.

Suga glares back down at him. “I’m frankly appalled by your ‘ends justify the means’ attitude, too, Noya. I’m not going to let you or anyone else try to mimic any of it! There’s got to be another way.”

“What other way?” Asahi asks. Suga’s glad at least _one_ of them can sound halfway calm right now. When he can’t answer, however, Asahi returns back to his previous point. “I’m dead, you two. Sometimes I… I wonder if maybe you’ve forgotten that.”

“We _promised_ you!” Yuu exclaims, voice cracking, and he turns and storms out. The door’s slam seems to echo behind him.

“…We promised you,” Suga says, sinking onto the couch, rubbing at the burning in his eyes. “We promised you that you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I was scared,” Asahi replies defensively.

“We all were,” Suga agrees.

“Suga, please. I-I’ve given this some thought. You two… You’ve driven yourselves into the ground for my sake, and what good has it done?” Asahi floats over to stand in front of him, and Suga turns away from him under the pretense of rubbing his eyes again. (He’s too exhausted for this right now, even if it’s been a long time coming.) “The contract wasn’t meant to be permanent. Your plan… The Door experiment _failed_. And even if you could recreate it, I wouldn’t let you. I don’t…”

Suga looks up at him, and swallows thickly when he finds Asahi crying. Suga quickly looks away and blinks back his own tears. He blames it on stress.

“I don’t want you or Yuu giving up anything else for me. That contract you and Yui wrote—that _bound_ us. I don’t think Yuu’s grown at all in the past three years.”

Suga lets out a watery, humorless laugh.

“He eats like a horse to keep up his energy, and he’s sick a lot more than you know. Half of those jobs he begs you to take is because he can hardly get out of bed—”

“He knew the risks,” Suga tells him. He still can’t bear to meet Asahi’s eye. They had all known the risks involved with any of this stuff; never had they claimed it’d be safe.

“ _I_ refuse to let him do that to himself any longer. I’m not allowing another contract.”

Suga lets out a shuddering breath, still trying to keep himself from fully crying. He knows that if he starts, he probably won’t end for a month. “Why, Asahi? _Why_ do you want to pass on now?”

“It’s what ghosts are meant to do, right?”

“I don’t mean that for _you_ —”

“What makes me the exception?”

“You’re safe from becoming a demon,” Suga says, and he knows Asahi knows it’s not the real reason, but he doesn’t call him on it. He’s playing favorites, and it’s unfair, but why shouldn’t he? Asahi would never hurt anyone. Asahi is their friend.

…Maybe he and Yuu _are_ too attached.

For people who work with spirits for a living, neither of them are particularly good at facing the prospect of death.

“It’s not as if you’d never see me again. Next _Danse_ , and after good, _long_ lives, when you and Yuu pass on,” Asahi mumbles, mostly to himself.

Fear grips Suga again. “You should… Someone should check on Nishinoya,” he forces out. No one’s making any decisions today. He needs his space.

Asahi opens his mouth to say something, but instead just sniffs, and leaves through the door since Yuu had broken the magical locks on his way out. Suga is left alone. He buries his face in his hands and still manages to contain the tears.

When he and Yuu pass on, right.

Except Suga is terrified that he _can’t_ die.

\--

Saeko enters the shop and is mildly surprised to hear singing. She quietly toes off her shoes and ducks into the main room. Hitoka is there again today, nose buried in a book, a faint pinkness to her cheeks indicating that she’s enjoying the song. Kiyoko is stirring a wide cauldron, singing to it in even, measured tones.

Saeko’s familiar with this potion: a passionate love potion. So for a customer. She wrinkles her nose at the thought that Kiyoko is _already_ back to work.

Hitoka waves at her, catching her attention. Setting her book on her lap, she raises her hands and signs, “ _Any luck finding them?_ ”

Saeko shakes her head and plops herself down on a stool nearby. She’s still sore all over, and the movement jars her spine in a way she doesn’t really like. She flexes her bruised-looking hand and puts her chin on her other.

Kiyoko looks at her over the faint magenta smoke from the potion. Normally she doesn’t deal with love potions due to discomfort with the consent levels involved, but this one can only be taken by willing participants. It’s really only a potent aphrodisiac, and old rich couples go _nuts_ for it. Still singing to it, Kiyoko stirs with one hand while she haltingly signs with her other. “ _How is your hand?_ ”

Saeko holds it up and flexes it again. There’s still some numbness to it, and the color hasn’t faded past an ugly purplish-blue, but she hasn’t noticed anything else about it. She hopes that witch kid from yesterday figured out something to do about his curse. “ _Still the same_ ,” Saeko signs back. “ _Almost done?_ ”

Kiyoko nods. Her song is building sweetly, and Hitoka watches her happily over the edge of her book.

She stops stirring to sprinkle in some dried basil. The potion flares, and the smoke dissipates with the newer, spicier smell. Kiyoko finishes her song on a long high note, reaching for the final part: blood of a witch. She picks up her silver knife and pricks her thumb over the cauldron.

It hits with a splash of sickly green and a burst of smoke. Kiyoko reels back, coughing, and the other two get to their feet in alarm. “Are you okay?” Hitoka squeaks. Kiyoko waves them both away, covering her mouth and nose with her shirt, and gestures them away from the smoke.

“That shit poisonous or something?” Saeko asks nervously, but after a beat, she realizes that it simply smells absolutely _foul_. It’s a cloying mixture of dead flowers and salt water, and she’s pretty sure it’s supposed to smell _lightly_ of hibiscus and cloves. It’s definitely not supposed to be puke green.

Kiyoko waits until she’s caught her breath again before drawing in the air and murmuring, “ _Wind_.” A light breeze blows out from her palm, pushing the smoke and the smell back towards the window. The weather isn’t as nice today, and getting worse, but it’s still mild enough to have thankfully kept it open.

“What happened? I thought normally that one behaved,” Saeko says, squinting over at the cauldron. Aside from being finicky with its presentation, it was usually an easy money maker for them. Even Kenma got halfway through it before he’d messed it up.

“I don’t know,” Kiyoko rasps, then blinks at her hoarse voice. She massages her throat with her hand, accidentally leaving a small smear of blood behind.

Hitoka eyes it. Realization hits her at the same time that it sparks in Kiyoko’s eyes, and Saeko’s left feeling clueless. The two women, without consulting each other, begin gathering supplies from the shop, careful to avoid the smelly corner.

 _If no one else will take care of it_ , Saeko thinks, rolling her eyes. She grabs the cauldron and hauls it out to the bathroom to dump down the drain.

When she gets back, she recognizes the test for magic laid out on one of the countertops. Kiyoko is already timing the burning thread and Hitoka is furiously scribbling in her notebook.

“Mind telling me where the fire’s at?” Saeko prompts.

“I think the angel’s grace has affected my magical levels,” Kiyoko explains. She checks her phone when the thread finishes burning, and pales at the recorded time. “…Hitoka, I don’t think you need to do the math. Could I ask you to please perform a spell?”

“What kind?” Hitoka asks.

“Any kind.”

Drawing on her notebook, she creates a small witch-light in her palm, the light winking merrily at them all. Kiyoko squeezes out a drop of blood over it, and it’s extinguished upon contact.

Saeko whistles. “That’s a fuckton of magic to override hers so fast. Almost looked like Suga’s—” cue realization, “—oh my _shit_ Kiyoko you are fucking with me.”

Kiyoko looks down at the red drops on her thumb and palm. Hitoka makes a small whimpering sound, and Saeko can _see_ the worry building in her small frame.

“Why the fuck would angel shit take _away_ your magic?!” Saeko demands, slamming her hands down on the table for emphasis. Her cursed hand twinges.

“I can still perform magic,” Kiyoko says with a calm Saeko doesn’t believe for a second. “I just… don’t qualify as a witch any longer.”

“I’m not sure what taking an angel’s grace would do, I’m sorry! There’s so little research on angels, oh no. It could have even _more_ side effects! What if it—”

“Hitoka, it’s alright,” Kiyoko interrupts. “I feel fine. If there were any other complications, you or I would have noticed by now. This is just… unexpected. I hadn’t thought to test my magic since I’ve still been able to use it…”

“Are you going to be okay?” Hitoka asks in a squeak.

“Yes, I will be.”

Well, sure. Suga’s had dead man’s blood for years and is fine. Saeko’s not sure how much of a hit Kiyoko’s magic took—if any, since she hadn’t realized it until now—but maybe she had blamed it on exhaustion? “Okay, well, _now_ you’re sure as shit taking a long nap, a long bath, and then sleeping some more. You don’t have to work your tail off when you’re barely up and about.”

“No,” Kiyoko says, already turning on her heel and reaching for more things on her shelves, “I need to talk to Suga. I need to give him another potion, and I need to… discuss this.”

“He may help you figure out a thing or two,” Hitoka loyally agrees, even if she keeps giving Kiyoko big, sad, worried eyes. (Saeko would call them puppy eyes, but that would imply that she was doing it on purpose.)

Saeko’s phone buzzes in her ass pocket, and she reluctantly pulls it out. A text, not a call, but it is from her brother. ‘ _get booze & come here rn_’ Oh, great. A moment later, another text arrives, with slightly more information, thank fuck. ‘no wait get booze & give it to suga. then come here. noya’s got shit going on’

‘ _we’re all gonna need alcohol tonight broski_ ’ Saeko texts back. “I’ll go with you over to Suga’s. I need to drop something off.”

Kiyoko hardly spares her a look as she mixes together questionable ingredients for Suga’s potion. Saeko begins to worry that maybe Kiyoko isn’t as calm as she looks, especially when she starts slicing up a peach. Suga hates peaches. Had there always been peaches in that gross potion of his? All she can remember is the dragon heart. Kiyoko dumps in roughly-diced peach chunks with a thousand-yard stare. Her glasses slip down her nose and she doesn’t bother to push them back up.

‘ _i think kiyoko needs to drink tonight too. i’ll tell you abt it when i get there_ ’ Saeko nervously adds.

A moment later, Ryuunosuke responds, ‘ _maybe the end of the world is all of us fucking it up for ourselves_ ’

\--

“ _Tsukki_!” Tadashi crows. He throws his arms wide and runs for him, and Kei momentarily balks, surprised by the gesture. It’s something out of a ridiculous cheesy romantic movie, running at each other for an embrace, and _god_ Tadashi loves it. He deserves this. He’s going to kiss Kei again, just for how happy he is that he doesn’t have to play one-sided Marco Polo all over the city _again_ to try to find him.

Kei doesn’t exactly run to him, but he does walk quickly, and at the last moment, he opens his arms, too. His face is adorably red. Tadashi is definitely going to pick him up and twirl him around just to embarrass him further.

Tadashi ends up phasing right through him.

He stumbles to a stop a couple paces behind him, turning in unison with him, and they stare at each other for a long moment.

Tadashi bursts out laughing. It’s embarrassing, but he's still so _happy_ to see him in one piece. Take that, terrifying witches and angels and even more terrifying deities. No one got sacrificed and they’re both still here.

“What are you laughing at,” Kei demands with narrowed eyes.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t try to kiss you again, huh?” He rubs the back of his head and carefully tries to smooth down some of his unruly hair. He’d gotten up at dawn to run around the city before school, and he’d been searching ever since class got out, so he probably looks like a rumpled, tired mess. He’d barely been able to sleep the night before.

Although it’s not as if Kei looks spectacular, either. He’s still in the same ghosty clothes as yesterday, and the sleeve over his demonic hand is shredded. There’s also a splash of red across the bottom hem of his hoodie, worryingly close to his stomach, and Tadashi squashes the thought before it can fully form.

“How does a ghost get blood on himself?” he blurts out instead.

“When I was tangible at the time and trying to break out of _someone’s_ binding circle,” Kei replies acidly. “Do you realize you locked me in a circle with a hungry demon?”

“Kuroo wouldn’t eat you. He’s a good guy, and he’d been ordered to keep us safe, remember?” Tadashi’s eyes linger on the blackened claws as Kei fidgets with his hands.

“…They said they can help with this,” Kei says in response to the unasked question. “I think we—I may need it. I’ve been trying everything to get rid of this, and it’s not working. I think it actually grew a little,” he adds and gestures to a point roughly near his elbow beneath his sleeve.

“Do you still not trust them?”

Kei sidesteps the question. “Kenma told me there was an angel involved yesterday. Are you okay?”

“Oh, well. Y’know. Tired, and, uh, sort of rethinking a lot of things. So nothing new. And I’m hungry! Okay, you’re coming back home with me and I’m shoving my face full of pizza—” Tadashi grabs him by the wrist and begins to drag him along. He doesn’t process that they’re _touching_ until Kei slips through his fingers. Tadashi turns to him quizzically.

“Just… that? You’re _tired_ and you don’t want to talk about anything else?” Kei asks as though the question pains him.

Tadashi _really_ doesn’t want to have this conversation in the middle of the street, even if it’s not as crowded as it had been earlier. (Especially since he’ll look like the kid who’s just shouting at the air.) “Tsukki, can we do this after we get home?”

“Your apartment, you mean,” Kei says, unnecessarily distancing himself.

“Yes,” Tadashi sighs, “ _my_ home. The place you’ve also been living for the past four months _with_ me. We can talk everything over when we get there. Please?”

This reunion isn’t going as sappily as he’d hoped. Thoughts of kisses seem distant now.

They take the train back, and Tadashi pretends like he’s not glancing up at Kei every five seconds. The blond spirit eventually gets so fed-up with it that he grabs Tadashi’s hand and forces them both to stand in the exact middle of the car, nowhere near any walls he can slip out of. It’s annoying _and_ reassuring, so Tadashi doesn’t know how to feel about it. He does like that he can still touch Kei’s hand right now, though.

“I tried to come back here, but the wards kept me out,” Kei points out when they get home and Tadashi begins unlocking his door. The freckled teen laughs nervously. At least they did their job, then.

“We need a separation plan, like—”

“Like a mother and her kindergartener?”

“Well, _I_ wasn’t gonna say it,” Tadashi admits and lets them inside. He flips on the lights and makes an effort not to immediately collapse upon the couch. Food first. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway. “…You’re free to leave whenever, but I’d like it if you stayed. We at least need to talk this out.”

“Talk _what_ out?” Kei asks. Baits.

“Why you ran.”

“I _didn’t_ run.”

“Why you don’t trust Kenma or Kuroo, and why you refuse to take any risks? Why you left me for so long? Why I kissed you?”

Kei blinks, then averts his eyes as a flush creeps up his neck. “Alright, I’d like to discuss that last one.”

Tadashi grins and shrugs. “Too bad, that’s last on my list. We have to talk about everything else first.” He leaves him floating sullenly in the living room and digs out a frozen pizza and pops it in the oven, stomach already rumbling. Alright, note to Tadashi’s self: magical exhaustion leads to a _lot_ of hunger. And do not neglect that hunger when out hunting for specific ghosts.

Tadashi plops down face-first on the tiny couch and Kei delicately settles on top of him. It’s just a faint suggestion of feeling and weight, and Tadashi rolls over, laying on his back, to look up at him. Kei floats, cross-legged, over him with a surly expression. “There’s nothing to talk about with that ritual,” he starts.

“So you don’t want to do it? That’s okay.”

Kei presses his mouth into a thin line. “I didn’t say that.”

“You can do it if you want,” Tadashi says, almost eagerly. Kei reaches down and covers his mouth with his hand, although Tadashi can’t feel it. He pretends to lick the space where Kei’s palm would be. The ghost draws back with a scowl. “It’s up to you, Tsukki.”

“I don’t _want_ it to be up to me,” he mumbles. He fidgets with his hands again, accidentally pricking himself with his claws, and glares down at them. “I can’t weigh the advantages and the disadvantages properly. And I clearly can’t avoid the subject.”

“…Do you still want to become a luck spirit?” Tadashi asks carefully. He’d known that Kei was avoiding the subject, but he hadn’t realized to what degree. He had chalked it up to inability to choose, not disliking the choice itself.

“It beats the alternative.”

“Tsukki. _Kei_.” That sure gets his attention; his head snaps up and his mouth falls open. Tadashi can feel his cheeks warm but he stays resolute. “What do you _want_ to be? Ignoring rituals and magic and risks.”

“How did you know my name? I never told you.”

“So you _were_ keeping it a secret from me!”

“Of course I was! Who goes three months _accidentally_ keeping their name a secret?!”

“I visited your grave,” Tadashi mutters petulantly. “I thought I could find you with it. I thought maybe it was Hotaru at first, but Kei fit better, and Morisuke told me. So you told him but not me.”

Without warning (and hopefully not intent), Kei becomes tangible, and flops down onto Tadashi’s stomach. He wheezes and tries to dump him off on reflex, but Kei is already unbalanced and clings to him like a stuck cat. He’s a lot more like a luck spirit than he already realizes (even if he’s not a cat spirit), and Tadashi tries to suck air back into his lungs while Kei tries to rescue the remains of his dignity on top of him.

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Tadashi groans weakly.

“That wasn’t entirely on purpose.”

“It was a _little_ on purpose?!”

“Earlier,” Kei mumbles, massaging his temples. “I was trying to do it earlier. I still can’t control this very well, even though I’ve been _trying_ for once. It’s aggravating.”

Tadashi hesitantly puts a hand on Kei’s thigh. He’s solid, huh. Not quite human temperature but warmer than the room around them, so an improvement from Halloween. “Y’know, if you want my opinion on this, I think you should try to finish becoming a luck spirit. Morisuke and I can help you, and I’m sure Kenma would have some advice when we talk to him about your hand…”

“Why didn’t you give me your opinion _earlier_?” Kei asks suspiciously. He swats Tadashi’s hand away when he begins walking his fingers up toward his waist.

“I didn’t want to pressure you,” Tadashi replies. He shrugs, then looks up at Kei. _How long is he going to sit on me?_ The situation feels a little too delicate to risk asking bluntly, and normally Tadashi wouldn’t exactly question this sort of human contact. It’s obvious that Kei is thirsting for it something fierce. But his pizza should be almost done, and he doesn’t want Kei jumping like a startled cat again when the timer goes off.

“I like second opinions. And it’s not as if it affects just me,” Kei says. From the way he’s sort of _snuggling_ into Tadashi, he has the feeling that he’s largely unaware of how he’s acting. But if he keeps wiggling so much, Tadashi knows the situation is bound to get even more awkward than it already is, especially since he’s slowly scooting down his stomach and onto his lap. Tadashi jars back to attention when the spirit above him snaps his fingers in front of his face. “Stop zoning out, Yamaguchi. You wanted to talk, so talk.”

“What else was there?”

Kei abruptly sinks through him and through the couch, intangible once more. He groans and Tadashi sucks in a relieved breath. “I don’t know what’s more annoying right now,” Kei huffs.

“We have time,” Tadashi says, and hopes it doesn’t come out as leading. He tells himself he’d be okay if Kei were to want to leave for real. He just wants closure. Right? _If all I wanted was closure, why did I kiss him?!_  …All he wants it closure and maybe some more straddling on the couch. With actual action this time. Tadashi turns and buries his face into the couch cushion to hide his undoubtedly crimson face. _Why am I thinking this?!_ Two days ago, all Tadashi wanted was to sit down with Kei and talk things out. Now, he keeps replaying the kiss over and over in his head.

Only wants closure his ass freckles.

Impulsiveness is not his thing. Not really. Tadashi is prone to worrying and fretting and over-thinking, not rash decisions. Definitely not when they involve other people.

“What are you hiding from?” Kei asks flatly, leaning over him. “If I can’t hide from you, you certainly can’t hide from me, Yamaguchi.”

“I-I didn’t mean to kiss you yesterday,” Tadashi says into the pillow. “It was for luck. I swear! I’m sorry. I should’ve asked, o-or not done it at all.”

“You _are_ lucky Kuroo doesn’t know enough to make ‘getting lucky’ jokes while we were stuck together.” Tadashi makes a mental note to make one at his earliest possible convenience. When his face doesn’t feel like it’s about to catch on fire. “But I do want to know why you did it. …Was it just for luck?”

“I don’t know,” Tadashi admits.

He yelps when Kei grabs his chin and tilts him back to face him. Their touch fades after a moment, but Tadashi remains facing him, looking up at those hazel eyes, flecked with bright gold, half obscured by the thick rim of his glasses. Tadashi dimly wonders if Kei is aware of how beautiful he can be. When he’s not verbally abusing others or trying to run away or giving Tadashi a heart attack. Tadashi needs to throttle his running inner monologue.

“…Did it even make you any luckier?” Kei asks skeptically and leans away from him. Tadashi gladly feels his heart rate return to something more normal.

“Well, I didn’t get eaten by an archangel. And neither did Morisuke. So probably?” Kei looks a little relieved at that. If it were about anything else, Tadashi would want to experiment and figure out how much it affected him. More luck is good, right?

He wonders if it would be considered lucky or unlucky if he had killed that man.

“What else did you want to discuss?” Kei asks in a tight voice. He makes it clear that he doesn’t want to discuss his own problems for the time being, and Tadashi is content to give him that space, so long as it implies that they’ll have time together in the future. So no avoidance, no kiss, no feelings _about_ the kiss—that only leaves one more thing.

“Oh, um, yeah. One last thing.” Tadashi fidgets, and Kei glares at his hands suspiciously. Tadashi quickly sits on them.

The pizza timer goes off, startling them both.

Kei floats sullenly after him, not bothering to walk, and Tadashi finally gets to feed himself. Yay. He’s used to eating alone (but not really alone) by now, but he doesn’t chat like he normally does while he bustles around the kitchen. He isn’t exactly sure how the ghost is going to react to this next bit of news, and he doesn’t want to just say it casually.

The last thing he wants is another disappearing act.

Tadashi inhales his first slice of pizza before he feels ready to broach the subject. Chin in hand, Kei stares across the table at him, impatient but silent. “Sooo,” Tadashi says, drawing the syllable out, and Kei’s (pretty) eyes narrow further. “I’ve been thinking about what I wanna do. For the future. Adult shit and all that.”

“Oh.” It doesn’t seem to be what he’d been expecting. Tadashi can work with that.

“I don’t really have the grades anymore for scholarships or grants, and money’s already a problem. So no uni.” Tadashi takes another bite of pizza, chewing slowly, and Kei nods. Tadashi had joked about this topic before, mostly along the lines of trying to explain to a dorm roommate why he has a ghostly roommate, so he can see that Kei isn’t totally caught off guard by this confession. “But…”

“But?”

“I mean, the bookstore is nice, but it’s only part-time. I can’t support myself on it. _But,_ maybe if I, uh, looked up _weirder_ occupations, something could work out…”

“What are you getting at, Yamaguchi?” Kei presses, but the distaste in his voice makes Tadashi think that he’s already figured it out.

“Suga’s pretty much already training me. I want to be a hunter, like him,” Tadashi replies bluntly. He finishes off another slice of pizza while Kei works that over, his expression darkening again.

“That’s dangerous.”

It’s surprising that he doesn’t immediately bring up the whole Tried To Banish Me Twice thing again; Tadashi had been prepared for it. He swallows and wipes his mouth, and even with the extra thinking time, he can’t quite keep all of the exasperation out of his voice. “I’m sorry you weren’t there yesterday when I set an angel on fire. Or the time when I helped banish a hunger spirit. Or when I—”

“You could have died! Any of those times! Trust me, death isn’t something you want to do when you’re young,” Kei bites out, and Tadashi is forced to tackle the death issue head-on. It ruins the rest of his appetite.

“I _know_ that. But I’ve been learning a lot of magic, from Suga and Matsukawa and even Morisuke, and I’m _good_ at it, Tsukki. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been good at something?” Tadashi has never had a dream job that could be accomplishable, especially after his mother died and he was left alone with a dying bank account. He hadn’t thought about the future with any sort of positivity in _years_ , long before his mother got sick.

“So take your magic and do something else.”

“ _What_ else? I can’t write spells like Kenma. I can’t brew potions like Kiyoko.”

“Apply it to a normal job.”

“I’d still have to _get_ one, and don’t you dare bring up luck right now.” Tadashi lets out a long breath, forcing the tension down and out of his shoulders, and unclenches his fists. “I could help people. Suga unfairly tried to banish you—well, I could do shit like him, but I wouldn’t make those mistakes. I can help fight evil spirits, and help people move on, and fuck, I can even find lost people.”

“Yeah, about that. What the hell is finder’s magic?” Kei asks, arms crossed.

“Guess who’s lucky enough to know a rare type of magic?”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I guess it was lucky for both of us for me to be able to track you down again,” Tadashi says, forcing a smile. Kei doesn’t return it. “Anyway, Tsukki, that’s what I’m doing. I’m going to talk to Suga about it, and I’d really like it if you hung around, anyway. You’re always welcome here.”

Both boys redden at the cheesiness of the line, but neither look away. Tadashi isn’t sure what to feel about the impromptu staring contest—Kei doesn’t look outright challenging, but he’s still probably not happy about Tadashi’s declaration, and Tadashi hopes to every fucking god in existence that Kei isn’t going to want to ditch him for this. But just as he’s beginning to worry again about Kei butting heads with him, those gold eyes drop down to stare at his mouth.

 _Oh_. Okay, so Kei was thinking not about Hunter Tadashi, but Kisser Tadashi. That’s… nice.

Kei’s lips part and Tadashi leans forward, just a little. He wants, _so badly,_ to ask Kei to stay with him. To actually _ask_. But he can’t ask that when Kei is so uncertain about his own future, about his own _being_ , and not when they’ve just reconnected. They still have to talk out the kiss thing, anyway. And get that demon hand taken care of, and see if the contract is even still on the table, and ask about luck spirits—

There’s the growl of a stomach and Tadashi reflexively grabs another piece of pizza. He’s halfway done with it before he realizes that it hadn’t been him.

Kei’s expression oh so slowly opens up into one of abject horror.

Tadashi puts down his food. “Are you… _hungry_?”

\--

Tooru is back out of Spanish mode, thanks to another burst of recollections centered around the high school volleyball team, of all things. He’s pretty sure he’d been the captain. Makki had been his vice, right? He’s starting to fit more snugly into Tooru’s memories, and the warmth from the return of them buzzes in the back of his brain like a drowsy, happy bumblebee.

“So the volleyball got you to remember him, but _this_ doesn’t,” Mattsun says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe you.”

The coyote on his living room floor barks at him. The seal next to him rolls his eyes. “My dragon transformation didn’t really do anything to jog his memories, either,” Iwaizumi says.

“Oikawa, I _can’t believe_ you forgot about a dragon.”

“Maybe I’m just prone to forgetting about shapeshifters because they’re all _bullshit,_ ” Tooru replies with a defensive huff. They’d been hoping that sleeping on it would fix things. It hadn’t. So it seems as if this will be almost exclusively action-solved, not fixed by time. “Why can one of you talk and the other one can’t?”

The coyote yips, and it almost sounds like laughter. Iwaizumi _does_ snort out a short laugh. “You can’t understand him?”

“I’m sorry, mermaid-dog, we don’t speak in tongues,” Mattsun tells him.

“I am _not_ —”

“Selkie.”

Iwaizumi shoots Tooru an annoyed look. It’s hilarious on a seal. Makki laugh-yips again, tail wagging happily, and with a hop, turns back into a human in the blink of an eye. “I never thought I’d see the upsides of nagual shapeshifting, but at least it doesn’t sound _painful_ ,” Makki says and stretches his arms over his head.

“At least I can talk,” Iwaizumi snarks back. “And I’m not stuck as the same mangy thing each time.”

“He went through his mange phase in middle school,” Mattsun says. Makki purses his lips but tries not to let it affect him otherwise. Tooru knows it does; he lets just enough vague irritation slip from his mental barriers. “And don’t get me started on the _fleas_ —”

“I got those from _your_ brother’s dog, Issei, so I’m really not sorry about that.”

 _That_ brings back a glimpse of two high school boys complaining about itchiness and the third of their group squealing and jumping away from them. It’s vague, but Tooru will take it. …He hopes he hadn’t gotten any fleas from them, too.

“So when are we going to get Iwa’s backstory?” Makki asks. He watches curiously as Iwaizumi changes back, far more slowly, and with a grimace he can’t fully hide when he stands up. Iwaizumi keeps the seal pelt over his bare torso. Makki grins widely. “And at least clothes aren’t an issue for me.”

“They aren’t for me, either,” Iwaizumi snorts. “It’s just more comfortable with less.”

“Sounds like an issue to me,” Mattsun points out, and Makki nods along in agreement.

It’s nostalgic to see them team up so easily, even if it feels off to see them do it to someone else. Tooru shoves that down and away for later. First, remember them. Then, complain about them. “Don’t talk as if you’re not very thankful for this,” Tooru coos and wraps his arms around one of Iwaizumi’s biceps. He leans down and nuzzles his cheek against his shoulder.

“I’m thankful I don’t need tattoos to keep my form stable,” Makki says lowly.

“You’d look good with tattoos. Maybe almost half as good as he looks,” Mattsun replies. Tooru snorts into Iwaizumi’s skin at the betrayed look Makki sends back to him. He’s feeling oddly warmed again, this time by the fact that the teasing goes all directions. He’d been starting to think that it was just him or the new guy.

Iwaizumi flexes with his free arm. “You _wish_.” Mattsun and Makki applaud politely, and Tooru laughs again at the way Iwaizumi’s face reddens. He’d clearly been expecting more rebuttals to come his way. But it’s hard to miss the pleased note beneath all of his embarrassed thoughts.

“I’m still curious how a skinwalker still exists,” Makki prompts, waggling his eyebrows, and Mattsun nods along with his own deadpan enthusiasm.

“Well, I haven’t been living in this realm for the past… I don’t know,” Iwaizumi replies, scratching at the back of his head. Numbers pass through his mind, and most of them are three or four digits long. Tooru pulls away from him with a confused frown. “Thousand years? About? Time flows strangely in the Dreamlands.”

“Tooru, you never told us about an _age difference_ ,” Makki gasps, pulling Tooru away from Iwaizumi. He and Mattsun shift so they’re on either side of him, then tug him down to the couch like overprotective parents. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at them. “Tell us about your intentions toward our dear psychic amnesiac.”

“Wait, I’m still curious about the thousand-year-old shapeshifter here,” Mattsun says, leaning forward to look at Makki around Tooru. “Since the one I usually hang out with isn’t even what, three percent of that? Shit, Makki, you’re a baby. Listen to your elders.”

Makki’s face lights up at that and Tooru doesn’t have to be clairvoyant to know he’s thinking _Elder!_

They settle back in and wait for story time. Iwaizumi plops down on the floor with his pelt thrown across his lap. “There’s not much to tell. So I hope you all like disappointment.”

“You’ll fit right into our friend circle,” Makki says.

“Hey!” Tooru squawks and elbows him in the side.

“I was talking about my husband, how rude.”

 _You put up with them?_ Iwaizumi thinks loudly, and Tooru can only shrug. “Point is, about a millennia or two ago—”

“Or _two_?”

“That’s a big mistake to make.”

“Look,” Iwaizumi says in exasperation, “the Dreamlands are weird. Things got confused. When you’re saved-slash-kidnapped by a rogue shapeshifting deity into a psychic plane of existence that breathes hostility, time is the last thing on your mind.”

The three on the couch stay respectfully silent. For once. Iwaizumi peers at them each in turn, his aura suspicious and testing, but he really does have their earnest attention.

Listening to Iwaizumi casually dip into his own memories as he speaks is an exercise in mental fitness, Tooru soon finds. His thoughts only complement his words half the time, and the other half is a dizzying jumble of muddled memories, different languages, and Iwaizumi’s own private narration for his sake. Not to mention the usual broadcast of emotions. It takes Tooru half of the story time just to right himself in the sea of Iwaizumi Information.

Most of it is background information, too; he listens and stores it away for later, but it doesn’t jog anything in his own spotty memory banks. Tooru waits, impatiently, for that one _thing_ that will spark another realignment in his brain, but it never comes. Iwaizumi remains a skinwalker with a questionable past and even more questionable rationale as to why they’re living together.

“…and so the dumbass blackmailed me with this,” Iwaizumi finishes, running his hands over the seal skin, “to play bodyguard for him and try to get more information from me. I hadn’t really cared at the time because it was sort of nice to live in this realm without angry tengu trying to kill me, and I could still get what I needed. And then Halloween happened.”

“I remember that,” Mattsun says with a fond sigh. “The first time I heard of ‘Iwa-chan’. Tooru called me up, blubbering like he was in middle school again, saying he fucked up and he was so sorry and he’ll never, ever disobey me and try to bang shapeshifters again—”

“I did not,” Tooru snaps. Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow.

“So you remember that?” Mattsun asks mildly.

“…Yeah.” Weird. He hadn’t forgotten it, but he hadn’t really remembered it either. This memory bullshit is going to give him another migraine at this rate.

Mattsun gives him a strange look, and Tooru really wishes he could get a read on him right then. He feels like he’s missing something. Alright, he _is_ , but this seems like something he _should_ know, even now. Amnesia fucking sucks.

\--

Saeko sets down a six pack of wine coolers on Suga’s counter, next to the potion jar that Kiyoko brought. The glass bottles jingle and Kiyoko raises an eyebrow at her. “Anticipating something?” she asks evenly.

“What? No. Ryuu told me to, for, y’know, reasons,” Saeko replies with a shrug. Suga eyes the bottles, looking haggard, but doesn’t say anything to the contrary. “And that’s my cue. Suga, don’t binge. Kiyoko, you probably need one, too.”

They all know full well that Kiyoko doesn’t drink. She inclines her head, appreciating the concern, and they both wait until Saeko leaves. Kiyoko takes a deep breath. Suga flinches at even that small noise. “…Are you alright?” Kiyoko asks gently, and sits down on the other side of the couch, giving him plenty of room. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he mumbles.

“What happened that Saeko and Ryuunosuke are so worried?”

“Noya, Asahi, and I might’ve had a fight. I’ll let you know in a couple days.” Suga laughs humorlessly. Kiyoko respects their privacy and doesn’t pry further, but she feels worry niggling in her heart. Their situation is so fragile, especially after the contract was severed. She can’t imagine anything positive resulting from it all.

The best she can hope for is that it was cathartic.

Kiyoko worries the hem of her dress as she steels herself for what comes next. “Suga, I…” None of the past two days has been easy. She still hasn’t told him about Yui. She’s not sure she _can_ tell him that. He deserves to know, because she had been his friend as well, but the knowledge would destroy him. _Any more than what I’m about to tell him?_ But this… This is more important right now. Yui can wait. (Yui _has_ to wait.) Kiyoko pulls her hem tight across her thighs and finally forces out, “Suga, I believe I’ve figured out what happened to you.”

“Happened to me?” Suga echoes, not comprehending. He rubs a wrist across his eye, then blinks at her, attention slowly focusing. “When?”

“Three years ago.”

Suga’s expression hardens into absolute seriousness and he nods. Just once, quick and curt.

“I hadn’t made the connection until now. After I… There was another side effect of having the angel’s grace.” Kiyoko forces a small smile and holds up her bandaged hands. _Please don’t make the connection_. It’s terrible of her to think, especially of such a dear friend, but she doesn’t want Suga to have more piled onto him when he’s clearly so worn down. Already she feels guilt settling heavily in her stomach for this much. She should have put it off, but she hadn’t known about Asahi and Yuu—and now, she can’t exactly leave, can she. “I have dead blood now,” Kiyoko announces.

Suga’s eyes go wide. But she can see that he still doesn’t _realize_. “How did you find that out?”

“A potion gone awry. I certainly don’t have witch’s blood any longer, that’s for sure.”

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” He reaches for her, taking her hands in his own (cooler) ones, and Kiyoko lets him. She would have reached for him soon, anyway.

“I’m fine. Shocked, but fine,” Kiyoko replies honestly. It is surprising, but it hasn’t overly hampered her magical ability, so her plans are still on track.

But Suga needs to know.

“It hasn’t affected my magic as much as you have—I don’t think it’s actually the dead blood that’s suppressing your magic, Suga. I think it’s something else,” she tells him.

“Like what?” Suga asks warily, seeming to remember only then that this is supposed to be about him. “Do you really think you know what’s wrong with me?” There’s hope in his voice this time.

Kiyoko nods. “It’s only a theory, and we’ll probably never be able to completely confirm it, but finding this out—I really think this is the answer.”

“Alright.” Suga gives her hands a squeeze. He tries to pull away, but she twists her hands in his, and keep their fingers laced together despite the twinge in her palms. “Let’s hear it.”

“When the accident happened and you were killed and brought back, we thought it was your necromancy that did it. But that has never explained all of it, and certainly not why your magical ability suffered. But the necromancy was only half of it, Suga.” Kiyoko forces herself to look him in the eye when she tells him, “What if, when it brought you back, you had changed?”

“Changed?” Suga asks. He still hasn’t made the same connection she did, as selfish as it is for her to wish for it.

“The necromantic magic you were working with dragged your spirit back to your body and brought you back to life. It _still_ does that, so the magic is still active. That’s why you can barely cast now—it’s not that you have _less_ magic, you only have less _available_ magic,” Kiyoko explains.

Suga nods, but he’s trying (and failing) to suppress an uneasy grin. “That makes sense, but I’m not a witch. I’ve _never_ had enough magic to keep something like that running, before or after the accident. Actually, hell, I’m not sure a witch could handle that load. I had been relying a lot on Yui’s magic for that. Where are you going with this, Kiyoko?” The last part comes out hurried, alarm edging in the end.

Kiyoko thinks he may be close to figuring it out. Still, she won’t leave him hanging. “What if the spirit you took back into your body wasn’t just a human spirit?”

The color drains out of Suga’s face.

His hands go lax in hers, and she tightens her grip. _Please don’t pull away. I’m here for you_. Kiyoko leans forward on the couch, careful not to crowd him, but she can’t bear the thought of watching him shut down.

She quickly continues, hoping to stem the oncoming panic. “It was still _you_ , Suga. You are still you. But we know that demons are created from human spirits mixed with magic over time. A lot more magic, and a lot less time, and I think that creates angels. I think—”

“Y-You think my spirit became an _angel_ ,” Suga summarizes shakily. He averts his eyes and tries to laugh it off. “And then it was dragged back into my body because of the necromantic spells I’d been working with. And the angelic magic is what I’m working with.”

“I took an angel’s grace and now I’m no longer a full witch. I have dead man’s blood, too. Angels can still be counted as dead humans—we aren’t angels, but we may be using their magic. This could be the result,” Kiyoko says. She won’t let him tug his hands away, though he isn’t putting up much of a fight. He’s avoiding eye contact, and is as pale as a sheet, but he doesn’t seem close to tears or shouting or any sort of precursor to a breakdown.

That’s good. He’s handling this better than she’d feared.

“So I’m an angel possessing my own dead body,” Suga whispers with a chuckle.

And oh _no_ , Kiyoko has misjudged how tired he is; he doesn’t need the crying or the outbursts to skip straight to dark places. She releases his hands and grabs either side of his face, forcing him to look at her, though he tries to avoid it. “Sugawara Koushi. You are _you_. I did not tell you this information to try to make you doubt that, or give you cause to doubt that. You are not a zombie,” and a flinch, “and you are not an angel.” And another flinch.

“Um, technically, I suppose I’d be a lich,” he corrects, faintly, with another hollow laugh. “But semantics, right? Who needs the details when you—”

She pinches his cheeks, stretching that terrible smile of his, and snapping him out of his spiral. As he whines, Kiyoko firmly tells him, “You are Sugawara Koushi. You are alive, and you are _you_.”

Suga stares at her, eyes shining with exhaustion and maybe some unshed tears, and his mouth works for a few moments before he can properly form any real words. “I’m still alive. Right.”

“Yes. You are.”

“And you…”

Kiyoko shakes her head. “I don’t care what I am. I care that I’m still here, and I’m still able to help people.”

Suga nods. When he smiles at her, it’s weak, but at least it’s genuine. “Right. Good perspective to have.”

God, the guilt in her stomach is going to make her sick. _If he knew about Yui. If he connected the dots…_ If his spirit snapped into angelhood, Yui’s definitely qualified, too. (Obviously.) Kiyoko won’t lie to him, she would _never_ lie to him, but she doesn’t want Suga to ask her.

She can keep surviving day to day if he simply _doesn’t ask. Please_.

Suga’s eyes flicker over to the counter, to the jar and the bottles. Kiyoko gets the hint, and after making sure he seems alright, she stands. She nervously smoothes her dress down. She knows Suga; if the initial negative response is nipped in the bud, his secondary reaction is alright. He’ll probably just drink and start reading about angels. She may not like alcohol, and she doesn’t like _him_ drinking, but she can’t control him. He’s a grown man, and if nothing else, it lets him sleep soundly.

“Drink the potion before anything else,” she advises. “And please eat, if you can.”

“Did you come over here so you could leave me to my vices in the comfort of my own home afterward?” Suga asks lightly and stands as well. Kiyoko moves to the door to toe her shoes back on, and Suga leans against the wall near her.

“Mm, a little. I didn’t want you traveling alone back here, just in case. And I assumed you’d want to be alone…”

“How tactful of you.”

“How _observant_ of me.”

“How… correct of you,” Suga finally admits with another bitter smile. But it’s better than the ones before. “I’ll take that horrible potion first, promise. But if I call you crying and drunk later tonight, I’m not sorry this time.”

“I won’t hold it against you,” Kiyoko replies. She puts her hand on his shoulder, briefly, and gives it a squeeze before letting it drop back to her side. Suga is a tactile person, but she isn’t. In times like these, her usual methods of comfort seem lacking.

But now his smile is brighter. “Thank you, Kiyoko. For telling me. I won’t say that it was nice to know, but I appreciate how hard it must have been for you to tell me.”

Kiyoko _never_ lies, least of all to Suga. A little of the guilt lessens in her stomach. “Of course. Please, don’t hesitate to call or text me if you need me, even tonight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a lot of whining and existential crises.” He adds something else under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like ‘better you than Noya’. “The offer goes both ways, too. I’m good with navigating identity issues by now, so if you ever want to talk about, uh, your new personhood or lack of witchhood or whatever this turns out to be, I’ll gladly lend an ear, Kiyoko.”

Suga’s frankness with issues, even issues like this, is refreshing. Kiyoko nods and half-thinks about taking him up on that offer. She’s not sure _what_ to think of her status right now, but there are more important issues at hand, so she lets herself ignore it. “Thank you, Koushi,” Kiyoko says softly. He smiles warmly at the use of his first name. She knows it always makes him feel a little better about things.

“Be safe on your way back. And if Noya or Asahi come to you tonight…” He shakes his head, trailing off. She gets the message anyway. “Just. I’ll be fine, but no jobs for a couple days. And Kiyoko, even if I might not seem it, I _am_ thankful you didn’t keep this a secret. I’m _glad_ to finally know. Please keep that in mind if I do actually make an ass of myself.”

And with that farewell—Kiyoko nodding tightly, gripping her purse as she leaves as fast as she is able to—the guilt comes back in full force. He’s thankful she’s not keeping things from him? _Oh Suga. I am so sorry_ , Kiyoko thinks as she pauses in his building’s stairwell. _If only you knew_.

\--

Kenma wakes up feeling _horrible_. It takes him a couple moments to realize that he actually feels sick. He’s not used to being sick, which is a miracle in itself considering his diet and sleep schedule. _Magical exhaustion_ , he dizzily thinks, but it can’t quite cover the range of horrible he’s feeling right now. Magical exhaustion plus stress plus a cold shower? Maybe, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. … _All that plus pissing off a luck spirit?_

Kenma presses his cough into his pillow to muffle it. The light from the window seems off, too. Kenma blinks, slowly trying to focus, and it proves difficult. It’s too bright, too orange. It takes him several moments to process that it’s late afternoon light he’s staring at. Everything is so orange. It makes him feel sicker.

In the time it takes him to realize that he’s slept in _far_ too late, Kenma also realizes that the bed is empty and cold. He doesn’t hear Kuro in the bathroom (the door is wide open), and it’s not as if there are a lot of other places he can hide. Kenma doesn’t feel the strain on his sternum telling him that the demon is far away; that extra little bit would probably be enough to push him into _oh my god everything is terrible enough I want to cry_ territory.

“Kuro?” Kenma croaks. His throat protests even that one word. Kenma hacks dryly into his pillow again. He feels rather than hear some stirring in the room, but Kuro doesn’t appear right away. Worrying. Kenma tries again. “ _Kuro_. Come here.” It comes out more like _krocommere_ but he feels like the message should be clear.

Kenma is abruptly lifted from the mattress—he becomes aware of how simultaneously hot he is and how cold the room feels—and is dumped to the side as Kuro emerges from his shadow, looking even more rumpled than usual. Kuro shivers and sneezes. Kenma supposes that answers the question of how much sickness they share. Great.

If they’re both sick, what can he do? He doesn’t know how to care for a sick demon, and right now, Kenma questions his ability to successfully stand. He wants to go back to sleep and hope he doesn’t hurt so much when he wakes again, but he’s thirsty and has to piss and maybe also throw up if his stomach doesn’t settle down from being moved. Maybe he should risk moving and just camp in the bathroom.

Kuro grumbles something in a language Kenma can’t identify as he rolls out of bed. He gets himself upright, eyes still shut, and only sways a little on his feet. His hair isn’t its usual mess; more of it’s down in his face, and it sticks up in the back a little more uniformly (not something Kenma thought he’d ever think about Kuro’s hair), and all in all it makes him look bedraggled and sad. “You feel terrible,” Kuro says thickly. His voice doesn’t sound raspy. Kenma feels less sorry for him.

“Water,” Kenma weakly demands. He flings an arm out pathetically, then immediately brings it back to cover his coughing. He’s not sure how he can ask Kuro to carry him to the bathroom, because he honestly doesn’t trust his legs right now, and he can’t string together that long of a sentence. His throat already feels like it’s swollen shut.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kuro asks, cracking open a gold eye. He doesn’t move but Kenma can hear the sink running in the bathroom. Kenma coughs, almost an answer.

A tendril of blackness comes up beside Kuro, balancing a cup of water on its end. He plucks it off and offers it to Kenma (who isn’t sure he can sit up; maybe passing back out is the best option here). It takes some doing, but with some help from pillows and Kuro, Kenma sits up far enough to guarantee he won’t splash all the water down his shirt.

Kenma coughs yet again, erasing any soothing effect the water might’ve had on his throat, and holds up the cup for a refill. Kuro reaches out to take it, then freezes. Kenma blinks and struggles to process the blackness that’s dripping off of Kuro’s claws. Hand and claws and arm and—oh. Kuro pulls up his shirt and finds that he’s inhuman up to his shoulder, and then looks back down to his accidental tail.

“Why am I losing my form?” Kuro asks. His voice is impressively calm but his wide eyes betray his alarm.

Kenma shakes his head and immediately regrets it due to how dizzy he feels. He hopes it’s a temporary side effect of him being sick. His body is sick and exhausted, so the contract is strained, so less magic to hold up a settled form? Or something. He doesn’t have the brainpower to devote to it right now.

“And what’s wrong with you? This isn’t exhaustion. I wasn’t serious when I said I was worried about you catching pneumonia,” Kuro continues, and _now_ the panic starts to edge into his voice.

 _Doesn’t he know what illness is? Of course he has to…_ He might, but Kenma is beginning to worry that he might not know how it applies to humans. Kenma certainly hasn’t been this sick in Kuro’s presence before, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Kenma puts out a hand and Kuro helps him back into sitting up. Moving slowly, and gripping Kuro tightly for support, Kenma manages to make his way to the bathroom. He runs himself another cup of water and gulps it down, then wipes his hair out of his eyes and splashes his face with water. He feels hot, but he’s not sweating, and he can’t remember if that’s good or bad with fevers. He uses the toilet and manages not to throw up whatever’s in his stomach, so that’s a plus.

Kuro has to carry him back from the bathroom, though, when Kenma sinks down against the cool tile and doesn’t want to move again.

Alright, so Kuro is up and about, although he’s losing his settled form. Kenma is definitely going to pass back out, but he needs to communicate some basic information to Kuro first. Such as _please get some fever medicine before I combust_. But words _hurt_.

This idea in general is going to hurt.

Kenma draws on the bedspread, prompting Kuro to cock his head, and gathers coldness into his palm. He presses it against his throat and relishes in the mild relief it brings. “I’m sick,” Kenma tells him hoarsely. “I’m going to need water, sleep, and medicine. I think you’ll be okay, but if you… put on your amulet and try… to settle… again…” Oh, no, that kind of dizziness is new.

It’s such a novel thing for a witch to experience total magical exhaustion. In other circumstances, Kenma probably wouldn’t mind as much. Right now, all he thinks is that this sucks ass.

\--

Kuro doesn’t realize Kenma has passed out again until he feels a strange little itch in the back of his brain and most of his settled form slips away like a bad dream. “Oh.” It feels strangely natural, like something he’s missed, but he also feels lighter and smaller and more vulnerable. “Kenma, are you—ugh, no, you’re not okay. Shit.” He’d feel bad trying to wake him back up, but Kuro doesn’t really know what else to do.

Is this something he can sleep off? Kuro absently grabs another cup of water and sets it on the nightstand, and then, another.

The entire nightstand is soon full of every reasonably cup-like thing in the room, and Kuro’s fretting hasn’t helped anything. He reluctantly touches Kenma, not sure how he feels about the contrast of his black form against Kenma’s paler than usual complexion. Kenma’s skin is _hot_. Alarmingly so.

Well, he’ll have water within reach when he wakes up again. And he needs to sleep. Kuro grabs a washcloth from the bathroom and runs it under the cold water. Would this help? Or would it make it worse? He feels something faintly familiar about putting a wet washcloth on someone’s forehead, so that seems like a good idea.

Kenma seems very small, curled up in his baggy shirt, all alone on the big bed. Kuro wants to curl back up with him, but honestly, Kenma is too warm to be comfortable next to. And apparently he needs medicine. How the hell is an unsettled demon supposed to get medicine? What _kind_?

“Okay, so I need advice,” Kuro says and sits down on the edge of the bed. He concentrates on trying to get human appearance back, flexing his hand, while trying to think of someone to ask. It’s the same problem as earlier: the only people he totally trusts, especially with Kenma, are either people who he can’t get hold of or tengu.

He’s largely resigned that he’s going to run to Bokuto like a nervous hen with a lot of hand-wringing and nervous prancing.

But he can’t do that if he doesn’t look human, and he’s not sure about leaving Kenma alone, even if he is sleeping. As if to worsen his worries, Kenma coughs in his sleep and rolls over onto his side until it subsides. Kuro readjusts the washcloth and tucks his hair behind his ears.

He digs out the concealment amulet from yesterday’s clothes and slips it on. It feels too heavy against his chest, but he finds it easier to concentrate with it on. It’s a lot harder than originally settling; Kuro takes several deep breaths and _forces_ his body to listen to him. When he reopens his eyes, the olive human skin is back. He lets out a long, relieved sigh. “Alright Kenma. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kuro murmurs and tucks more of Kenma’s hair back, although it doesn’t need it. The gesture is soothing for him.

Kuro can’t relock any of the wards on the door, so he’ll have to trust the physical locks. (As if he needs more stress about leaving him.)

 _What if I broke his ignore-me spell? What if someone breaks into his room? What if the angel or Kiyoko or that Ushijima witch or someone else with a grudge finds him?_ By the time he reaches the goblin market, Kuro is indeed practically prancing from foot to foot in his worry. What a sight that probably is. The kitsune in the stall next to the tengu stall snickers at his expense.

Kuro freezes in his fretting when he catches sight of said tengu stall.

“You’re not Bo,” Kuro says bluntly.

The smaller-than-Bokuto owl tengu tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Akaashi sighs and massages their temples. “Bokuto is busy today,” they reply in a long-suffering tone, which is _unfair_ because Kuro just got here, “so he’s not helping me with the shop. Kuroo, this is Komi. Komi, this is Kuroo, tengu friend.”

“He the one who helped you with Koutarou’s egg?” Komi stage-whispers behind a clawed hand. Kuro isn’t sure what sort of owl markings his feathers have, but they’re pretty.

“Don’t call him that in public,” Akaashi hisses back.

“You said he was tengu friend!”

“The entire market is not! Not everyone deserves to know Bokuto’s human name,” Akaashi says primly. They run their claws over the tawny feathers on their arms, smoothing them, and look back up to give Kuro their attention again. “What did you need him for?”

“I need his help,” Kuro answers with another fidget. Not that Bokuto is any sort of expert in human affairs, but it’s nice to flail together with someone else. And if nothing else, Bokuto usually has _wonderful_ ideas. And he likes Kenma. He wouldn’t lead him astray.

“Where’s Kenma?” Akaashi asks with a quick survey of the thin crowd in the market.

“That’s what I need help with. He’s sick. I think.”

“You _think_?” Komi asks, both eyebrows raised. “Who’s this Kenma? Is he hard to figure out?”

“He’s a witch, and even human witches get sick from time to time.”

“Do _you_ know anything about it? I need help figuring out how to help him,” Kuro says. He nearly fumbles and forgets he’s supposed to be human in front of them, but he’s too worried to care too much right now.

“The owl tengu are your first choice in asking how to care for sick humans?” Komi scoffs.

“Be nice,” Akaashi tells him. (Like Akaashi is one to talk.) They stand up, smoothing down their feathers again, and stoop to pick up a bag of some sort. “Komi, watch the stall, and _don’t_ wander off after any sirens this time. I’ll be back later. I have a delivery to make.”

Kuro tries not to look _too_ confused or put-off by Akaashi’s behavior, but goddamnit, he _is_. He’d wanted Bokuto’s help, and now Akaashi was… maybe helping? Kuro trails after them with equal parts nervousness and suspicion. “A delivery, huh.”

“I don’t know the first thing about how humans work,” Akaashi admits bluntly.

“At least you’re aware of it,” Kuro says under his breath. Akaashi gives him a sharp look, and he shrugs.

“But I have to deliver something to one, and we can ask him. And you can lead me to him.”

“Uh? I don’t—I mean, _what_?”

“Sugawara,” Akaashi says coolly. “You worked with him to get Bokuto’s egg back, and I have to return this to him now before it causes any more trouble.” They heft the bag in their arms, and Kuro tries to remember if he’s ever been told what Akaashi and Suga’s part of the job entailed. He’ll be curious about the shady business later.

Kuro has no idea where Suga lives, but he can probably track him down thanks to his slight help in the contract. This far from Kenma, it’s easier to identify that tiny secondary tug. “Okaaaay,” Kuro drawls, mostly just to acknowledge that the tengu beside him spoke. Suga’s nice, and Suga will probably gladly help him with a sick Kenma. But he feels like, at some point, Akaashi might question why Kuro has to seek out advice on how to care for a sick human. And that could be a problem. “So, what’s in the bag?”

“A skin,” Akaashi answers.

“Oh. That’s unusually macabre. And Suga wants this… why?”

“It’s not his, but I refuse to give it to that psychic.”

“Oh, the pretty one?”

Akaashi’s expression sours.

“Not that you aren’t pretty, too! I mean, the Oikawa one?”

Their expression sours further. “That is _not_ why I’m upset.”

“The infection thing?”

“It’s broken now, but they still infected me in the first place. It was rude and disgusting and—and they could have contaminated Bokuto’s egg somehow,” Akaashi finishes venomously. They smooth their voice and face back out, temper gone as fast as it came, and continue, “But our business will be done once this is delivered. And I’m sure Sugawara can help you figure out how to help Kenma. He seems like the type to care too much about others.”

“Here’s hoping,” Kuro agrees dryly. He just wants to get back to Kenma.

\--

Kiyoko said Suga was okay, but Daichi still finds himself nervous. Suga hasn’t answered any of his texts or voicemails, and Tadashi hadn’t known any more about the situation than Kiyoko. Daichi feels horrifically, unfairly, impossibly out of the loop. So he feels nervous, and irritated, and awkward as _hell_ as he stands in front of the door to Suga’s apartment. He can see a light on beneath the crack in the door and hear something inside, so _someone’s_ home.

But no one answered his knocks.

Daichi tries again, pounding on the door a little harder this time. “Suga? It’s Daichi, let me in?”

There’s some raise in volume that _might_ have been an answer. Daichi hopes so. But he doesn’t hear any footsteps coming to unlock the door. Kiyoko had said Suga needed rest, so does that mean an injury? Should he be up and about? Is he _able_ to be? Daichi tries the knob, and it turns, as if unlocked. But the door doesn’t budge.

It’s probably some magical bullshit.

“Suga!” Daichi barks at the door. One last chance. He kicks the door and shifts the bag to his other hand. “I brought food, if you need a bribe to let me in!” Daichi hadn’t ever thought of Suga needing a bribe to spend time in his company, so now he can add self-conscious to the list of everything else. Sugawara Koushi is going to turn him into a bundle of nerves yet.

Alright, so there’s definitely someone home, the door is magically locked, and Suga hasn’t answered him now or any of his messages. Daichi is not one to be ignored, especially since he’s been worried out of his mind. He can apologize for this later.

He sets the bag down and pulls his dogtags off. It takes some doing, but eventually he figures out how to snag the vorpal sword from the charm placed upon them, and soon enough, he’s holding a magic-eating blade while wondering if he’s _really_ going to break into Suga’s apartment. …Holy shit, he really is. He didn’t trek across the city in sleet and get ignored for two days just to be turned away _now._

Daichi pries the tip of the sword in between the crack of the door and its frame. He tries not to judge Suga’s taste in (shitty and old, alright, but he’ll keep that to himself) apartments as he hears something give. A click, then a weird tingle in his fingers, and the door pops open.

Daichi grins, pleased with himself. He pulls the door open, scoops up the bag, and carries the sword under his arm so he can tug the door back closed behind him.

Suga is laying on his couch, Sunshine on his chest, and both of them stare at Daichi with matching big-eyed expressions at his entrance. “…I didn’t teach _you_ to break and enter, did I?” Suga asks after an awkward beat. There’s something off about his voice, like he’s sick or something.

“Didn’t you hear me knocking?” Daichi asks, looking away. There’s a collection of empty containers on the kitchen counter, and some of them look like bottles. Another two are sitting on the floor near the couch.

“The wards muffle most sound, but I thought you were Noya again. He could’ve come back if he wanted.”

Suga turns back to the black cat on his chest, grabbing his paws and making him wiggle them in the air. Sunshine doesn’t seem as amused as his owner is at the treatment. Daichi steps into the apartment proper, toeing off his wet shoes, and tries not to drip on anything as he sets the bag on the counter. Yup, that’s alcohol, plus something that is probably one of his magic potions.

Daichi takes a deep breath. Okay, so Suga got into some horrible magical fight with unknown parties, has been MIA for almost two days, and now he’s getting drunk, alone in his apartment. This is not how he’d wanted this night to go. “Suga, what are you doing?” Daichi asks carefully as he turns back around.

“Reenacting cat vines,” Suga replies thickly. He sits up, unsteadily, and turns Sunshine around on his lap. “This is my kitty cat! This is his kitty fat— _ow_! Shit.” Sunshine bites him, drawing pinpricks of blood on his hand, and Suga draws back. “Fine, you big jerk. You gotta do the rest of it with me for… for Daichi, ‘kay?”

Sunshine meows and flicks his ears back.

“This is my kitty cat, and he is my kitty brat!” Suga sings—which would be indescribably charming in other circumstances. “He goes pat-pat-pat!” It’d be charming if Suga weren’t trying to wipe his bleeding hand on his cat, of all things, and if he weren’t on the way to getting shitfaced.

“Alright, but are you drinking?” Daichi asks. Sunshine fixes him a look that seems to say _duh_. Not for the first time, Daichi wonders just how smart that cat is supposed to be. “I thought you didn’t like drinking,” Daichi adds.

“Oh, it’s. It’s okay.” Suga doesn’t meet his eyes. “One of those nights, right?”

“Bad enough that you haven’t been to able to answer me?” Daichi asks and crosses his arms.

“The witches have my stuff, Daichi.” The way he says his name—an alcohol-softened chirp of Dai- _chi_ —betrays a bit of his own irritation. It doesn’t do much to soothe Daichi’s own. “My bag and all my bag stuff. All of it. Who knows when I’ll get it back!” He groans, throws his arms wide, and flops back onto the couch.

“Suga, you have a phone _right there_.”

“That’s my home phone. It doesn’t get fried like my work phone, so it stays here. I don’t have your number memorized yet. I couldn’t… I didn’t think to. Today was a _day_. A very, very bad day, Daichi.”

He isn’t sure if Suga is trying to lead him into asking about it or warning him off, but Daichi’s sympathy wars with his annoyance. He settles on, “Worse than yesterday?”

“Yesterday was. Normal. Right? I slept through most of it, and Hitoka patched me up! Because that’s what she does, and that’s what I do!”

“You do… what?”

“Need to get patched up,” Suga snorts. Sunshine jumps off of his chest, pauses to sniff at one of the bottles, and then slinks toward Daichi with a plaintive meow.

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks uneasily. Suga rolls over and presses his face into the back of the couch. His shirt has ridden up, giving Daichi a glimpse of pale, creamy skin interrupted by a scar near his hipbone. “Suga, you’re okay, right?” he repeats.

“Of course!” Suga exclaims and hunches further into a ball. “S’not like I can _die_ or anything!”

Neither Kiyoko nor Tadashi said anything about anyone dying yesterday. Daichi is _very much_ not equipped to handle magical bullshit, much less Suga’s special brand of it, but good lord, he’s not going to let that one sit. “Suga, what’s wrong? What happened? And let me help you rinse off your hand before you get more cat fur in it.”

“‘m fine.”

“Don’t be a brat. I thought that was supposed to be the cat’s job.”

“‘m _fine_ ,” Suga childishly repeats.

Why does Daichi like this man again? He sighs, exasperated, and moves back into the kitchen (although on the other side of the counter, to keep an eye on Suga). He loudly opens the plastic bag and pulls out the only-slightly-soggy takeout. The noise does nothing to catch Suga’s attention, so Daichi announces, “I brought you food.”

“Not hungry.”

There aren’t dirty dishes in the sink or anywhere Daichi can see, and the only empty containers nearby are booze bottles. “I’m pretty damn sure you should eat, Suga. You’re a lightweight and you shouldn’t be drinking this much on an empty stomach. Tomorrow, you’re going to _wish_ you were dead with the hangover you’ll have—”

Suga sits up and _glares_ at him for that. Daichi, wholly unused to the sight of Suga glaring, almost takes a physical step back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to phrase it that way,” he says at once.

Suga huffs and pushes up, off of the couch. Daichi watches him sway, but he remains upright. Suga picks up the two bottles by the couch and brings them to the counter, too; they’re both empty, save for about a swallow’s worth sloshing in the bottom of one. Suga braces himself against the counter to keep himself up, and Daichi quickly steals the almost-empty one and drains it.

Where the hell does he _get_ all of his pomegranate-flavored shit?

“Kiyoko brought me a peach potion,” Suga groans. He gives up on standing and ends up folded across his countertop, cheek pressed into it. He rubs his face against it, probably enjoying how cool it is. Daichi resists the urge to check how warm he feels. “I _hate_ peach.”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to?” Daichi guesses. What do peaches have to do with anything?

“She’s _never_ forgotten that,” Suga insists.

“Maybe she was just preoccupied.” Daichi rustles the plastic bag near the takeout again, and Suga’s eyes are drawn to the noise. “Hungry?” he asks hopefully.

“Just gonna throw it back up soon anyway,” Suga mutters.

Daichi drags the remainder of the alcohol away from him. Suga cringes at the noise.

“Why’re you here, Daichi?” Suga finally asks.

“I was worried about you. And pissed that I thought you were ignoring me, but mostly worried. You could’ve been in a hospital in traction for all I’d heard.” He can’t completely keep the bitterness from his voice, and he grimaces at himself for it.

Suga frowns, too. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, I guess, since you didn’t have your phone. I just… I can’t be worried every time you run off, okay? I’d like to be kept in the loop from now on,” Daichi says, as mildly as he can manage, and he thinks he does a good job at keeping the frustration out. Suga nods against the countertop, eyes closed. Daichi hopes he’s not about to pass out. “You _are_ okay, right? What happened…?”

“There was a fight with a witch, and then I was used against the others, and then there was an attempted summoning and then an angel and then an archangel. Everyone’s okay, for now. I’m okay.” Suga wrinkles his nose, and adds, “I’m _always_ okay.”

Ooh, yeah, this is definitely Suga Issues. Daichi reaches out and gently puts his hand over Suga’s wrist. His skin is feverish, warm but still cooler than it should be, and Suga looks up at him again without raising his head. “You don’t sound okay,” Daichi says skeptically.

“…I’m not okay,” Suga confesses in a tiny voice. …As if it weren’t obvious.

Then, all at once, he’s sniffling, and his eyes are shining with tears, and Daichi’s backpedaling because holy shit he is not equipped to handle Crying Suga, either. He’s so weak to crying men, and Suga is normally either so bubbly or so worried that he’s unused to seeing him with tears like this. Suga whines into the countertop, shoulders hitching, and Daichi can’t just sit here and do _nothing_.

“Holy shit,” Daichi hisses and grabs Suga’s hand again. “You’re okay, oh my god, you’re _okay_ , Suga.”

“‘m not.”

Daichi comes around the counter and Suga latches onto him, for physical and emotional support. _Definitely_ not how Daichi expected this night to go. He helps lead Suga back to the couch, because he doesn’t want him falling over or something, and by the time they more or less fall against it, Suga is outright sobbing against his shoulder.

Daichi lets him cry, rubbing circles into his back, and wonders what exactly is going on. He doesn’t want to make Suga talk, but he’s not the silent type, either. And listening to Suga cry is doing frankly terrible things to his heart.

It takes a little while and a growing damp spot on his shirt, but Daichi realizes that Suga is still trying to _speak_. It’s not outright, wordless sobbing, but specific things, and once Daichi begins to listen, he catches names. Nishinoya and Asahi and then, his own name. “Shh, I’m right here,” Daichi murmurs against Suga’s hair.

“S-Stop,” Suga says and Daichi freezes. Suga pulls back, eyes still shining, but something in his expression is a little clearer. “You… should stop, Daichi.”

“Are you alright?” Daichi asks. Suga wiggles around until Daichi is more situated beneath him (Daichi raises an eyebrow and wonders just how on-purpose that had been) and sighs when he lays his head back down on Daichi’s chest. Then, he wiggles a bit more, making sure he’s situated firmly between Daichi’s legs and not hanging halfway off the couch. Daichi can’t keep up with these moods, but hey, if Suga is feeling even a little better, that’s a good thing, right?

As it turns out, Suga isn’t feeling better. He’s only quieted down. Suga lightly traces nonsense patterns against Daichi’s arm (Daichi tenses at first, preparing for magic; it doesn’t come). Daichi can’t quite see his face from this angle, but he feels a new wet spot on his shirt.

“You remember my friend Asahi? The ghost?” Suga starts. His voice is a wrecked mixture of crying-hoarse and drunk-slur. Daichi nods and moves his free arm until it’s over Suga’s back again, just to keep it from dangling off the couch. “He isn’t doing well,” Suga says vaguely.

“You don’t have to tell me the details,” Daichi says.

Suga nods and sniffs. “I think we had a fight today. Noya, too. It was… bad.”

Daichi can only imagine.

“I don’t know how ‘m gonna fix it,” Suga admits.

“Why do you have to be the one to fix it?”

“No one else can. Except _I_ can’t, either.”

“If I can, I’ll help,” Daichi tells him. Suga twists his head to look up at him, chin digging into Daichi’s chest. Daichi forces out a smile and brings his hand up to Suga’s hair. Suga leans into his touch and keeps his eyes locked on Daichi’s.

“I don’t think you can,” Suga replies bluntly. Daichi cringes. Well _thank you_ , Suga, for ruining that moment and helping Daichi’s ego when it comes to this entire situation. “…But thank you,” he adds in a softer tone. He turns and pushes his cheek more firmly against Daichi’s palm. “Means a lot,” he says, even quieter, and presses his lips against Daichi’s hand.

“Let me know if you need me. For anything. Even if it’s just stopping you from drinking alone, cooped up in your apartment.”

“Sunny was with me—”

“Drinking alone with your _cat_ does not make the situation sound better, Suga. I understand wanting alone time, but if you ever want it, uh, not to be alone time… Well, just add my number to your house phone, too, okay?”

Suga smiles warmly, cheeks still wet (courtesy of tears) and pink (courtesy of alcohol), and Daichi _finally_ feels like there’s something good in this situation tonight.

But the smile fades just as quickly as it comes. Suga’s lashes flutter, and he looks away before settling his gaze on Daichi’s again. “Daichi, do you like me?”

“Uh.” He flounders a bit, feeling a frankly embarrassing amount of heat flood his face. “Is this a middle school sleepover suddenly? I think I missed that memo.”

“Didn’t answer the question.”

“I thought it was obvious. Of course I like you, you drunk cat lady.”

Surprisingly, this doesn’t seem to reassure Suga. Those brown doe eyes slide away again, and Suga frowns, before he turns and rests his cheek against Daichi’s shirt again, hiding his expression from view. “Kiyoko was probably preoccupied,” he says with a forced air of casualness, “because she figured something out today.”

“Oh?” Daichi asks as neutrally as he can. He’s not sure if this is a good or bad thing. More information is good, right? He’s been operating under the assumption that most of them are flying blind at any given moment. But Suga wouldn’t be getting trashed alone and complaining about peaches if it were happy news, would he?

“‘member how I told you that I didn’t really know what happened three years ago?” Suga murmurs. Daichi makes a noise of agreement. “We have a better idea of it now.”

“And… it’s not good news? Didn’t you want to know?”

“Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it?”

“Suga, what did you find out?” Daichi carefully readjusts them until Suga’s chin is digging into his sternum again and he can read the misery in every line of his face. He’s a heavy, sad weight on top of him. “If you don’t want to talk about it yet, that’s fine—”

“I don’t think I’m human anymore,” Suga blurts out.

Daichi raises an eyebrow. Suga could’ve fooled him. “You… look human?”

Suga sighs, and it’s his Daichi Doesn’t Get It sigh, and it’s _wonderfully_ normal to hear in this situation. “Lots of things _look_ human. It doesn’t mean they are. …Like some spirits, for example.”

“You can’t be a spirit,” Daichi says, and pokes him in the shoulder to prove it. Solid. “One thing I _do_ know is that spirits can’t be seen or touched, except by people like you. Otherwise Yamaguchi wouldn’t be so stressed, right?”

“What if I was a spirit possessing someone’s body?” Suga whispers. “I _died_ , Daichi, we already knew that. But what if I didn’t come back to life, what if I changed and I—”

Daichi sits up, dragging Suga up with him, and cuts this off as fast as he can. He holds Suga’s face in front of him, a hand on each of his cheeks, and stares him in the eye. “Okay, I don’t know all of the nuances of spirits and shit. But you’re not some kind of zombie and you’re _not_ just possessing a body.”

Suga flinches at the word ‘zombie’. “You barely know how possession works,” he mutters.

Daichi pauses, because that’s true—but also because he’s not sure how he can put into words how he knows it’s wrong. He barely knows a thing about Suga’s world of magic, and not that much more about Suga himself. He releases Suga’s face (Suga nearly falls forward without the sudden support) and grabs his hand. He squeezes the part that Sunshine bit, earning a curse and a little droplet of blood. “Ghosts don’t bleed!”

“I _have_ a body,” Suga says and yanks back his hand. He sucks on the little injury with a sour expression that’s a million times better than the broken one from before. “I didn’t say I’m a ghost, I just said I’m possessing my own body. With a lot of necromancy. So I _am_ a z-zombie—”

Daichi is not having it. He grabs Suga’s hand again, and Suga narrows his eyes at him. Daichi presses his fingers against the inside of his wrist. “Sorry to tell you, Suga, but you have a pulse. Undead things don’t. Field medic says you’re still alive, sorry, soldier.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

Daichi moves his other hand back up to cup Suga’s cheek, and he flicks the ends of Suga’s starlight hair with his fingertips. “Your hair’s grown since I’ve met you, too. Please don’t keep making me go through body things, because I’m running out of the easy ones.” _Don’t crack boner jokes_ , he tells himself. “You breathe and eat and sleep, you have a heartbeat, and maybe you’re a magical being made of sparkles and light, but you are _alive_. And overthinking existential crises, especially while drunk, is not a smart thing to do. Even with a cat to help you.”

There are tears in Suga’s eyes again, but this time, it’s accompanied by a watery smile. “Thanks—”

A pounding at the door makes them both jump and jerk away guiltily from one another. This time, Suga really does unbalance and falls backward with a flail that nearly clips Daichi in the jaw.

“C-Come in,” Suga calls weakly, not bothering to try to get up.

There’s a long pause before the door creaks open. Sunshine hisses before it’s even fully open, and Daichi must admit, he doesn’t expect to see two people he barely recognizes. Well, he recognizes the taller one with the severe bedhead and smirk, but he’s not used to seeing the other one without feathers. Daichi peeks over at Suga, and it’s clear Suga isn’t expecting them, either.

Daichi wishes he could remember what either of their names were.

“Interrupting anything?” the taller one asks.

“We’re sorry if we did,” the pretty one adds. They don’t sound very sorry, though.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Daichi mumbles and stands. He doesn’t _want_ to leave Suga, but he’s stuck his nose in far enough here. He doesn’t get very far before Suga reaches out and grabs him in a surprisingly strong grip. Suga tugs him back down onto the couch, closer to him, clinging to him like a very large teddy bear.

“What can I help you with?” Suga asks. He works up a convincing smile, but Daichi can hear the nervousness in his voice. Or maybe that’s him trying not to sound like he’s just been drunk-slash-crying.

The pretty one lifts up the bag they’re carrying. “A skin delivery for you, or for Oikawa. I’d also like to speak to you,” their sharp eyes slide over Daichi, “later, if possible, about your exact methods of breaking that infection.”

“Oh, sure,” Suga says with a nervous titter. Daichi can imagine how _that_ conversation will go. He wonders how much Suga will edit out. …He wonders how much Suga has edited out of their conversations.

There’s a long, pregnant pause, and then the pretty one smacks the tall one, sending him stumbling forward. “Oh, uh, yeah, _thanks_ , Akaashi. Suga, I have a couple questions for you—in private? Pretty please?”

Suga’s grasp tightens for a split second, then he lets go of Daichi with an even wider smile. “Of course. Let me just. Um.”

Daichi puts a hand on his back to help him get upright, and he takes a couple of unsteady steps before finding his balance. Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “I hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” they say again, then cover their nose with their human-looking hand. “Smells like we were.”

“It’s fine!” Suga chirps. Suga looks around at the tiny living room, eyes lingering on the angry cat trying to hide under the couch, then points toward the bedroom. “This way. Daichi, behave, we’ll be just a moment.”

“Why do _I_ have to behave?” Daichi asks indignantly.

“Be nice to the tengu. Akaashi, you can set that down anywhere, I guess, and don’t worry about locking the door or anything.”

Akaashi crosses their arms over their chest, mirroring Daichi’s posture. “I’m waiting for Kuroo.”

“You’re what.”

“Well, you behave, too, then. Don’t hurt my friend!” Suga says and pushes the tall one into his bedroom. The door clicks shut behind them.

So Daichi’s left alone with a scared cat and a tengu. He’s not sure if this is an improvement to the earlier situation.

\--

Tooru stares at the seal in his tub. _That_ brings back memories. “…You’re making a mess,” he says to cover the stutter in his heart.

Iwaizumi looks down at the water splashed all over. “Oh. Sorry.” He flops back into the water, sloshing more over the edge. “Did you need something?”

“Actually, _I_ wanted to take a bath,” Tooru admits, massaging his temples. He has a headache something fierce and one thing he can cling to with all of these new, invasive thoughts is that he loves his bathtub. And he wants to be in it. Not with a seal.

Iwaizumi peers at him over the edge of the tub again. His seal eyes are cute, big brown things, but there are still specks of his normal deep green in there, too. It lends him an eerily human look. Tooru doesn’t want to think about human gazes on animal faces right now, because the morality of being this attracted to a shapeshifting thief already weighs on his mind.

But with the seal memories (Tooru is mad that he even has to categorize them), he makes two realizations: the first is that he trusts Iwaizumi and still has _no idea why_ , and that he has never in his life seen him as a seal before.

“I’m not getting out of the tub yet,” Iwaizumi grumbles.

 _I trusted him because I thought I could use him_ , Tooru thinks, trying to shove all the pieces back into his mental puzzle. For information, right? But why not just ally with the tengu for information? _He had to have something they couldn’t have. Something connected to that god, probably…_

“Oi, dumbass, are you just going to stand there and watch me splash around?” the seal barks and splashes more water onto the tile floor. Some of it makes it to Tooru’s toes, and he jumps back, jarred out of his thoughts. Iwaizumi gives him a level stare, sunk low into the water, and that image, Tooru can accurately place as mirroring his grumpy introduction when he’d locked him in the bathroom.

“I’ve never seen you as a seal before, have I?” Tooru asks, just to be sure.

“No. You kept this skin from me until… my other skin burned. Then you gave it back to me to try to help me. This is the first time I’ve been able to get it properly wet in what feels like forever,” Iwaizumi says and does a happy twirl in the bathtub. More water sloshes out. He’s going to have to run more to refill it at this rate.

“You need to keep a better lid on _your_ memories,” Tooru grouses and peels his shirt up over his head. He gives Iwaizumi—who is staring at him mostly submerged again—an irritated scowl. “They’re starting to worm their way into my head.”

“I didn’t know. Sorry.” Iwaizumi continues staring at him, seal-expression unreadable. Tooru unbuttons his pants. “…What’re you doing?”

“I’m taking a bath. And I’m kicking you out. We’ll see if you can change back fast enough to try to fight back,” Tooru says with an evil smile. Iwaizumi sinks completely under the surface with what Tooru has to assume is a growl. He leans over the tub, still in his boxers, and reaches down into the water. Iwaizumi nips at him, just a warning, and resurfaces as far away from him as he can manage.

“I need to get this pelt worn and wet again, otherwise it’ll rot. You don’t want to smell rotting seal, do you?” he threatens. “And you don’t want to deal with _me_ if I’m losing two skins this year.”

“Does a rotting skin hurt?”

“…No.”

Then Tooru cares less. He lunges at the seal, who gives a high-pitched bark of alarm, and Tooru wraps his arms around him with a triumphant yell.

And then he realizes that while Iwaizumi may be smaller in this form, holy _hell_ he is heavier. It’s like trying to lift a lead weight. Tooru lets go before he falls in completely, and wipes wet hair out of his eyes as he rethinks this plan. Iwaizumi floats in the remainder of the water, smug.

 _Just join me_ , Iwaizumi thinks. He squints a little at him. _Learn to share._

“Use your words,” Tooru replies.

“…I won’t be much longer,” Iwaizumi says loud with an annoyed snort. He flicks his little ears and dives back under the shallow water.

And people thought _Tooru_ was fickle. He pulls off his (wet) underwear and stands over the edge of the tub, watching as he runs the water again. On hot. Iwaizumi scoots away with a stream of curse-filled bubbles.

“Seals need cold water!”

“You wanted me in a _cold_ bath? How mean!”

“You ass, do you know how uncomfortable this is?!”

“Then I guess you’ll have to rinse out your fur some other day.” God, he hopes that there’s no fur in his drain. He’s going to make Iwaizumi clean this entire bathroom, but especially the tub. (And he better not try to ever become a dragon in here.)

Before Tooru can second-guess himself, because Iwaizumi _invited_ him, after all, he hops into the tub.

And immediately regrets it.

Iwaizumi is at one end, taking up plenty of room, and the other end is all of the hot water. Tooru whines and tries to scoot back, but the seal is like a brick wall. “Take off your pelt! Give me some room here!”

“Why should I?”

“You wanted me in here!”

“You can’t prove that.”

“Your tsundere act is _so_ not cute,” Tooru scolds.

“My what.”

They jostle for position, and at some point during the squirming fight, Iwaizumi slinks out of his seal pelt. Tooru doesn’t have to have future sight to have seen this coming, but it’s still something unnervingly new to acknowledge that he’s very naked and very pressed up to a very attractive man. Iwaizumi’s seal skin is between them, clutched almost modestly to his chest, and he’s still wearing pants from earlier, but hey, that’s still a lot of skin showing.

Neither of them speak.

Tooru doesn’t want to pull his gaze from Iwaizumi’s eyes, now almost fully green again, but he does. He traces the black tattoos curling down over his shoulders, and his attention lingers on the burn scars erasing the bulk of one of the rows. There’s already the next string of runes—the dragon ones—beneath them, extending the tattoo past the halfway point to his elbow.

Tooru places his palm against the scars and asks, “Why are you still here?”

Iwaizumi’s expression hardens. “Excuse me? You’re on _top_ of me.”

“No, I meant…” Tooru sighs and pulls his hand away. He sits up, off of him, and shuts off the water for more time to articulate his thoughts. (That’s been so difficult lately.) “You have your pelt back. You have a dragon one on top of it. Ptar-Axtlan is dead and the egg’s been returned, so the tengu shouldn’t be trying to kill you anymore. What else are you here for?”

To his credit, Iwaizumi does not try to use his eaten memories as an excuse. But his expression doesn’t get any warmer. “I don’t have anywhere _else_ to go? The apocalypse is still coming? How else am I supposed to help?”

“You can go back to the Dreamlands—”

“ _No_ , I can’t,” he growls, eyes narrowing. “Even if Ptar-Axtlan was an invader there, it was still a god, and we killed it in its own territory. None of us are ever going back there if I have anything to say about it, and I _will_ , since not even Sugawara can get back there on his own now.” He crosses his arms and Tooru finds himself staring at his scars again. “Are you kicking me out because I’m some sort of stranger to you now?” _Are you kicking me out?_ echoes in his mind; it does not mirror his outer aggravation, and instead seems a raw mixture of fear and concern.

The concern is not for Iwaizumi himself.

Tooru groans and splashes the water. Iwaizumi jumps, eyes snapping wide again. “I can’t believe we’re arguing while sitting in a bathtub together.”

“You’re trying to kick me out!”

“ _No_ , I’m digging for some sort of acknowledgement that you’re sticking around for more than a roof over your head and all of my bacon.” Tooru sinks as low as the limited space and his long limbs will allow him to, and he knows his face is probably red, but he can blame it on the heat and the stress, right? (He’s damn well going to.) “I can’t remember what you meant to me, but I’m trying _so hard_. It’s driving me up a wall. And how am I supposed to know how to act around you if I don’t know how _you_ act around _me_ —”

“You over-analytical ass,” Iwaizumi harshly cuts in. He grabs Tooru by the shoulders and pulls him forward, crushing their lips together. Tooru makes a surprised sound on reflex, but it melts off into a contented sigh through his nose. Okay, so _this_ makes sense in a way that _doesn’t_ in his brain but _does_ in his chest. …He can sort that out later.

One of Iwaizumi’s hands comes up to the back of his neck, digging his fingers into the wet hair there, and the other goes down to Tooru's waist to pull him up flush against him. Tooru’s laying on top of him again, now more aware than ever of their difference in clothing levels, but hey, who is he to mind when he gets to make out with a hot skinwalker in a bath. So much of this feels like _Finally_.

“You _don’t_ have to know everything,” Iwaizumi tells when they break apart for a moment.

“Are you only kissing me so you can sleep in my bed again tonight?” Tooru can’t resist asking.

Iwaizumi dunks him with a scowl.

\--

“So, uh, what did you need?” Suga asks. He hopes he sounds more composed than he feels. Honestly, having a demon around isn’t helping his sudden angel issues. “And why were you with Akaashi?”

“Tengu friend,” Kuroo reminds him. “And I need your help with Kenma. He’s sick, and I don’t really… know what to do. He mentioned medicine and then passed out—”

“He _passed out_? What’s wrong with him?” Suga asks in alarm.

“I don’t know! He’s coughing a lot, and he has a fever, and I made a crack about pneumonia yesterday but I wasn’t _serious_ —” Kuroo wrings his hands as he talks, working himself up further, and Suga watches in horror as blackness begins seeping up from his nails and work its way down. His entire hands are dark and demonic before Kuroo notices. He holds them up, not surprised, but pleading. “And I can’t keep up a settled form when Kenma and I feel this terrible.”

“I can see that,” Suga replies blankly. “I don’t know much about helping demons, Kuroo. I’m, uh, sorry.”

“But you know how to help humans! You do it all the time.”

“Well, yes… If he has a fever…” Sounds like a bad cold and maybe some magical exhaustion? It’s probably nothing bad, but Suga doesn’t know how it will affect someone with a contract. It’s not as if Asahi got sick when Yuu did—

Suga shakes his head to get rid of that train of thought. He refuses to cry in front of Kuroo.

“Get him a restoration potion and some strong cold medicine. Something like nyquil would work. Um, hmm, I think I have some—” Suga rummages around in his nightstand and finds a few crumpled bills in the bottom of the second drawer. “This should cover it!”

Kuroo takes the money with a confused frown.

Suga sighs. “Make sure he drinks a lot of water and let him sleep as much as he wants. Even if he feels warm, he’ll probably act cold, so put more blankets on him if he asks or looks like he’s cold.”

Kuroo looks up from the money with another blank look.

Suga pulls a quilt from the (admittedly large) pile on his bed and begins folding it as he continues. “I can give you a recipe book with some soup recipes. Can you cook at all? If he orders you to cook, will you be able to?” Kuroo shrugs, still looking horrifically lost. “Okay, maybe buy a can of soup or two. That shouldn’t be the hard part, but a magic restoration potion… You two quit working at Kiyoko’s shop, didn’t you?”

Kuroo blanches. “Um.” He rubs his throat and averts his eyes. “We… aren’t working there anymore, nooo…” He swallows, throat clicking, and winces as if it pained him.

Suga peers up at him suspiciously. “You know, I’ve been wondering this for awhile, actually. …Can you lie to me, Kuroo?”

The demon does not answer him.

Well, that is… about two steps from useless to him. It would’ve been useful knowing when they first met and Suga trusted him about as far as he could throw him, but now? Now they’re out of Kiyoko’s shop, Kuroo hasn’t gone on a murderous rampage, and Kenma may be avoiding them but he _did_ help them fight against Ushijima. Suga has far bigger issues to worry about right now.

He hefts the sloppily-folded quilt. “I want payment.”

Kuroo holds up the money.

“No. I want you to promise to stop calling me your other dad, because it had been cute for two seconds and now it’s just creepy knowing you weren’t exactly lying about feeling that way. _I_ am not your contract holder. The _last_ thing I need right now is.” Suga takes a deep, shuddering breath, and tightens his hold on the blanket. The room sways a bit. “Is a demon. With me. I don’t _want_ to know if you call Kenma ‘Daddy’ or anything, but leave me out of it.”

“That’s all?” Kuroo asks with a crooked grin. It’s reassuring to see him get away from the nervous, lost look for a moment. “Sure. Can I call you mom, then?”

Suga thrusts the blanket at him. “ _No_. My part in your summoning was an act of desperation, and you’re not _my_ accident.”

“Harsh, Koushi.”

Suga twitches at the use of his first name. Not right now. “No. Now stop being an ass while I try to explain where to get a restoration potion. Since I’m not sending you to Kiyoko right now.” Let Kuroo think it's for his benefit, to avoid awkward situations; Suga doesn’t want Kiyoko to deal with more stress than she has to, right now. (He imagines he can still taste the peaches.) And having the demon here in front of him only reminds him of _angel angel angel!_ and that is not a pleasant place to be.

Suga explains the difference in human currency and magical bartering, although he doesn’t know the prices of other potion shops. Akaashi would have to help him with that. He ends up sinking down onto his bed halfway through his rushed explanation, feeling dizzy again, and Kuroo gives him a sympathetic frown. But he doesn’t _want_ his sympathy right now. He wants Sunshine’s sympathy, and maybe for Daichi to tell him it’s alright again, but Suga’s otherwise past the sympathy stage.

Kuroo waits until _after_ his speech to hold up the cash and tell him, “I already have my own money, and I’m not some newborn demon, either. Or do you like the sound of your voice that much?” He cocks his head to the side with another smirk.

“Truthfully, I think if I keep talking, I won’t have to think about other things.” Suga rubs at his stomach, grimacing, and adds, “Or throw up. Need anything else?”

“Yeah, I can think of one last favor.”

Suga looks up at him questioningly. He doesn’t trust himself enough to open his mouth right now. He misses the giggly, cat vine phase of tonight.

“Take care of _yourself,_ okay? And don’t let any _other_ demons or tengu into your apartment without checking who they are.”

“If you only _knew_ what has been in this apartment,” Suga replies, but he laughs a little, too. “It’ll take more than a witch fight and some alcohol to put me down.”

“Well, be careful around those witch fights even so. I don’t want to deal with any more dead man’s blood than I have to,” Kuroo says. After a moment, he adds in a more sincere voice, “And thank you, Suga. For always covering for me and Kenma, even when you don’t have to. And for this.”

He looks down at the quilt in his arms, and tries to push the money back at Suga again. Suga shakes his head; it’s not like he needed it, since it’d been forgotten in his nightstand. And with how hard it seems for Kuroo to keep his form stable right now, he wants him to return to Kenma as quickly as possible.

Returning to the living room, Suga is pleased to see that Daichi hasn’t offended the tengu. Akaashi stands awkwardly by the door, fidgeting with their fingers, and can’t help the relief showing on their face at Kuroo’s reappearance. Suga retrieves one of Yui’s old cookbooks and gives that to Kuroo, too, and Akaashi all but drags him out.

After the door clicks closed, Suga collapses onto the couch, halfway across Daichi’s lap. “Done mothering the tengu?” Daichi asks lightly, rubbing circles into his back.

“Kuroo’s not a tengu.” Suga trusts Daichi, but if he somehow hasn’t heard that Kuroo’s a demon by now, he’s not going to give away the secret. Especially right after Kuroo had just gotten done _thanking_ him for it.

“Does that always happen?”

“Does what?”

“People coming to you and you sending them home with half your stuff.”

Suga burrows deeper into Daichi’s side, curling one arm around his waist. “Probably. Can you go back to what they think they were interrupting?”

Daichi’s hand stills on his back. Suga peers up at him and Daichi frowns down at him, confused and red-faced. “What _were_ they interrupting?” he asks.

“Oh god, the part where you were telling me I’m okay. Please don’t try to do romance or emotion things with me right now. I’m a mess,” Suga groans and hides in his shirt again. He hopes his own cheeks aren’t red, too. Daichi chuckles, the noise a warm rumble in his chest, and resumes rubbing circles against Suga’s spine. “I need more to drink,” he murmurs into Daichi’s shirt.

“You do _not_.”

“I want to forget about tonight. I want to forget that I have to talk to Akaashi about what happened in the Dreamlands.” He sort of wants to forget about how cute it is that Kuroo’s fretting over Kenma so badly. He also wants to ask Daichi to step up his game, too, but that’s a little too selfish, even for Drunk Suga. “…Stay the night?” He’s not selfless enough to not ask that, however.

“Are you ever going to invite me over when you’re not drunk or injured?” Daichi asks, tone light, but Suga cringes all the same. He rolls onto other side and takes a blessed moment to rub his cheek against Daichi’s thigh. “I’ll stay the night tonight, because I’m beginning to worry about your lack of response to people coming into your apartment unannounced.”

Of course the building’s domovoi chooses that moment to peek into the apartment through the wall. Suga shoos it away before he finds out how well Daichi can see house spirits.

\--

Kei has been fully tangible for the better part of an hour, which Tadashi thinks is a new record. Probably. He fiddles with his glasses, waiting outside the bathroom door.

So feeding a spirit pizza was not the best idea of the evening.

And apparently, spirits can get sick. Tadashi groans and muffles the noise with his sleeve. Kei’s first food since he died and it’s crappy pizza and then he throws it all back up anyway. He fucked up. _What can ghosts eat? Why was he hungry anyway?_ he thinks anxiously and chews on the hem of his hoodie’s sleeve. So Kei had been hungry and he had shared some of his food. That wasn’t a bad thing, right? It wouldn’t hurt him?

He’d sent half a dozen frantic texts to Suga before he remembered that his stuff is still probably being held by some coven, and he’s a little scared of asking Kiyoko. Kenma hasn’t answered his phone, either. Tadashi needs a goddamned manual for this sort of shit before something worse than a sick luck spirit happens.

The bathroom door opens and Kei floats there with a miserable squint. Tadashi holds up his glasses. “Feel any better?”

“I feel _worse_ ,” Kei hoarsely admits.

“There’s mouthwash next to the sink. B-But don’t swallow any!”

“I already used it.”

“Oh.” Tadashi fidgets again and pulls at his sleeve. “No one’s answered me about it, yet. But I’m sure they will, soon!” Would Issei know anything about ghosts? Morisuke needs a cell phone, clearly.

“I just want to rest right now. If I could’ve died again, I would have already,” Kei says and floats over toward the couch. Tadashi catches his hand and yanks him back down the hallway in the direction of his bedroom. “I’m not taking your bed, Yamaguchi.”

“You want to actually sleep?” Tadashi asks, eyebrows disappearing beneath his bangs.

“I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“Sleep tired or just lay down and cuddle tired?”

“ _Cuddle_?” Kei repeats.

“If you’re feeling sick, I’m not gonna let you be miserable on your own—unless you want time to yourself—but fuck, Tsukki, ghosts shouldn’t be hungry! Or sick!” Tadashi bites his lip and adds, “I’m nervous.”

“Couldn’t tell,” Kei drawls and floats off toward the bedroom. After a moment, he calls, “Coming?”

The leftovers will be fine left out overnight. Tadashi pauses only long enough to grab his phone and turn off the lights, then heads into his room, to find Kei sitting cross-legged on his bed. He doesn’t do anything like yawn, but he does blink slowly, like he’s trying to keep his eyes open. Tadashi sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls off his socks.

“That’s something I don’t miss,” the ghost mumbles, and Tadashi hears him finally settle into something a little less rigid.

“Getting sick?”

“Changing clothes.”

Tadashi snorts. “Really, Tsukki?”

“It takes up so much time.”

“Well _you_ don’t have to go to school or work or—sorry.”

“It’s fine, Yamaguchi. I just…” Tadashi almost mistakes the sound as a sigh, but when he looks over, he finds Kei with his face buried in the blanket. Smelling. He clamps his hand over his mouth, but he can’t cut off his snicker. He can see the tops of Kei’s ears reddening.

Then his head disappears through the mattress. Kei flails, trying to right himself again, and floats upright with wild hair and the most insulted expression Tadashi has ever seen on him. (A feat.)

Before he can ask if he’s okay, the expression vanishes and Kei darts through the wall, back toward the bathroom. Tadashi can hear more retching noises from his open door.

Alright, so Kei is better at controlling his tangibility when he’s _not_ thinking about it, and Tadashi might have broken him by feeding him human food. Or maybe just feeding him in general. He sincerely hopes Kei isn’t supposed to start eating spirits or something. _What does Morisuke eat?_ Tadashi wonders uneasily. Angels eat spirits, even bakeneko, and demons eat spirits, too, right?

“You okay?” Tadashi calls as he finishes changing into his pajamas.

There’s a groan from the bathroom.

 _What if it’s because he’s part demon now?_ Tadashi worriedly wonders. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to either Kiyoko or Kenma to try to get this fixed. Choose who you wanna go to.”

Kei staggers back into the bedroom, pale again, clawed hand clutching the door frame. So he’s solid again. He flops down face-first onto the bed, and Tadashi just nudges him over until there’s enough space for him to lay down next to him. Almost immediately, Kei greedily presses into his touch. Tadashi ends up wrapped around him; weird, he thought he’d be the little spoon. He tugs his blanket up as best he can over them, just in time for Kei to phase out of his grasp. The blanket settles down through him.

“…What if this never gets settled?” Kei asks with an angry squint at the covers.

“We’ll figure something out,” Tadashi replies as reassuringly as he can. _We_. Kei reluctantly lies down next to him again, and by the time Tadashi gets done sorting out blankets and pillows and getting comfortable, the spirit is solid again so he has to redo all of it.

He almost thinks Kei did it on purpose, until he realizes that he’s _asleep_.

Tadashi can’t help but stare at him, the way his face is relaxed despite the awkward angle his glasses are at. He eases them off his face and sets them on the nightstand, hoping they don’t phase through it at some point during the night. Tadashi curls around Kei once more, an arm cautiously put over his waist, but the ghost makes a satisfied noise and presses into his touch again.

Well, being with Kei is _great_ for his cuddling ego. Tadashi settles in again, studying the little blond curls on the nape of Kei’s neck, and tiredly wonders what it’d feel like to touch his hair. It always looks so soft.

Tadashi can’t fall asleep for nearly another hour, despite the exhaustion laying heavily in his limbs. There still hasn’t been any response from Suga or Kenma in that time.

\--

Yui wipes away the tears on her cheeks and chews as quickly as she can. It’s different, eating tangible things instead of memories or ghosts. The blood is still warm, steaming in the cool night.

“You know, the weather is still affected by you.”

Yui jumps at the voice, wings flaring, accidentally upending herself with the sudden shift in balance. The archangel crouches low over her kill, both defensive and annoyed, and wonders who the hell in their right mind tries to sneak up on an archangel, anyway.

The woman lowers her hood, ignoring the stinging, freezing rain, and Yui sits up when she sees it’s _Kiyoko_.

The knee-jerk response of joy in her heart is quickly overridden by panic. “Oh my god—what are you _doing_ here?! How did you find me?! I didn’t—” She looks down guiltily at the dead weather spirit she’d been eating. “I didn’t mean to! Oh god, I’ve been so _hungry_ , and I thought this—this might be better—”

“Shh,” Kiyoko murmurs, picking through the undergrowth to step closer. Yui wipes away more tears. “You always came here when you were upset,” Kiyoko points out with a soft, pained smile.

Well, shit. Yui needs to think a little more about her usual haunts. (She had almost returned _home_ , and then she remembered that she doesn’t actually live in that place anymore. She almost returned anyway just to see if Suga still lived there, and if so, if he still had Sunshine.)

(Yui misses Sunshine a lot.)

“You should go,” Yui says. She backs away from Kiyoko until her wings and back are pressed up against a tree. The bark digs roughly into her feathers. _Feathers, wow. Not something I ever wanted._

“I think we should talk,” Kiyoko replies. She’s still using her quiet voice that she tends to use with small children or scared spirits. Yui doesn’t think she deserves that voice, and it irks her.

But fuck, she can’t let her temper get the better of her now. She can’t let her emotions flare up when she is an _archangel_.

“I’m so sorry, Yui—”

She shakes her head wildly, sending sparks of light floating off into the dark forest with her movements. “You have nothing to apologize for! Except coming here, because that is _stupid_ , Kiyoko! I-I could hurt you, or something else could hurt you!”

“I shouldn’t have stolen your grace,” Kiyoko says sadly. She doesn’t come any closer. Yui can’t help but feel relieved. “I needed to seal that summoning circle, but that is no excuse.”

Yui can’t say she’s _glad_ Kiyoko did it, even if it had given her back herself. …Even being herself is a double-edged sword. Yui half-wishes she _hadn’t._ “I understand why you did it,” Yui says instead. The transformation itself hadn’t been painful, but memories of it are.

Kiyoko seems to read that as what it is. “I… don’t know if I can help you, Yui,” she confesses. There is _pain_ underneath her even tones, and Yui resists the urge to step over and hug her. “I don’t know anything about archangels, or angels, and that already came back to bite me in the ass. I—I’m _scared_ to work with more angelic magic.”

“You don’t have to! I don’t want you to hurt yourself, and I’m pretty scared, too,” Yui admits with a shaky little laugh. Kiyoko looks up at her, and huh, Yui is taller now. That’s a strange realization. “This is all… something. And it’s dangerous, and painful, and I don’t want you to get into this any deeper. I’ll leave as soon as I can figure out how to settle more, and then your city will be safe—”

“No!” Kiyoko exclaims, eyes wide behind her glasses. She shakes her wet hair out of her eyes and repeats, “No. Please, Yui. Don’t go.”

“I really don’t think I should stay.”

“I need your help,” Kiyoko says before Yui can point out any more of the Very Good Reasons why she should leave.

But. Helping Kiyoko.

And if it’s big enough for Kiyoko to _ask_ for help… Kiyoko’s always been a champion for that Peace of hers, but she generally preferred to shoulder it all on her own. Or as much of it as she could. Yui finds herself nodding along. She doesn’t want to be a threat, not to Kiyoko or Suga or the city or anyone else, and she doesn’t want to stay here. But if there’s some way for her to do a speck of good before moving on, well.

She’ll take it in a heartbeat.

Yui smiles for what seems like the first time in years.

\--

Kenma wakes up feeling sweaty, dehydrated, and with as sore of a throat as earlier. But still, a little better. There’s another warm lump in the bed with him this time, and Kenma sighs in relief. There are also about a dozen cups of water on the nightstand and he chuckles to himself as he grabs the nearest.

There’s a smell in the hotel room that Kenma frowns at. It’s not magic. It almost smells like… food.

 _Kuro plus cooking equals probably bad things_ , Kenma’s slowly-waking mind informs him, and he shoots up. And immediately regrets it. His vision swims and his brain pounds, and he ends up flopping immediately back into bed. “Kuro, don’t burn down the hotel,” Kenma croaks.

“I haven’t yet!” comes the snippy reply in the approximate direction of the stove.

…Which isn’t his bed.

Kenma rolls over to find Bokuto sleeping peacefully in his bed with him. Kenma scrambles away, panic overriding his dizziness, and makes sure to pull his shirt down and pants up before he stumbles to his feet. “ _Kuro_!” Kenma calls, and it ends up as a hoarse squeak. Embarrassment can come later.

“Before you get mad,” oh yeah, _that’s_ what he wants to hear right now, and Kenma whirls around to glare up at his demon, “I asked for help to take care of you. And then Akaashi wanted to ask you about glamors, and I’m not going to risk cooking alone, and—”

“I stopped him from burning down the hotel,” Akaashi pipes up.

Kenma gives Kuro a _we will talk about inviting spirits here without my permission later_ look and stumbles off to the bathroom. He rinses off his face and neck, but he feels disgusting all over, so he pulls off his borrowed clothes and climbs into the shower. There had better be hot water by now or else _he_ is going to burn the place down. Sitting in the stall, he turns on the water, and thank _god_ there’s heat now.

He just sits there and lets the warmth envelop him. It’s nice.

 _And why the hell did Kuro bring them here_ , Kenma remembers, and that ruins the nice feeling. He doesn’t feel like actually washing anything, or standing up again, or moving at all, so he sits there and rests his cheek on his knees under the hot water. _Is he still on about trusting others or was he really so worried he dragged them both here…?_ Shit, he hopes neither of them saw anything, be it research or himself.

Kenma has fuzzy memories of Kuro as a true demon again, but Kuro looked fine out there, so had it been some sort of fever dream? He doubts two tengu would happily play house with them if they knew Kuro was a demon, tengu friend or not.

“Are you mad at me?” Kuro asks from his shadow.

“Get back out there and don’t do demon things in front of them!” Kenma hisses back and kicks at his shadow. It only ends up hurting his heel.

“Sugawara helped me pick out medicine and gave us a nice blanket covered in cat fur. Akaashi went with me and has been teaching me how to cook. I guess Bo can’t, either, so it’s not suspicious that I don’t know how,” Kuro continues in a small voice.

Alright, so Kuro is _definitely_ still trying to teach Kenma the wonders of trusting other people. Which, great, it’s nice to know they’re not on Sugawara’s shit list and Akaashi can cook. (Kenma hopes they’re not making some sort of weird tengu food.) It’s not as if Kenma _hates_ them or anything. He doesn’t hate anyone, except perhaps Ushijima.

Kenma just doesn’t want to play nice for the sake of it. And he doesn’t want to think about the apocalypse, either. Suga surely has some plan of his own. Akaashi and Bokuto can return to their own realm. _They’re_ taken care of.

 _Lev isn’t_ , he remembers.

Kenma can rationalize and think and excuse everything, but he can’t ignore the fact that unless Shouyou or Sugawara come up with a Save The World plan, Lev wouldn’t be alright. Tadashi and Tsukishima wouldn’t, either. Morisuke might not. If Shouyou is avoiding his clan, he wouldn’t have a place to run to, either.

“Are you feeling okay?” Kuro asks and Kenma kicks at his shadow again. He hadn’t been aware his demon was still nearby during his moral quandary. “You seem more irritable than normal this morning.”

“Stop making me talk,” Kenma orders with a point at his still-sore throat. “And I’m just… sorry. Later, Kuro.” _Everything else can come later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( #actual angel sugawara koushi
> 
> 1Вниз. Сейчас же. = "Downstairs. Now." [ return ]  
> 2Этот способ лучше! = "This way is better!" [ return ]  
> 3Нет, этот! = "No, this is a better way!" [ return ]  
> 4Так будет работать. = "This will work." [ return ]  
> 5Надеюсь, кровь его не испортила. = "I hope that blood didn't ruin it." [ return ] ))


	18. Nishinoya Yuu Is Becoming More And More Of A Dog Person

Good news: Tadashi (somehow) manages to sleep until the sun comes up. And Kei is still tangible in his arms, snugly nestled in with his back to his chest. (He’s clutching Tadashi’s arm with surprising strength considering he’s still asleep.) Which is also good news, since Tadashi is pretty sure Kei needs to sleep if he’s able.

Bad news: Wait, should he _not_ sleep? With the morning light and a conscious brain, Tadashi begins to wonder what’s good and what’s bad for his ghostly roommate. Also bad news: his other arm, trapped between the pillow they’re both using (because apparently Kei needs to hog as much space as humanly possible), is uncomfortable to the point of painful. It prickles with pins and needles as he flexes his fingers.

Worst news of all: Morning wood.

It’s not often that Tadashi is reminded that _he_ is not the lucky one, that he’s only using someone else’s. But fuck Kei if he thinks this is supposed to be some sort of luck.

Wait, he should not be thinking the words ‘fuck’ and ‘Kei’ together right now. Normally, this wouldn’t be quite such a hormone-involved issue, but then again, it’s sort of another matter with another body pressed up so tightly against him—another body who just _wiggled in tighter_. There’s no fucking way that was an accident. Tadashi glares at the back of Kei’s neck.

Kei stirs with a sleepy sound, and Tadashi’s suspicion drops away in favor of fear. He’s not already awake and messing with him (though that is its own host of Fucked Up), but he’s about to be, and Tadashi isn’t ready for that particular talk.

He tries to pull his arm free. Kei makes another, grumpier sound, and tightens his hold. Tadashi tries to scoot backward, but Kei follows him. Is this his hell? Is this what he gets for kissing someone and then locking him in a circle with a demon? Surely this is some form of karma for some wrong Tadashi committed against him.

Tadashi tries to scoot again, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed, and Kei half-rolls over onto his back, still holding onto Tadashi’s arm. He blearily blinks awake. Tadashi knows it’s time to go. He shoves, harder than he intends, and sends Kei face-first into the mattress while he falls off the other side of the bed. He hits the floor with a heavy _thump_ and a groan.

“What the hell,” Kei grumbles, voice muffled by the blankets. He props himself up on his elbows, squinting without his glasses (even though he doesn’t need them anymore), and finds Tadashi sprawled on the floor. Tadashi scrambles backward like the world’s silliest spider, and Kei narrows his eyes further at him. He leans forward, over the edge of the bed, and the bell on the collar at his throat _dings_ with the movement. “Yamaguchi, why did you—”

Kei abruptly cuts off as he ends up phasing face-first through the mattress and bed frame. Tadashi takes the opportunity to jump to his feet and run out the door. He darts into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, face red with embarrassment of several kinds. Hormones betray him; he thinks of Kei’s bedhead, and how he looks without glasses, and how _nice_  Kei felt as the little spoon. (How surprising that had been.)

Tadashi glares down at the tent in his pajama pants. This isn’t helping.

Kei ducks through the wall. He doesn’t say anything. His glasses are perched back on his nose, but his amber eyes remain narrowed. On Tadashi.

“I will push you back through that wall, Tsukki,” Tadashi shakily threatens.

“…Shouldn’t I be flattered?”

…Tadashi doesn’t actually know any magic to force a ghost back through a wall. He settles for grabbing the towel and pretending to smother Kei with it, but to his great surprise, he’s still tangible. Kei splutters and swipes the towel away, and then they both arrive at the same realization a beat later: he _shouldn’t_ be tangible while halfway through a wall.

He tries to move. He doesn’t move.

Tadashi collapses against the sink, wheezing with laughter, clutching onto the countertop for support. Kei wriggles in the wall, grunting with the effort, and shoots him a dirty look when he seems to realize that Tadashi isn’t going to help him. Some morning this is turning out to be.

The morning gets a little better when, after figuring out how to pull Kei free of the wall and Tadashi wills his lower half to behave itself, they look out the window to find about two or three feet of snow on the ground.

“Snow day!” Tadashi crows.

\--

No one is more surprised than one Sawamura Daichi when Suga actually beats him awake. Especially considering how eager Suga was to sleep that night, falling asleep on the first reasonably horizontal surface that presented itself after he’d cried himself out again (the surface turned out to be Daichi). So it’d been just shy of eleven when Daichi had carried Suga to bed, because that’s what his life had become.

(And if he had sat on the edge of Suga’s bed and looked at him and wondered _Where is this going?_ well, no one else had to know. Even if that cat with that unnerving stare might’ve been able to guess.)

So Daichi wakes up on the couch to the sounds of Suga tripping against something in the hallway. He doesn’t process what the noise is until Suga stumbles out into the living room, rubbing at his eyes, and unsteady on his feet. Daichi stares, and Suga doesn’t seem to notice him. “Good morning,” Daichi says, his own voice rough with sleep and surprise. Suga jumps.

From the way he only _barely_ catches himself, Daichi guesses that he’s still some level of inebriated. Perfect. “You stayed?” Suga asks, sounding equal parts confused and touched. He swipes his hand back through his starlight hair, making the cowlicks stand up even worse than usual, then sniffles. Daichi’s heart stutters. “Why’d you stay?”

Oh, thank god, he doesn’t sound like he’s about to cry. Daichi tries not to sound too relieved when he responds, “You asked me to. How much do you remember from last night?”

“‘member enough,” Suga mumbles. He heads into the kitchen, and Daichi hopes he isn’t going to try cooking something, no matter how cute the mental image may be. “Are you hungry? God, I’m hungry. I need something greasy and disgusting. I also need to talk to Tooru an’ Kiyoko an’ Noya…”

“That’s a lot to do when you’re still having trouble staying upright.” After a brief stretch, because holy shit sleeping on Suga’s couch ought to be considered cruel and unusual punishment, Daichi makes his way into the kitchen to find Suga staring at his worryingly empty fridge, seated on the floor. “Okay, not upright anymore. Are you sure you want to eat right now?”

“I _should_.”

Well, Daichi can’t argue with that. “I’m just having a hard time believing you’re awake right now. It’s before eight. Last I checked, you complained if you were moving before noon.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Suga whines and flops back against Daichi’s legs. Daichi sets his hand on top of Suga’s hair, presumably to keep himself stable, but ends up silently marveling at the softness of it instead.

“Sorry. Aren’t you tired, though?”

“I have stuff to do today.”

“You could take the day off.”

Suga peers up at him suspiciously. As if Daichi is testing him. Daichi hopes this doesn’t count as some sort of test, and smiles a little to reassure him. Suga relaxes into his own smile. “Are you trying to get me to play hooky with you, Daichi?”

“I know I want to enjoy my day off, and it sounds like you could use one, too. How about it, Sugawara?” Daichi asks, full-on grinning, leaning over to Suga’s eye-level.

“Love to!” Suga chirps with a beam that ought to be illegal. “But you’re going to have to help me up. Everything’s a little dizzy right now and the ground is very, very nice.”

“We’re definitely taking a nap this afternoon.” Daichi extends a hand and Suga pulls himself up with it, dusting himself off with only minimal swaying.

Daichi isn’t prepared for Suga wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling them together, resting his head against Daichi’s shoulder with a very contented sigh. …Daichi can deal with a cuddly Suga. “Thank you,” Suga murmurs against his shirt.

Daichi doesn’t ask him what for. “I need to stop by my apartment to get a change of clothes, but afterward, we can go out or stay in, whatever you want.” He’s down for whatever, although judging from Suga’s kitchen, they may be forced to go out on some sort of food run. Yeesh. Okay, Daichi is a guy living alone, too, but some of the glimpses Daichi gets into Suga’s life are just _sad_.

And then he remembers last night, and Suga crying, and Daichi feels guilty for the thought, however throwaway it had been.

“We should date,” Suga mumbles and locks his hands at the small of Daichi’s back.

“Just tell me what you wanna do.”

Suga makes a grumpy sound against his neck, giving Daichi pause, because he’s trying to be considerate. And outside of magical things and wasting time at bookstores, he’s not sure how Suga prefers to spend his down days, and—wait, he’d phrased that… weirdly.

“When you say _date_ …” Daichi prompts, feeling awkward because as nice and cuddly as Suga is, he’s still probably fairly buzzed, and Daichi just woke up and he feels severely off-guard in all of this. (When is he not off-guard around Sugawara Koushi?)

“Nevermind.”

Suga tries to pull away, but Daichi is having none of that, and catches him by a hand. Suga looks down at that instead of meeting Daichi’s eye. “Did you just ask me out?”

“It wasn’t a question.”

“Oh, I know. I was giving you the option.” Daichi isn’t sure this is the proper route to take right now, however. Suga seems… uncharacteristically fragile.

Suga finally raises his eyes, meeting his own fearlessly, mouth a grim line. “Are we going to keep dancing around each other? If I didn’t scare you off last night, then maybe you really _do_ like me, and god knows I like you—”

“Of _course_ I like you, I’m just trying to reconcile this,” Daichi interrupts. He drops Suga’s hand, but just as fast, Suga grabs it back and laces their fingers together. He presses himself against Daichi again and wraps his free arm around his neck. Daichi sighs, rolls his eyes (affectionately, probably), and reasons, “I hadn’t exactly imagined this happening this morning. I was picturing a hangover, and a grumpy cat, and maybe pancakes or something.”

“Pancakes with a lot of butter and syrup,” Suga sighs happily. He nuzzles Daichi’s neck, breath hot against his throat, and leans a little more heavily on him. Daichi isn’t sure how much of his mood change is due to alcohol and how much is due to the reassurance. “So we can date and have pancakes together.”

“Uh.” Does he go along with this? Well, he _wants_ to, but how much is Drunk Suga and how much is Maybe Boyfriend Suga—

Suga leans a little more against him. Worrying. Daichi puts his free hand on Suga’s hip and tries to step back to make sure he’s okay, but Suga follows the movement, wrapped around Daichi as much as he can manage without jumping into the man’s arms. Daichi shouldn’t be surprised to find that octopus Suga isn’t restricted to the bedroom.

Suga makes a sound that can only be called a _snore_.

“…Suga?” Daichi asks.

He’s definitely supporting most of Suga’s weight by this point.

“Suga, you do _not_ ask someone out and then fall asleep on them.”

“Angels don’t like pancakes… s’okay, Daichi,” Suga mumbles happily.

For the second time in less than twelve hours, Daichi carries Suga to bed. This time, however, he’s trying all the while not to burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. He manages not to get caught in the net of Suga’s flailing limbs, too. He makes sure Sunshine is back on his bed before closing the blinds and leaving them both.

The cat just follows him back out, begging for food, and Daichi gives in. How can such a big cat sound so tiny and pathetic? He finds some wet food in the fridge and puts a couple spoonfuls into his bowl.

Daichi finds a notepad on one of the bookshelves in the living room and scribbles out a note to update Suga, should he wake up before he returns. ‘ _Suga: Went to get some clean clothes & check on Dinah. You suggested we date and then passed out on me. Whenever you bring up the virgin thing from now on I’m using this against you_.’ After a few moments of deliberation, he crosses out the last two lines and adds his phone number to the bottom edge of the paper, just in case. He’ll have to ask Suga for his home number when he’s coherent again.

\--

“I thought humans were diurnal,” Bokuto asks with unnervingly sharp eyes. It’s too late—early—for tengu questions and Kenma thinks long and hard about simply ignoring him. Kuro is still asleep, a warm, solid (blessedly solid and settled) lump in his bed, and Akaashi is even curled up in the chair. If they were human, Kenma would question how that position could be comfortable.

But at some point during the Baby Sick Kenma parade, both tengu had taken off their glamors, and now Akaashi is tucked in tight with their bird legs and arm-wings and, okay, it totally looks like they’re just a ball of tawny feathers at this point.

“They usually are,” Kenma whispers back, looking away from Bokuto’s pointed gaze. His voice still rasps, but after downing most of the medicine Kuro bought and a _little_ of the soup, talking isn’t quite so impossible anymore.

“Then why are you going back to sleep _now_?” Bokuto continues in his normal overly loud voice. Akaashi must be used to it; they don’t stir. But Kuro makes a discontented sound and presses his face further into the pillows.

Kenma gestures, trying to tell Bokuto to keep it down, and he’s not sure how successful he is. Bokuto cocks his head to the side in a single, jerky movement, far too birdlike. “I’m still sick,” Kenma croaks and shuffles down into the covers beside Kuro. “Need sleep,” he adds with a cough. Bokuto holds out one of the many glasses of water from the nightstand, and Kenma gratefully takes it.

“Are you gonna be able to fix our glamors?” Bokuto asks. He is noticeably quieter, but still loud in the otherwise silent room, and Kenma sighs into his cup.

“What is there to _fix_?” Kenma asks in return. They both had working human glamors, even if Akaashi’s was rather obviously designed. From what Kenma has seen of the charms, they’re a far sight better designed than Shouyou’s had been. Their main issue is honestly just trying to act halfway human, in Kenma’s opinion.

“We want something that doesn’t short out when we use magic, and that’ll last longer. And the legs, ugh.” Bokuto _finally_ leans back, posture relaxing, and gestures excitedly as he explains. Kenma feels himself relaxing as well. “These are good witch-glamors, but you’re a witch _and_ you’re a spellwriter, so Akaashi was thinking you could help us fix a couple issues! Like, it is _so hard_ to get used to the knee joints at first and—”

“Shh,” Kenma hisses as Bokuto begins to rise in volume again. “Please,” he rasps as a quick afterthought. Bokuto droops, claws over his mouth, then nods. Kuro makes another sound in his sleep and shifts a little closer to Kenma. The warmth he’d been putting off, at first welcoming, now is too hot, and Kenma scoots away from him. _Do I still have a fever? I should have gone to sleep earlier_ , Kenma thinks. He can hardly concentrate on Bokuto’s explanation; he’ll _probably_ be able to figure something out for them, but he’s still not precisely sure _what_ they want out of him. Rewriting magic, even another species’ magic, isn’t the most difficult thing on the planet.

Bokuto murmurs something, voice now too soft to hear properly, and Kenma gives up on the conversation altogether. He nestles in as best he can in the spot where he’s _just_ warm enough by Kuro without overheating. Before he totally falls asleep once more, he swears he could feel the sensation of claws gently carding through his hair, soothing him back to sleep.

\--

Lev is _tired_. He’d been kept up far too late by Yaku, and not in any fun ways, either. He’d never have thought that practicing magic would be _boring_ —nor would he expect summoning a wisp to be any sort of big deal. Kenma summoned a demon and people eventually got used to him! So what’s the big deal about a little pink wisp?

“You’re a summoner, Lev,” Yaku tells him for the nth time as he forces him out the door.

“I _knoooow_ ,” Lev replies in a whine. He wants to go back to bed. Who knew magic could be exhausting? “Why does that matter?”

“You’re not a witch!”

“I could be.”

“Нет, вы не можете,” Yaku snaps back and Lev whirls around in delight at the Russian. Yaku’s face is red, and he doubts it’s from the cold. With a huff, the bakeneko turns into a cat and settles onto his shoulder. [1]

Lev sighs. “Speak more Russian. Energize me. _Why_ are we going out into all of this snow?”

“We need to find Tadashi.”

“ _Why_? He can’t summon things,” Lev pouts. “He can do _normal_ magic.” Apparently they’re mutually exclusive. Which is utter bullshit, since Lev knows Kenma (obviously) has summoned things _and_ can cast spells normally. …But he’s not sure why Yaku would lie to him.

Lev still hasn’t fully come to terms that he won’t _ever_ be able to cast spells like Kenma or even Tadashi. It’s unfair in a way he’s unused to processing.

“Tadashi will take us to Kenma,” Yaku replies absently.

Lev stops short. He suddenly feels a lot colder. “What?” Oh no, _no_ , he doesn’t want to see Kenma like this. He doesn’t want it to be on Yaku’s terms, he wants it to be because _Kenma_ wants to see him again. Lev honestly doesn’t care at this point about Kenma’s plans for the future—he just wants to apologize and get an apology in return and go back to the way things were before. He’ll never bring up the apocalypse again if that’s what it takes.

“ _I_ don’t know where Kenma’s holed up, and Tadashi can track him.”

Lev knows where Kenma is.

He shakes his head, nearly displacing Yaku, and turns on his heel to start heading home. “No, no way, Yaku! I can find something on my own about summoning magic. I’m not even upset about normal magic anymore,” he lies, and badly at that.

Yaku pulls on his hair, stopping him short again, and Lev whines at him. He just wants to go back to sleep. Is this how Kenma operates all the time? No wonder he took so many naps at work. “You two need to work past your fight, whatever it was,” Yaku says in that Disappointed Parent tone of his. Lev whines again, trying to tug his hair free, and is both glad and annoyed that Yaku doesn’t know _what_ they’d been fighting about.

Wait, he doesn’t like it being called a fight at all. Guilt over what he’d tried to do to Kuro churns in his stomach.

Yaku sighs noisily against his ear. “If you won’t ask Kenma—” oh hell no he won’t, thank god Yaku is giving him an out, “—then we’ll have to ask Kiyoko.”

That’s almost as bad. Lev chews on his fingernail, weighing his options, and wonders how far he can get if he just bolts back for home.

“…How can Tadashi track him?” Lev asks worriedly around his nail.

“Finder’s magic.”

He read about that in the book he borrowed (stole) from Kenma; they need something that belongs to him. Which Yaku certainly doesn’t have, and Lev would be surprised if Tadashi had. …So it won’t actually work, and Yaku hasn’t realized that yet. There’s the loophole he needed. “Let’s find Kenma,” Lev says with forced cheer.

\--

“Hey,” Ryuunosuke says, shaking Yuu awake. It takes him a little bit to fully wake up, probably supposed to be hungover (emotionally and from the whiskey), and when he does look _almost_ awake, he just collapses with another sad groan. “I got a job,” Ryuu says sympathetically. He leaves Yuu on the couch and steps into his boots.

Yuu blinks over at him, looking at how ready he is already; he’d probably tried to let him sleep in as long as possible. Yuu doesn’t even remember falling asleep. He also doesn’t remember yet if he’s supposed to be hungover or not. Did he drink enough?

“You don’t have to do that,” Ryuu says, as if reading his mind, and checks the magazine in his gun. He shoves the handgun into the back of his jeans and pulls his coat on overtop, hiding it.

Yuu nods and faceplants back into a pillow.

“If you’re tired, you can sleep more. Me an’ Sae got called out about an aswang, so don’t wait up. She asked if you could feed Princess and Queenie, but it’s fine if you can’t.”

Yuu nods again. Even without a hangover, he’s impossibly tired, and his mouth tastes like ass from whatever Ryuu had given him to drink last night. …Probably tequila at some point. Tequila is nice. Tequila doesn’t announce that it wants to pass on out of the blue.

“Keys are in the cup, as always.” Ryuunosuke pauses by the door. “…Take care of yourself today, okay, man? Text or call if you need either of us, but I’m not sure how long this’ll take.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it,” Yuu grumbles into the throw pillow. He hears the door click closed and Ryuu’s heavy boots tromp down the hall. He waits until silence falls back over the apartment (save for the dumb cartoonish ghost clock on the wall which has always ticked too loud), then pushes himself up onto his elbows. Ryuu’s always too good for him. He never makes him pay for the booze when it’s just the two of them, and in rare cases like this, he’s a shoulder to cry on.

Yuu wishes it hadn’t been so literally last night.

He’s not even angry anymore; he’s just tired. Maybe a little sad. …Okay, a _lot_ sad, and he can’t even blame it on a hangover to himself or Ryuu, because he hasn’t had one in three and a half years. (He’s gotten pretty used to faking them, since hungover Suga is a _sad_ as fuck sight and he doesn’t like to leave him alone.) His stomach grumbles, and he debates raiding Ryuu’s fridge, but he thinks he may be a little too tempted by the leftover beer in there.

He wonders where Asahi spent last night.

He shakes his head; none of his business. Because Asahi is an adult, and can make his own decisions, and what does Yuu care right now, anyway? He’s supposed to be pissed.

Except Nishinoya Yuu is actually remarkably _bad_ at remaining upset at someone. Especially Asahi. Yuu scrubs his hands over his face and sighs heavily. He knows where Asahi spent the night, because he _knows_ Asahi, but he’s not sure he can trust himself to talk to him right now. He’d snapped last night, and okay, he can have a bit of a temper and he has a blunt personality, but _fuck_ , he shouldn’t have been throwing Suga’s shit around. Or trying to hit them. Or yelling, or even—

“ _I think that I should, that I might pass on_.”

Yuu scrubs harder against his eyes. It’s not fucking fair. How else did Asahi expect him to respond to that little declaration of his?! How long had he been thinking about it? Yuu isn’t even sure what to think of Suga right now, blinded as he is by the thought of Asahi passing on. So _what_ if he’d tried to make a Door to bring Asahi back? Yuu would’ve done the same thing in his shoes.

 _But I’ve never been in their shoes_ , he thinks irritably. No, Yuu has always been the lucky one. _He_ survived the crash. _He_ didn’t get magically crippled by an accident trying to save the other. He didn’t get unlucky, he didn’t become a ghost, he didn’t fucking _die_.

Yuu stands up. Nishinoya Yuu does not do pity parties, as great as they may feel. They only feel good for, like, five seconds, then he just feels pathetic and gross, even if Ryuu is around to indulge him.

He borrows one of Ryuu’s hoodies, ignoring how huge it is on him (almost as bad as Suga’s, but never as bad as Asahi’s had been), and pulls on his sneakers. His stomach growls again, insisting food, and Yuu ends up stealing a box of poptarts before he leaves, locking the door behind him.

Outside, he’s a little staggered by the metric fuckton of snow. “What the fuck happened to the hot weather?” he asks the overcast sky. Ooh boy, he chose the wrong day to wear these shoes, and he is glad he at least grabbed the extra layer before he left. Waddling about in the deep snow like the world’s angriest penguin, Yuu makes his way to the train station. Some of the roads haven’t even been cleared yet, so even if he’d been up to riding in a taxi, that idea would be out the window, too.

He heads over to Saeko’s apartment first. Even if it’s early, he’ll feed her dogs, because he’ll probably be busy later. Queenie and Princess greet him with lots of happy licking and tail wagging, like they always do, and end up bowling him over, also like they always do.

“I should get a dog, huh?” Yuu asks, almost laughing as the German Shepherd tries to lick his face off. Dogs don’t go off and leave you or perform nasty magic. Saeko could even give him tips. Queenie crawls into his lap, still licking at him, and Princess whines at the favoritism. “I can’t even keep you two happy at the same time, how can I keep my own dog happy?” Yuu asks and Queenie barks in agreement. “Okay, _rude_. I’m a great person and I’d be a great dog owner.”

If it weren’t so snowy out, he’d take them out for an extra walk, too, just to burn time. Without Asahi or Ryuu around, he’s floundering. It’s a worrying feeling. Yuu buries his face in the thick fur in front of him, wondering if this is finally the tipping point.

“What am I gonna do, guys?” Well, shit, seems like it’s _some_ sort of tipping point, because he’s crying again. He can’t have just gone through the past almost-four years just for _nothing_. He’d _promised_ Asahi.

Yuu rubs over the scar on his chest as he sniffles. There’s fur all over his face, sticking to his wet cheeks, and wow, this is turning into a disgusting mess in more than one way. So much for no pity parties. Dogs are simultaneously the best and worst thing in the world right now, because they aren’t judging him, and usually Yuu can count on some level of judgment from others whenever he gets too thoughtful like this. Other people aren’t used to Yuu breaking down like this, so why should he let that become a thing?

He hears the crackling of plastic and looks up to find Princess tearing into his poptarts.

“You little shit, get out of that! Those are mine!”

The doberman narrows her eyes. And pulls out a package of poptarts when she withdraws from the box.

“Drop it,” Yuu commands. Princess drops them, but they’re already open and half-chewed and sort of slobbery. Queenie eyes the fallen food so Yuu grabs her and pushes her back preemptively. “You two are like a couple of kids, aren’t you? No wonder Saeko doesn’t want children.”

Yuu can sympathize. Then again, most of his Plans For The Future sort of crashed and burned years ago, so he’s in the same boat as Suga: living from job to job, not thinking about anything else aside from making rent and avoiding bleeding at the hands of some monster or spirit. …They’d been in the same boat for awhile, he reasons, even if they never explicitly talked about it after making the contract.

They really should have talked about it.

Yuu scratches Queenie with one hand and Princess with the other, and both dogs happily lean in close, unrepentantly crowding him until he wonders if his obituary will say Cause of Death: Saeko’s Big Stupid Dogs. He crawls onto Saeko’s big armchair, the dogs pile on after him, and he goes back to sleep. It beats doing anything else this afternoon.

\--

“Alright, look, when I said _every meal_ , I _meant_ it!” Tendou begins with a snarl. He hardly looks at the situation aside from Wakatoshi propped up against the wall like a broken doll. The matagot sucks in a breath to continue, but then he catches the _reek_ of dark magic, and he ends up coughing it out, reeling back. “Wh-What the…”

“I thought you said you were going to eat my bank account,” Wakatoshi replies. His voice is like sandpaper, harsh and dry, but god, at least he’s _talking_. Tendou clamps his hands down over his nose and floats away from him, because it’s _him_ who stinks so much.

“Who says I haven’t already?” (As it turns out, it’s harder to access human funds these days than he’d anticipated. And paper money is disgusting.) “I’m here for my food. Every single goddamned meal, human—” He takes in Wakatoshi’s gaunt appearance, mixed with his frightening lethargy. …He still hasn’t moved. Tendou shrinks further away from him, ears pinned flat, suddenly getting a _very_ bad feeling about this.

Wakatoshi raises his head. His eyes are solid black and one of them appears to be bleeding. His nose might’ve been broken as well—it’s hard to tell with human bodies, and Tendou usually goes off of color, but most of his visible skin is mottled with dark, bruise-like cursed magic. Tendou’s back hits the far wall, tail pinned painfully, and he suddenly regrets coming here.

“ _Quitte ce putain de boulot!_ ” Tendou exclaims in uncharacteristic concern. He’d just seen this man last week. How could this much have happened?! Wakatoshi blinks at him, uncomprehending, and Tendou repeats, “Quit this job. It’s killing you.” [2]

“I don’t quit jobs,” Wakatoshi says flatly.

Greed, Tendou still doesn’t get, but he thought he understood the human concept of pride. _But where the hell was this man’s pride coming from?! Who the hell is this attached to a job?!_

“I’m so close to finishing it,” Wakatoshi adds. For the first time (despite his appearance), he sounds weary, and with the terrifying cracking of bones and joints, he stands. Tendou notices a gash down between the juncture of his shoulder and neck, still open and raw. He’s fairly sure humans need to tend to wounds like that.

Wakatoshi blinks across the room with another cracking sound. He seizes Tendou by the throat before the matagot can escape.

“ _Nog, orr’eog syha’h_ ,” Wakatoshi rasps and hauls him into the air. Tendou scratches bloody furrows down his arms, but the witch doesn’t seem to notice.

Then, just as quickly as the attack had come, Wakatoshi drops his arm and releases him. Tendou leaps away from him with a hiss. Wakatoshi drops to his knees with a low, pained groan. “What the hell was that?!” Tendou demands, two seconds from ditching him, even without his payment. He’ll just eat all his money and run, and who cares if the witch is cursed and half-possessed and _stupid_ as sin?

“…I can’t quit this job,” Wakatoshi repeats faintly. With another groan, he flops against the wall he had just pinned Tendou against, chest heaving and eyes squeezed shut. He raises his head and his eyes flutter open, and they’re normal again, aside from the blood staining one reddish.

“Some boss you have,” Tendou sniffs. Wakatoshi’s chin drops back onto his chest and he goes worryingly still again. “Okay, so that’s some case of _whatever_ you have. _Merde_. Lucky for you, we still have a deal. And I don’t feel like getting skinned or sacrificed today.”  [3]

Wakatoshi doesn’t move or respond, but like hell Tendou is approaching him again. He may be a gracious wealth spirit, but he is by no means a stupid one.

“So how about you actually _feed_ me, the first two bites for the next half year, and I’ll see if I can’t lure out the half luck spirit and his overzealous guardian,” Tendou offers. Wakatoshi nods with a sigh. “And you don’t _ever_ try to use me again.”

“I’m so tired of making deals.”

“Not my problem. You’re the one with ancient magic oozing out of your pores. And you’re the one stupid enough to try to summon a Great Old One.”

“You’re helping me,” Wakatoshi points out with a glance up at him again. He doesn’t question how he knew that, which is a pity, because Tendou had been hoping to show off his snooping. (Not like the witch’s little stunt the other day was quiet, though.)

So Tendou shrugs, tail curling behind him as a mirror to the movement. “I respect deals made. And I have to admit, I have a sort of morbid curiosity at this point about how this is all going to go down.”

“I’m going to summon my employer,” Wakatoshi says, voice dull and rough and dripping with fatigue, “and accept my payment. Then I’m going to banish it again. That’s all.”

Tendou stares at him. “…You’re going to _what_.”

“Why would I let loose something like Northot?”

“Why would you accept the goddamned job in the first place?!”

“The pay is good. I… need it.”

Tendou groans and his tail lashes in his frustration. Human morals are _fucking absurd_ , but he has a feeling Wakatoshi is strange even by their standards. Then, he can’t help but break into high, cackling laughter, though, _because_ it’s so absurd. Is this greed? Is this arrogance? He doesn’t understand the man before him, but by god, he can sure as hell admire that sort of straightforward planning.

Who cares if you _cause_ the problem so long as you benefit and solve it afterward?

“You’re seriously going to try to take care of a rogue Old One after you help summon it into this realm?” Tendou asks, still chuckling.

“Of course. I live here.”

“Because it’s your job.”

“Yes.”

“And you took the job because the pay is good.”

Wakatoshi narrows his eyes at him. “Yes. Why are you so curious?”

“Because I changed my mind. Instead of the first two bites, I want half of whatever you’re getting paid.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t argue. Tendou briefly wonders how much he could potentially get off of this guy. “You can take Kageyama’s share. That’s half of the money.”

Something about the way he says the last word doesn’t sit right with Tendou. He floats a little closer, cautious, but overwhelmingly curious. “And what else are you getting paid?”

“I don’t know what Kageyama had been promised.”

“Ooh, so you’re doing it for the power!”

“No.”

“Well, what would _I_ be taking, then?”

“A lot of money, isn’t that what you want?”

“It sounds sort of insulting when you put it like that,” Tendou pouts, “I was just curious about my new partner in crime. Is that the term?”

“I’m not committing any crimes,” Wakatoshi replies in the tone of voice that tells Tendou that he honestly believes what he’s saying. “But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought wealth spirits were greedy by nature.”

“And I wouldn’t find that insulting _how_? What’s wrong with wanting more out of life?!” Tendou retorts. Maybe this isn’t worth it. Maybe a pile of gold and power from some old dumb god and a front row seat to _whatever_ these dumb humans cook up isn’t worth it.

But this man hasn’t eaten in a week and is already neck-deep in some bad shit for _something_. And Tendou is going to be damned if he doesn’t have his finger in this particular pie.

\--

Tadashi manages to convince Kei that, while _yes_ they are in a hurry to get rid of his demonic problem, there are also time for snow angels. The plows have gone by for the streets, but there are still plenty of sidewalks, lots, and lawns that are untouched, and it’s hilarious to see what a half-formed snow angel looks like. It soon turns into a bit of a game as Kei tries to make weird shapes before phasing or floating out of them.

It’s a minor miracle to get chuckles out of Kei that aren’t at someone else’s expense, and Tadashi may be a bit starry-eyed at that. But he’s _more_ in awe at how much easier messing with his tangibility seems to be for Kei now.

He can’t decide if he’s going to chalk it up to Kei’s momentary lack of stress, the demonic influence, or some sort of luck spirit tipping point he’d reached. Whatever it is, Kei can willingly interact with the world around him again more than half the time, and the satisfaction is beginning to show.

Tadashi isn’t stupid; something about Kei’s newfound corporeal freedom _has_ to be tied to his new claws. The timing is too coincidental, even for a luck spirit. He just isn’t certain if it’s tied directly to the whole demon thing or if mixing in something else that’s naturally tangible pushed him _just_ enough. Maybe Kei is that lucky. Tadashi hopes so.

And it makes for a better alternative than going to see Kenma today and taking it away from him.

Tadashi is pulled from his drifting thoughts by a snowball to the face.

“You’re shitting me,” he growls, wiping it off his cheek, ignoring the scrape of ice against his skin. Was it really two days ago he was running around in just a hoodie?

“ _You’re_ the one who had been standing there long enough for me to make a snowball and throw it,” Kei replies with a shrug. Evidence of previous attempts litter the snow around him. “Any reason you’re zoning out when we’re supposed to be moving? Hypothermia setting in?”

“Lost in thought.”

“Yes, I got that. I’m wondering _what_ ,” Kei says snippily. He ducks his head, floating a little lower, and adds, “If I can pry, I guess.”

Tadashi wipes the rest of the melted snow from his face and rubs his nose. “Just thinking about you.”

Kei slowly pinks.

“ _Wait_ , that came out wrong! I mean, I _was_ , but not in any sort of romantic sense—n-not that I don’t _want_ to—” Tadashi cuts himself off when he realizes he’s just digging himself in deeper. He tugs his hat low over his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Kei when he finishes, “I was thinking about your tangible-ness. Holy shit, I _swear_ it’s platonic. Just… d’you think that how easily you can be seen and touched and stuff might be connected to that?”

He points blindly towards him and hopes he gets the message. After a few seconds of awkward, heavy silence, he peeks up beneath the knitted trim of his hat. Kei has shoved his blackened hand into his jacket, hiding it from view, and gives Tadashi a sour look, earlier happiness erased. Tadashi wishes life had an undo button. “Do you think I’m lucky enough to have it be unrelated?” Kei asks, grimacing.

“…Do _you_?” Tadashi fields.

“No, not this again. Would you _please_ just give me your opinion?”

“I don’t know. Honestly! Demons are physical things, but they’re lower spirits, and luck spirits are physical things, but they’re higher, so is this a tug-of-war? A step backward or forward? I’m just nervous, that’s all I know.” Tadashi seems to be living in a world of perpetual nervousness. Or embarrassment.

And yet, he’s not exactly _unhappy_ with it.

Weird.

He just wishes he knew more about what was going on. Neither Suga nor Kenma has replied to him yet, and he only has Kiyoko’s shop number (and she didn’t pick up when he called, either). So they have to trek over to Kenma, making snow angels (funny how they don’t actually look like angels) along the way. Tadashi wishes he had better snow boots halfway to the train station, but he hadn’t been expecting this much snow so suddenly.

Kei floats behind him once they make it to the station, looking uneasy with the people about, and Tadashi tries not to hold out his hand for him to keep him moving. Hopefully he’s lucky enough to never accidentally become visible while doing the whole ghost thing.

“Ahh, finally!”

Tadashi jumps a foot in the air at the shout. He whirls around, mittens raised in poor enough form that Kei takes the time to snicker at him, and finds Morisuke and Lev. Tadashi sighs in relief—wait, _he’s visible_. …But also wearing a large hat pulled low over his face, and judging from Lev’s disheveled hair, it’s his. It hides his ears well enough. His tail must be hidden by his equally oversized hoodie, and as if to prove it, it wiggles a bit.

“Tadashi, can you summon things?” Lev asks, leaning down into his personal space. Tadashi steps back with a nervous chuckle.

“Uh, no? I’ve never tried, but I thought only witches could.”

“Anyone stupid enough can summon a demon,” Kei mutters.

“I know a summoner when I see one. Lev hasn’t even been able to manage a light spell, so he sure as hell shouldn’t be summoning things,” Morisuke points out.

“I’m _right here_ ,” Lev grumbles. “Maybe I just haven’t figured out how to use that kind of magic. Maybe I need a teacher!”

Neither Morisuke nor Tadashi will meet his expectant gaze. Morisuke clears his throat and continues, “Right, so we’re headed over to see Kenma and see what he can tell us. And so these two can make up.”

Lev rapidly pales and his smile dims a couple watts. But he valiantly tries to keep it on despite his visible nervousness.

Tadashi doesn’t question it; he’s not the type of person to pressure someone when they look that bad. Especially Lev, who is normally an energetic ray of sunshine. _Must have been some fight_. “Well, we’re headed over there, too, to… uh.” He suddenly remembers how viciously anti-demon Morisuke can be. Kei shifts a little further behind him. “Ask him spirit stuff. Tsukki’s leading the way now—”

“I was following _you_ ,” Kei breaks in with a tug on his hat.

“Why were you following _me_?!”

“You’re the one with tracking magic!”

“You spent more time there!”

“You were there, too, you know—”

“Okay, so we’re _not_ going to Kenma’s!” Tadashi exclaims, exasperated, and crosses his arms tight across his chest. Peachy. He sort of wonders how far they would’ve gotten before Kei would’ve said something on his own. Tadashi remembers the vague area of the city Kenma’s hotel room had been, but he can’t remember specifically. His memories are fuzzy from then-panic and what he suspects may be some sort of magic.

“Don’t you have something of his?” Morisuke asks with a curious tilt of his head. Tadashi shakes his head, and Kei huffs behind him. Rude.

Lev sighs in obvious relief.

“Lev has a book of Kenma’s,” Morisuke says and Lev snaps back into tense attention.

“Что? Нет, нет, у меня нет!” [4]

“Does he really think he’s fooling anyone?” Kei whispers and Tadashi shrugs.

“Hold on, I’ll go get it.”

“Wait, Yaku—” Lev lunges for him, and Morisuke’s eyes go wide, but he _pops_ out of the scene just before Lev grabs him. Lev’s arms swing limply at his side for a moment before he lets out a loud groan and a string of Russian curses. Tadashi jumps when he whirls around on him. “You can’t bring me to Kenma, but Yaku won’t let me go! Please tell him that the book won’t work!”

“Uh?”

“Why don’t you just leave now?” Kei asks and Lev blinks at him like he’d just appeared. (Oh, wait, he probably did.)

Lev makes it two steps toward the stairs when Morisuke _pops_ back, clutching a leather bound book to his chest. A couple people jump at his sudden appearance but only edge around him and quickly walk away. Tadashi has to wonder how much magic is a secret only because of willful ignorance. Morisuke thrusts the book at Tadashi, pulls his hat lower over his ears again, then grabs the back of Lev’s coat with claws.

“Where do you think you’re sneaking off to?” he asks flatly. “And do you know how _dangerous_ that was?! If I’d taken you with me, you would’ve died!”

“Are you his mother now?” Kei snarks in a surprising display of loyalty. Morisuke narrows his eyes and drops his grip from Lev’s jacket. “Would you like a child leash for him next?”

“Those exist?”

“If Lev doesn’t want to see Kenma, then don’t drag him there,” Tadashi adds. Lev nods along vigorously and quickly darts away, to their side. Tadashi gives him his book and wonders why he’s the cover for two guys who are significantly taller than he is.

Morisuke’s hoodie wiggles like he’s trying to move his tail. He settles for an annoyed squint for them. “They should make up and get past their fight. It’s easier to worry about them when they’re in one spot.”

“If he wants to spend the last however long of the apocalypse fighting with a friend, that’s his business,” Kei replies. Tadashi tries to elbow him, but he misses and goes through his hip instead.

“Exactly,” Morisuke mutters. “And how is the world going to end?”

“We’re going to stop it?” Tadashi guesses.

“No, it’s a crazy blood-witch who’s going to summon some old and even more crazy deity,” Kei corrects sourly. Tadashi tries to elbow him again. They’re supposed to be a united front, but they’re also supposed to have some goddamned hope.

“And what do you think will happen if he gets wind of a novice summoner in the city? We need a witch’s advice and some hard and fast training for him before he accidentally makes it worse.”

“How could he make it worse?”

“ _I_ don’t know how your human magic works! That’s why we’re going to ask someone who does.”

“Forcing some sort of reconciliation while asking someone for a favor sounds like a stupid thing to do to a witch,” Kei shoots back.

“But what if he—”

“Can we stop talking about him like he’s not here?!” Tadashi bursts out.

“But he’s not. He ran for it the second you gave him the book,” Kei says, perhaps a little smugly. Tadashi turns around, and true enough, Lev is gone, Kenma’s book with him.

\--

Suga squints at the note on the table. Daichi’s handwriting is surprisingly messy for someone so… Well, maybe not neat, but Daichi just seems so _sturdy_. Reliable. So Suga had been expecting big, solid print. Daichi’s handwriting is more like Cursive With As Many Straight Lines As Possible. It could be a neat font.

Then, “Who the hell is Dinah?”

Suga has half a mind to text him and ask, but he’s not sure how long ago Daichi left. He doesn’t really remember waking up aside from being hungry (which he still is, ravenously so). His head is beginning to pound and he still feels a little fuzzy around the edges, but he hopes he’s done with the worst of it. He’s already thrown up whatever was in his stomach, and thank god Daichi was gone for that.

Although he really wanted someone to rub his back and get him glasses of water during his misery.

But Suga is a grown man (angel?), and he can handle the occasional hangover. Probably. He won’t die, anyway.

He blows a raspberry at the sad level of actual food in the house and wonders if he should just go back to bed. There’s a takeout container on the counter, but it’s been left out all night, and his stomach gurgles warningly at the thought of it. More sleep until he _can_ eat may be the wisest course of action.

He refills his water bottle and is halfway back to the bedroom when the front door clicks open. Sunshine races out from beneath the couch, meowing expectantly, and belatedly Suga remembers that he hasn’t fed him. Daichi ducks inside, shutting the door behind him with his free hand, a brown paper bag set against his hip with his other arm wrapped around it. Sunshine meows at him again in his I Want Food voice.

“Why’re you asking _him_ to feed you?” Suga asks, still standing there awkwardly, but he feels oddly betrayed. The black cat gives him a _look_ over his shoulder.

“You awake this time?” Daichi asks as he stomps the snow off of his boots. He’s bundled up in some sort of military coat, and the camo makes Suga’s tired brain stutter and stall. Daichi yanks off his shoes and sets the bag on the kitchen counter. Suga tracks his movements. He needs pants and boots to go with that coat. He needs Daichi in full uniform _immediately_. He needs Daichi in dress uniform even faster.

He’d said he still had a couple of the jackets, but Suga hadn’t been expected to get blindsided like this, and he’s not used to going from zero to interested so quickly. (Daichi seems to do that to him a lot.) It’s not even as if the coat is flattering, but it’s just… Suga’s not sure. It’s Daichi. It may be the residual alcohol in his blood. Daichi is still talking, asking a question, but he’s also unzipping the jacket (he’s wearing an equally flattering flannel shirt underneath) and Suga realizes he’s never seen him shirtless. He, of course, instantly imagines Daichi shirtless beneath the coat and then it turns into a mental striptease.

Without a word to Daichi, Suga turns on his heel and leaves the room. Surely he’s still too drunk.

Suga flops onto his bed and contemplates his life choices. Mostly: why he thought drinking so much was a good idea last night. He has a long, slow hangover to look forward to today and he can’t completely remember inviting Daichi into it. Well, he remembers asking him to stay, and he’s self-aware enough to realize how badly he can whine, so does that mean Daichi is even more susceptible to guilting than Suga had thought? _I shouldn’t abuse that_ , he thinks and sighs into his pillow. He shouldn’t abuse it because he can’t think of a way to use it in conjunction with his evidently intense uniform kink.

Sunshine nudges open the door with a loud meow. Loud enough to grate on his ears. “Sorry, Sunny,” Suga groans, “I’ll feed you in a moment.”

“I fed him before I left. I don’t think he eats _that_ much,” comes Daichi’s voice, amused, and Suga bolts upright. The room sways a little, but he blinks past the dizziness and doesn’t feel any sicker. Score one for Sugawara Koushi. Daichi sits down on the corner of the bed, smiling, and asks, “How hungover are you and how drunk are you still?”

“I’m fine,” Suga lies, probably on both counts, and his eyes drop down to the jacket Daichi is still wearing. So he did it on purpose. He may have underestimated Daichi, just a little. “Aren’t you warm?”

“Worth it to see the expression on your face. We will talk about _that_ later, believe me.” Like Suga would miss that. “For the time being, I’m content with pancakes and making sure you’re okay.”

“How bad was I last night?” Suga asks, dreading the answer. It’s not as if he’s forgotten all that much, but he’s not sure how Daichi took it. It’s not as if Suga wanted the man there to witness that mess. _Why can’t angels skip the hangover stage?_ he wonders, rubbing his temples while Daichi cocks his head and pretends to think.

“I’ve seen worse,” he replies, ever the diplomat.

“Bullshit.”

“Suga,” Daichi says sternly, and Suga drops his pout. “You were upset, and I’m glad I could help, uh, console you.”

“Yeah, that makes it sound _wonderful_. If I ever drink while upset again, please hit me with a book. Actually, right now, I wouldn’t mind skipping the alcohol altogether for the rest of my life…” He’s had worse hangovers. Hell, he’s had worse headaches in general. But he feels embarrassed and pathetic and still a little queasy if he thinks too hard about yesterday. _What am I going to do…?_

Before the worry can take root, Daichi reaches over and puts his hand on Suga’s leg. He’s so _warm_ , not like the sickly leftover warmth from the booze, and Suga scoots forward and pulls his knees up to his chest, making Daichi’s hand slide up his thigh. He doesn’t pull away. “Don’t think so heavily this early,” Daichi says softly. Suga gives him a small smile, until Daichi has to add, “Well, relatively early. It’s past noon.”

“We can’t all be old men who fall asleep at nine,” Suga shoots back.

“At least I get up for breakfast at a reasonable time. You still hungry?”

“Incredibly.”

“Good,” Daichi declares rather cryptically. He stands, extends a hand down to tug Suga to his feet, and keeps their hands clasped as he drags him back out into the main room. Suga isn’t going to object to the sudden physical affection, but he already misses his bed, even with the promise of food.

Daichi finally shrugs off his coat and Suga’s eyes follow the movement when he tosses it onto the couch. Daichi rolls his sleeves up, exposing very nice forearms, because he must be feeling especially unfair this morning after what Suga put him through last night. Suga sits down at the counter and studies the man in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Suga asks, finally curious about the paper bag he’d brought with him.

“I brought over pancake mix,” Daichi replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He pulls the box out and gives it a little shake.

Wow, pancakes sound amazing right then. Suga sighs dreamily and slides down against the counter. “Are you psychic? Because that sounds heavenly—”

Daichi laughs and doesn’t notice the way Suga cuts himself off with a sour purse of his lips. Heavenly. Ha, hilarious. He’s sure Daichi doesn’t mean to laugh, and is in fact probably laughing at the prospect of him as a clairvoyant, but Suga can’t help but be a little peeved.

 _Angels aren’t even_ from _heaven_ , he pouts and rests his cheek against the cool countertop. (He’s also fairly certain that heaven does not exist as an actual place.) After the car accident, he’d had to avoid quite a lot of words and phrases, for his own sake as well as Yuu and Asahi’s. But now angels, too?

“What’s that look for? I thought you were calling me a mind reader,” Daichi says, pausing in his search for a mixing bowl.

“I don’t have enough butter. I need a _ton_ of butter on pancakes, Daichi!”

Daichi, like some sort of miracle worker, pulls a stick of butter from the bag. Suga gapes at him. Daichi breaks into a wide, toothy grin and turns back to trying to find a bowl in any of the cupboards. Suga peeks into the bag, just to make sure it’s not some sort of magic, but the only other thing in it is a bottle of maple syrup. Daichi chuckles again when he sees Suga peering inside it, then explains, “You said you wanted something greasy, so I figured butter would be a good idea.”

“Butter isn’t greasy. Butter is the ultimate good.”

“I have to say, I’m pretty shocked that you aren’t jumping at the syrup. I can see you liking overly sweet breakfast foods.”

“Are you trying to make a pun on my name?” Suga asks while trying to keep a smile off his face.

Daichi turns back to him, again, expression confused until the realization registers and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that hadn’t even crossed my mind. Honestly, I’ve used your name often enough now that the sugar thing doesn’t even process anymore.”

“ _Good_ ,” Suga says emphatically. Yui and happy-Yuu were the only ones allowed to make sugar puns.

It shouldn’t be this easy to act happy after last night. It shouldn’t be this easy to _be_ happy. He has to try to find a way to talk to Yuu and Asahi again, and he needs to research Doors and angels and memories, he has a million things to do and they weigh on him. But not as heavily as they _should_.

Being with Daichi is so comfortable, so easy.

“So I can’t call you sunshine sugar pop?” Daichi asks with a completely straight face. Suga snorts back a laugh, not expecting that, and clamps his hands over his mouth to prevent more incriminating noises. Daichi tries again, his own expression cracking. “Sweetlips? Hmm—sugar-lumps? I’m starting to run out here…”

“I’m surprised you got that far!” Suga admits. He can’t hide his delight or his giggles; just seeing Daichi struggle through those pet names was worth how _terrible_ they were. Daichi turns from him to hide his red face, and Suga slips off of the stool to retrieve Daichi’s jacket as Daichi finally locates a mixing bowl.

Daichi is halfway through the first pancake before he turns around again, and he freezes at the sight of Suga in the camouflage coat. Suga smiles sunnily at him. “I’m beginning to realize that you legitimately have a _thing_ ,” Daichi admits and, once again, turns his back to hide his reddened cheeks.

“I have a thing for _you_. The uniform thing is the cherry on top,” Suga replies. The coat smells a little like Daichi beneath all of the snow smell, but mostly, all he can smell are pancakes. His stomach grumbles accordingly.

“I half-thought you were just teasing me earlier about the military thing.”

“I can tease _and_ be serious.”

“Is that what this morning was?” Daichi asks. He puts the first pancake onto Suga’s plate and slides the butter over with the spatula. Suga just stares, confused at his question, so the unfairly attractive cook explains, “When you asked me out and then fell asleep on me. I’m used to more orgasms being involved before someone literally falls asleep on me.”

“They can be involved if you want.”

“Later—”

“Boo.”

“—Right now I’m trying to segue into the fact that you asked me out and then either forgot about it or decided not to bring it up again to make me sweat. Which is very rude to do to the person making you breakfast.”

Suga’s smile freezes. He’d done _what_?

“I suppose that answers that question,” Daichi says airily and turns back to his pancakes.

\--

Kenma wakes up to a knock on the door. Kuro sits up beside him, blinking blearily, but awake to process that _no one should be knocking on their door_. Akaashi raises their head, black hair sort of adorably all over the place, but Bokuto keeps snoring. “Who is that?” Akaashi asks quietly.

“No idea. Certainly not anyone who _should_ be here. Your spell is still active, right?” Kuro asks, and Kenma nods. No one has broken through his spell, with their own magic or through sheer force. So it’s someone who already knew where he was.

But who?

 _Shouyou doesn’t know where this is_ , Kenma thinks as he stumbles out of bed. He grabs another glass of water and drains it as he passes the nightstand. His throat doesn’t feel _as_ sore, but still dry and rough. But he should be feeling better tomorrow if he keeps improving like this. _Tsukishima? I guess Kuro promised him we’d help…_

Kenma unlocks the door with a flick of his hand, glad to see that his magic has largely returned, and opens the door to reveal Haiba Lev.

Kenma stares up at him. Lev, arms wrapped around a large hardcover book, gives him a crooked, awkward smile. Kuro leans around the open door, eyes going wide at seeing who it is, but Kenma slams the door shut before the demon can say anything.

Kenma feels stupid for forgetting Lev, but that’s quickly overshadowed by the _what the hell why is Lev here_ thoughts. Because Lev had seemed content to give Kenma a wide berth, which only reinforced the idea that Kenma had hurt him badly, which meant that Kenma thought less and less about how he could possibly apologize. Because he can’t. How can someone just say _I’m sorry I can’t save the world like you thought I could_ and expect it to smooth everything over?

His heart is thundering in his ribcage, but he doesn’t feel jittery or breathless in the way that means an oncoming attack, which is great since Kenma isn’t sure he can handle being sick _and_ having an anxiety attack at the same time.

Kenma takes a single weak step away from the door and brings his hands up to relock it, not wanting to touch it like it could somehow make the situation _worse_. But Kuro beats him there, reaching around him to yank the door back open. “Kuro, close that!” Kenma rasps. Lev’s eyes go wide at their second appearance. Kuro ignores the direct order and grabs Lev by the shirtfront. “ _Kuro_!” Kenma barks as Lev is yanked inside.

“Birds, out!” Kuro commands, hand clamped down over his bloody nose. Kenma’s eyes widen at the black blood, whereas Lev looks horrifically scared, caught between staring at the tengu and edging toward Kenma.

Kenma reaches out for Kuro, but he shakes his head. Bokuto has woken up from the noise, eyes large and feathers puffed up in alarm, and Kuro gestures until he rolls out of his chair. Akaashi follows him, eyeing Lev warily, and Kenma clears his throat to try to talk properly again. “Kuro, don’t—” He coughs, interrupting himself, and by the time he stops, Kuro shuts the door behind them.

So Kenma is left alone with Lev.

And a black-bleeding Kuro is left alone with two tengu. Now Kenma feels the panic begin to bubble up his throat from his stomach, and he coughs again while trying to catch his breath. Lev holds up a refilled glass of water timidly. “Are you okay?” he asks. Kenma looks up at him out of the corner of his eye, wondering how to _begin_ to answer that question.

“ _No._ They didn’t know Kuro is a demon,” Kenma hoarsely forces out. He can feel Kuro draw away, pulling on their connection, probably leading the tengu away, too. If neither Akaashi nor Bokuto eviscerate him for being a demon (and/or lying to them), Kenma is going to have a _long_ talk about how completely _not literally_ people mean it when they say to lock two people in a room until they apologize.

“Should we go after them?”

Kenma can’t run. Kenma can hardly breathe. He shakes his head, sinking down onto the floor, clutching the glass of water Lev had handed him.

“Are you okay?” Lev repeats and crouches down beside him.

“Sick,” Kenma replies. _Sick and worried and there goes any hope at playing nice with the tengu_. Which is a damned pity, because tengu friend could be useful, especially as the tiny seeds of a better plan had begun to sprout in his mind. But not anymore, because Kuro had thrown all of his hard Getting Kenma Options Of Others To Trust work out the window with both hands. _Why did Kuro think that was a good idea? Does he trust them that much?_

Kenma jumps when Lev’s hand touches his back. Lev rubs small, soothing circles, tentative and skittish, something Kenma is unused to seeing in him. “I brought you this,” Lev says, apology in his tone, and shows him the book. Kenma recognizes it as his. “Tadashi could’ve tracked you with it, and Yaku wanted to drag me to you, and I know you didn’t want to be found so I’m giving this back.”

“And you showed up here, anyway,” Kenma replies.

Lev’s hand stills. “Oh. …Yeah, I guess. Is that okay?”

 _Does he seriously mean that?_ Kenma doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t want to have this conversation on the floor. He makes sure he’s done hyperventilating before gesturing Lev over to the two chairs by the little table. A few feathers are still stuck in the cushion and Kenma carefully plucks them out and sets them on the table in front of him to have an excuse not to look at Lev.

But the silence is stretching on, heavy and thick between them, doing absolutely nothing to settle Kenma’s nerves. Quiet Lev is unsettling.

So Kenma takes a deep, bracing breath and asks, “Why did Yaku want to see me?” He immediately sips at another glass of water. If this lasts too long—and it _should_ , maybe they should try to talk this out without Kuro or anyone else nearby—he’s going to lose his voice entirely.

“Oh. Well he thinks that I’m a summoner and that that’s bad—”

Kenma spits out his water.

“Eww. Are you alright?”

Kenma nods and coughs into his fist. “Y-You’re a. A _summoner_. And you know this _how_?”

“Yaku said that’s why I can’t use any other magic, but I wrote a circle and then summoned a little pink thing for my cousin, and he _ate_ it! And you can summon things—you summoned Kuro, I mean, so I know you can do it—but why can you do everything but I can’t?” Lev bursts out, emotional and loud and confused and so very _normal_.

Kenma wonders if, at this point, he even remembers their fight. Is he trying to ignore it completely in favor of smoothing everything over? Kenma isn’t sure he himself can do that. “Um,” he croaks, because that was a _lot_ of information to digest in not a lot of time. He blinks, slowly, and gradually narrows his eyes. “Magic in front of your little cousin?”

“She’s still young enough to believe in magic!”

She’s certainly going to keep believing in it if her big cousin is doing tricks in front of her. Kenma sighs and it turns into another cough. “How long…?”

“Um…” Lev rubs the back of his head, squirming underneath Kenma’s withering look, and eventually mumbles out, “Awhile… I was trying to do _regular_ spells, so when I figured out I could summon other things, I thought practicing with that would help. It’s all been little things! I promised I wouldn’t summon a demon and I won’t.” He puffs out his chest with pride.

“ _What_ other things, Lev?” Kenma asks. Kenma isn’t a summoner by nature, and he’d spent a year and a half as a law intern to help him write a contract to summon Kuro. He doesn’t want to know what a natural summoner with the same knowledge could do.

“Yaku called them wisps. And then there was this little bug thing, but it was creepy and tried to bite me, so I sort of ended up squashing it.”

“You’re writing your own circles?” Kenma asks, dread settling in over his alarm like a lead blanket. He’d assumed that Lev had been copying something from the book, or some other book he’d found. But knowing Lev’s extensive vocabulary, and that he’d learned most of it from Kenma (demon summoner extraordinaire)—Kenma feels like they all collectively dodged a large bullet by an incredibly thin margin. He’s fairly certain several years were shaved off of his lifespan when he imagines Lev deciding to experiment with any of the demonic, angelic, dririmantic, or necromantic runes. He had written Kuro’s summoning circle specifically with large doses of necromantic and angelic magic, capitalizing on the mirrored relationship with demons and angels.

Lev totally could have summoned an angel by mistake.

“Kenma? You look pale. I-Is summoning really that bad?” _But you did it_ hangs in the air after his question.

Kenma rests his forehead on the table. He needs to steady himself. He’d been so focused on keeping Kiyoko and Sugawara from studying his circle that he’d pushed aside the threat of Lev seeing it. He’d counted on him forgetting it or being unable to understand a foreign alphabet. “You could’ve gotten into _so much_ trouble,” Kenma mutters.

“But I didn’t.”

“You _could have_. Summoning can be dangerous. And it’s frowned upon by a lot of people.”

“I would be fine. I’m good with magic and I’m sure there’s witch blood in me somewhere,” Lev says with his usual dauntlessness. “And _you_ summoned Kuro and it all worked out okay.”

Kenma raises his head and gives him another sour, pinched look. Kuro and him worked out _okay_? Kenma is now more convinced than ever that Lev doesn’t fully appreciate that Kuro is a _demon_.

“I mean,” Lev backtracks, avoiding Kenma’s irritated look, “he really likes you and you like him and you’re both working on your… thing.”

Oh, there’s the elephant in the room. Kenma had been worried he was the only one aware of it.

He resolves to ignore it (again) in favor of getting Lev into a more cautious mindset about his new magical ability, but Lev continues on anyway. “How’s that going, by the way?”

If it were anyone else, Kenma is convinced they’d mean it as something nasty. But it’s _Lev_. Even if Kenma doesn’t actually want to answer the question. He coughs, and ponders not answering in favor of pointing out his exhausted state, but guilt squirms in his stomach beneath the blanket of dread.

“It’s… going okay. I’m working on it,” Kenma mumbles. He’s been _rushing_ it, especially with Kuro’s announcement hanging over his head. Actually casting the spell after the contract breaks would be the most ideal, just in case something goes wrong with the magic, but Kenma isn’t sure they have that much time. Especially with an archangel in the city. But summoning circles are a pain in the ass to write, especially ones for higher magic, and—

And he now has a natural summoner sitting right across from him.

Kenma raises himself from the table, staring wide-eyed at Lev, who gives him a startled look in response. “What? What is it? Did you just remember you’re really mad at me because I promise I’m not mad at you! I don’t want to be fighting anymore and I can stop talking about the apocalypse thing if you want!” Lev exclaims, shrinking down in his seat as far as he can (he’s still sitting taller than Kenma).

“No, I…” He pauses to cough and collect his thoughts. It’s not a matter of trusting Lev—he does—but does he want to drag him _back_ into this mess? Kenma can’t promise him anything. _But if we could summon something larger to use as a power source…?_ “I’d, uh, like your help, Lev.”

Kenma finds he’s missed Lev’s overly bright grin.

Just as Kenma relaxes into Lev’s company again, the rug is once again pulled out from under his feet, this time from Kuro’s side.

The air is sucked from his lungs, he can taste copper in his mouth and throat, and he _can’t breathe_. The weight on his chest is crushing him and he can’t suck in any more air. Kenma dimly hears Lev’s concerned shout before he abruptly loses consciousness.

\--

“Let me get this straight,” Kuro says as black blood drips down his nose and chin, “you’ve known the _entire time_ that I was a demon?”

“You thought you were _hiding_ it from us?” Akaashi replies with disgust clear in their tone. “I can understand _you_ , but _Kenma_ thought he was hiding a contracted demon from two tengu?”

“You… You’ve _called me_ human! You asked me about human stuff!” Kuro exclaims with a shaky point at them.

“We didn’t want to blow your cover! Not everyone is as nice as we are,” Bokuto replies. He nods, sagely, and grabs Kuro’s hand to pull it back down. “And you _live in_ the human realm, Kuroo. Who else was I supposed to ask?”

“I still can’t believe you thought we _didn’t know_.”

“It’s not like he lied to us,” Bokuto points out.

“There were probably times when he lied to us,” Akaashi deadpans back.

“He was protecting Kenma!” Bokuto exclaims and Kuro nods enthusiastically. This may be a shock, but it doesn’t mean it’s unsalvageable, and he has high hopes for coming out of this without claws in his belly.

He may have acted rashly when he saw Lev there, but admittedly all his thoughts sort of coalesced into _holy shit Kenma and him can finally make up_ and he didn’t process the black blood until they were halfway to the roof of the hotel. And even after he processed _oh hey they may not like this revelation_ , he’d never given much serious thought to either Bokuto or Akaashi attacking him out of it.

“Any _other_ secrets you’d like to share with us?” Akaashi asks archly.

“You’re the one who tried to hire a demon to do a job for you,” Kuro replies with a defensive cross of his arms.

Akaashi colors and fidgets, claws clicking together as they shuffle on their feet. “We’ve been over this. You made Bokuto happy…”

Bokuto gasps and clutches Kuro’s arm. The demon raises an eyebrow, until Bokuto whispers, “That’s so _nice_.” Kuro snickers and Akaashi flushes further. “But that makes it better! My egg’s back, Kuroo’s our friend, and Kenma can help us with our glamors. Because we were hoping he could use some of the aspects of settling to make them more stable.”

“I’m tired of the knees,” Akaashi agrees, and just like that, Kuro is off the hook. The barn owl tengu sits down, scaly and feathery legs tucked underneath them, and massages their feet. “Every time the glamor comes on or goes off, the _legs_. It’s an uncomfortable hassle at best. But if it were to use less concealment magic and more form-changing magic, then perhaps it would make the shifting easier.”

Kuro stares blankly at them. Bokuto flaps into the air beside him, makes a whistling sound, and gestures with a clawed foot over Kuro’s head. “Thanks, Bo,” Kuro tells him.

“That was all of the magic talk going over his head,” Bokuto explains helpfully.

“Yes, I got that,” Akaashi replies with a facial expression like they’d just bitten into a lemon.

“It also went over most of my head,” Bokuto says. He attempts to do a somersault in the air, but he doesn’t have enough height, and ends up flopping to the ground beside Kuro. “But hey! That’s what Kenma’s for, to talk magic with you! I have faith that you two can figure it out.”

“Well, we can figure it out once we’re allowed in the room again,” Akaashi replies.

“Those two had some shit to sort out.” Kuro isn’t sorry he dragged them from the room, but he isn’t really sure what to do to burn time. Normally, if he has Kenma-less free time, he just goes to bother Bokuto. “And Kenma doesn’t like a lot of people, either. So, yeah. What do tengu do for fun?”

“Fly, eat, hunt, bum around in the goblin market or human world,” Bokuto counts off on his feathers. He shrugs. “Read and write and preen and tons of stuff. What do humans normally do for fun?”

Kuro pauses to think. “…Video games.” Which are all in the hotel room. Flying sounds the furthest thing from appealing, but he could go for some food. A realization then hits him: if he doesn’t have to pretend to be human, he doesn’t have to eat human food with them. “Hey, tengu can eat spirits, right?”

“Would Kenma approve of you eating nonhuman food?” Akaashi asks.

Kuro blows a raspberry. “He’s _fed_ me spirits before. Just not lately. I mean, I should probably be a good demon and not eat anything too sentient or innocent, but I totally want to go hunting with you guys.” What had Kenma called it? A food run?

“No problem!” Bokuto crows and before Kuro can stop him, he digs his foot talons into his shoulder and lifts him into the air. Kuro shrieks and curls up around his legs, trying to get more support or contact or _anything_ , but it only ends up unbalancing Bokuto. They dip in the air, which is a problem since they’re not over the roof and _that is a long way down_ and Kuro is fairly certain he’s digging into Bokuto with his own claws at this point.

Akaashi’s sigh is audible even over the wind and Kuro’s own internal (and occasionally external) screeching. Bokuto laughs and takes it as a challenge. Kuro squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on the feeling in his chest of getting further and further from Kenma; that mild pressure is almost enough to keep himself from thinking about the ground and his unsteady ride and if he falls now and dies then Kenma dies too and he’ll never reconcile with Lev or let Kuro kiss him.

They land. Which is to say that Bokuto lands and sits on Kuro, who finds it impossible to let go at first with how hard he’s clinging to his waist. Kuro cracks open an eye and is _incredibly_ relieved to find trees and snow. Ground. Nature! He releases the tengu and flops happily into a snow drift.

“Afraid of flying?” Bokuto asks with a leer, leaning over him, and Kuro sticks his tongue out at him.

“Scrub that off your face before we go any further,” Akaashi orders and flings a clawful of snow at Kuro. It smacks him in the face. “You reek of blood.”

“No, no, keep it!” a new voice calls out. The three of them look around with varying levels of confusion and it’s Bokuto who spots the interloper first: a reddish fox perched in a nearby tree, eyes unnaturally bright.

“What’re you supposed to be?”

“A very fortunate passerby,” the fox replies with a happy wag of his tail. At least Kuro thinks it’s a male spirit, based on the voice.

“Doesn’t smell or look like a luck spirit,” Kuro mumbles. He’s had his fair share of run-ins with those lately, and he’s actually glad it’s (probably) not one. Luck smells bitter.

“But you know what you smell like?” the fox practically purrs. He slinks closer, balancing carefully on tree branches, grinning all the while. “You smell very strongly like a demon. And two tengu, too! A lower and a higher spirit, exactly what I needed.”

Well _that_ certainly sounds familiar. Shit. Kenma hadn’t mentioned Ushijima working with anyone new, but it certainly can’t be a coincidence. “Uhh, I think we should probably start dinner with that guy,” Kuro tells them. Bokuto arches an eyebrow. “I’ll explain the messy details later.”

“Works for me!” Bokuto cheers and with a flurry of feathers, wind magic rips apart the tree the fox is in. Kuro stares, hair blown back from his face, at the large gap in the trees and snow where that tree and fox had just been. He’s never seen magic of that scale performed so quickly before. “Aww, Akaashi, I _missed_! He was right there and I _missed_! How could I have—”

“Bokuto!” Akaashi shouts, panicked, and both he and Kuro whip around to face him—to come face-to-face with their missing fox spirit, no longer fully a fox, and very, _very_ close.

The redhead smirks at them. With claws to rival either of theirs, he thrusts both his arms forward, digging his nails into Kuro’s shoulder and Bokuto’s chest. “You two are coming with me,” he tells them.

Kuro sees Akaashi lunge for them, then blackness cuts abruptly across his vision, and it feels like his lungs have just been pressed flat and sucked out through his ears. It feels like his insides are being squeezed out. He grabs onto his only point of contact, the claws embedded in his shoulder, just to try to get away from the overwhelming pressure.

It’s gone just as fast as it came.

Kuro sucks in a breath and collapses against the fox spirit holding him up. “ _Ah, merde_ ,” he mumbles, stumbling against his weight, and Kuro slips down gracelessly to the floor. Cracked tile, rough, but solid, and a blessing to his reeling mind. He _knows_ he’s not moving, but his vision swims and the dim room sways sickeningly.  [5]

“You just jumped with us?” comes Bokuto’s shocked voice. He sounds fine. Kuro’s relieved as his mind quiets down and everything sort of slows down. The room is getting darker, but it’s not moving anymore, and Kuro sighs against the floor. What he can see of the tile, which had been off-white a moment ago, seems to be black now. And gleaming wetly.

Oh, wait, that’s his blood.

“I didn’t mean to kill him, I didn’t realize he was contracted! I wanted a living lesser spirit just as much as—” He’s cut off by a meaty _whack_ followed by the sudden roar of wind magic.

Kuro feels himself being lifted, gently, into a sitting position. It makes breathing a little easier, which is good— _great_ —because he can’t die here or now. “Hold on,” Bokuto murmurs in his ear.

 _Kenma_ , Kuro tells himself. There’s no other thought connected to it, just _Kenma Kenma Kenma_ over and over. He can’t die here because he won’t let Kenma die so early, not when he’s so young and alone and _important_. Kuro coughs, like he can’t keep air _in_ him anymore, and what breaths he can draw in are thick, wet wheezes tainted by blood.

Bokuto hisses in pain and Kuro opens his eyes in time to see him try to flick black blood off of himself. But he won’t set Kuro back down, won’t take him off his lap and let go of him, which is about to be a problem because Kuro can see the fox spirit standing over them.

There’s a hollow _pop_ , then Akaashi’s voice. “Did you _really_ think you could lose a tengu in the Inbetween?!” they snarl. Bokuto doesn’t bat an eye at the magic that shoves the spirit back just inches from the back of his head. Akaashi stomps by in Kuro’s blurry peripherals, a smear of tawny feathers and anger.

“Look, no one’s happy right now! I lost half of what I wanted, and I don’t want to deal with two whiny tengu! I only need _one_ ,” comes the fox’s plaintive whine.

“That’s too bad for you.”

“Akaashi! I need help!” Bokuto says, voice going high, and Kuro closes his eyes again. “Swap places!” Kuro is jostled, briefly, and the nails smoothing over his hair and face are different, thinner, more delicate in their touches.

“Breathe for me,” Akaashi tells him as the sounds of the fight pick back up behind them again. “Even breaths. I’m going to need you to stay conscious, Kuro, so you can’t fall asleep now. You were transported using the Inbetween, and you shouldn’t have been. We’ll check on Kenma after Bokuto kills the matagot, so I need you to stay with me until then.”

Akaashi’s voice is calming, but it’s not as if Kuro needed to worry about an overactive heartbeat right now. He makes a noise to show he’s heard them, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes again; he’s very tired and that seems like too big of a task.

“ _Ya wgah’n nw_ ,” a new voice rumbles, vibrating through Kuro’s empty ribcage and pounding against the backs of his eyes. “ _Cch’agl orr’eog syha’h? Nanog! Naflnog, orr’eoth syha’h!_ ”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Bokuto screeches, sounding panicked. The air becomes heavier, making it even more difficult to breathe.

“Oh thank god,” the fox grumbles.

“Bokuto, trade!” Akaashi commands and Kuro is once again jostled. He wouldn’t feel it if it weren’t for the way it upsets his balance again. Even with his eyes shut, he can feel the world spin. Kuro can’t catch what Akaashi says next, but the tang of magic is more oppressive than ever—and then, it’s all gone.

The room is silent as the grave, aside from Bokuto’s labored breathing. “…Akaashi?” he asks timidly. There is no answer. That’s the last thing Kuro hears before he finally slips under.

\--

Hitoka keeps her head down as she pushes through the mass of people, bag clutched tight to her chest. The coven’s house is busier than usual, and she heard her mother mention some sort of meeting to discuss A Threat and she can’t help but wonder if it’s the archangel. It probably is. Unless there’s something worse than an archangel that could be around?

Her heart flutters uncomfortably at the very prospect. But who knows what the coming months could bring? She tightens her hold on Suga’s bag and patters down the stairs so fast she’s pretty sure she skips about half of them. It’s a minor miracle she doesn’t trip and break her neck and die because that would be the worst possible thing, and _if I die then who else will fix up Kiyoko and Sugawara and Saeko and everyone?_ Oh god, she absolutely cannot die. She can’t leave them to try to stop an apocalypse without a healer!

Almost home free out a side door, she bumps into someone in an effort to slide past someone’s boa familiar. “S-Sorry!” she says, first to the snake and then to her victim—but her apology stutters out when she _recognizes_ the young man in front of her. _What is he doing here?_ “Tobio!”

“Y-You recognize me?!” he stammers, shoulders hunched as he defensively tries to tug his hood up over his hat. Hitoka nods, confused—is that supposed to be a disguise?—but also relieved to see him here. She doesn’t spend much time at the coven’s main house, but she hasn’t seen him around for a long time. Tobio grabs her by the shoulders and drags her outside, boots crunching through the snow, and she blinks up at him when he sets her back down out of earshot from the house.

“Were you avoiding someone?” Hitoka asks, head cocked.

“I just… didn’t want to get recognized,” he mumbles. She can see he’s nervous, and while she’s still curious and a little wary herself, she doesn’t want to make him any more nervous around her. (She knows what it’s like to be nervous, after all.)

“Oh, um, well. What did you need here?”

“I was, uh… trying to get some supplies… Not stealing or anything!” Tobio hastily corrects himself, hands up. Hitoka nods. “I think I need more witch water, and I was hoping to find some fresh nettle here.”

“Oh! I actually just picked some up!” Hitoka digs around in Suga’s messenger bag for the bundle of nettle she’d swiped from the storeroom. (One perk of being the daughter of Someone Important: no one asks questions when she needs things.) Nettle is a pretty specific herb to ask for, and if he’s wanting to lie low, it’s probably for the best that she bumped into him.

…Except that nettle is almost exclusively used to remove curses, and Saeko’s cursed, and Saeko mentioned running into a young, dark-haired witch, and Hitoka ends up gasping so loudly that Tobio jumps.

She grabs his hand and pulls off his glove. The skin beneath is colored like an ugly bruise, dark and tender and probably squishier than it should be, and Tobio hisses when she runs her fingers, however lightly, over his palm. “Y-You shouldn’t touch that!” Tobio snaps and yanks his hand away from her.

“You’re cursed,” Hitoka whispers. Though it looks like it pains him, he nods. Hitoka barely reins herself back from immediately revealing her connection to Saeko, though it’s hard. She’d picked up these things (among Suga’s things) to try to work on a way to reverse the curse on Saeko, so it’s obvious that Tobio needs the same help. “I’m a medic and I can help you and I’m going to help you!” she blurts out.

Which is stupid, because he already knew she was good at healing arts, and she shouldn’t have butted in this far, even if he’s _cursed_ and if she’s going to create some sort of anti-curse for Saeko then it should work on him, too, and it’d be a terrible cruelty to not offer him the same help. Even if she can’t tell him outright that it’s two birds with one stone.

But her nerves over her secret are quelled when she sees the way the edges around his eyes soften. Tobio isn’t looking at her as he pulls his glove back on, but there’s something a little less rigid in the lines of his shoulders, and she wonders if maybe he’s a little relieved by her offer. The thought makes her smile.

“I’m not part of this coven anymore. Not really,” Tobio mutters and her smile falls.

“I’m not doing it because of that! I mean—I’m not even a _witch_ , Tobio! I want to help you. I _want_ to.”

“Lifting curses isn’t something you should be wasting your time doing.”

“Nonsense!” Hitoka scolds, loud enough to startle him again, and he looks down at her with wide eyes. Despite their size difference, only rarely is Hitoka reminded that he’s younger than her. When he’d first moved into the city, they’d spent a fair amount of time awkwardly hanging around the adults in the coven—she, the not-witch daughter, and he, a shy newbie. She wonders when and why he left; thinking back, all she can remember is seeing him less and less and then, not at all.

“Aren’t you busy playing healer for the psychic woman? I know a little healing magic, I can figure this out on my own,” Tobio says and turns from her again.

Hitoka isn’t going to let him get away that easily, not if he needs help. “You only managed to heal a paper cut _once_ , Tobio. A curse like that isn’t anything to sneeze at, so you shouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth!” She loops their arms together and leads him away from the house. He doesn’t seem to know what to do except follow half a step behind her. As an afterthought, and worried that he may be concerned about the coven, the blonde adds, “And don’t worry! I’m not officially part of the coven, and neither is Kiyoko anymore, and she’s mostly my employer, so I’m sort of a freelance healer? A-And student. But it means I don’t have to tell my mother or anyone else about this.” _Maybe Kiyoko and Saeko_ , she thinks privately, swallowing her guilt. But they could help him, too. Just… more indirectly.

“How far are you going to drag me?” Tobio asks once they’re officially off of coven territory. Hitoka blinks up at him, still marching him, and wonders if she can use her dorm room to look at his hand. “I don’t think we should be seen together like this.”

“The witches won’t care and you’re old enough to be a uni student, too, so no one else will care.” Or wait, was he talking about the fact that a boy and a girl were walking arm in arm? Hitoka releases him immediately, heat rushing to her face, and exclaims, “I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize—I d-didn’t mean to impose, or get in your personal space, and oh no, you probably think I’m coming onto you now?”

Hitoka is actually semi-used to people interrupting her, either with words or a touch, when she gets going. She _knows_ she’s prone to runaway trains of thought, rarely any of them good, and she can work herself into quite the tizzy given half a chance.

But getting tackled from behind is a new one.

Hitoka mercifully ends up face-first in a snow drift, not on ice or concrete, but the sudden shock of cold burns her exposed skin. Whoever is on top of her isn’t much bigger than she is, but she’s halfway stuck in the drift and she can’t free herself. She can dimly hear Tobio angrily shouting something. Two hands grab her upper arms, one on each side, and as she’s pulled upright and set back on her feet, she realizes that the helper on her right has a different grip.

On her left: Kageyama Tobio, red-faced but looking mad enough to kill.

On her right: a boy hardly taller than she is with a shock of orange hair and standing barefoot in the snow.

He and Hitoka reel away from each other, both rapidly flushing, stammering out apologies. “I didn’t mean to step into your territory—”

“I just meant to see if you were trying to do something! I didn’t mean to knock you over—”

“I just want to help him with the curse, you two can do whatever you like—”

“I thought you were one of the witches he was so worried about—”

“Both of you, enough!” Tobio snaps and gets between them, an arm against each of their chests to push them apart. Hitoka quails at once; the redheaded boy just grabs hold of Tobio’s wrist and yanks him down to his eye-level.

“Don’t be rude! She just said she was gonna help us, didn’t she?” Without letting go of Tobio, he turns a blinding grin on Hitoka, who feels her heart stutter in her chest. “I’m Hinata! If you can help Kageyama with this, then I’m going to hire you, too, ‘kay?”

Hitoka nods, unsure of what else to do. _What have I just gotten into?_

\--

Suga grimaces when Tooru answers the door with severe bedhead and only in boxers. “It’s almost four. There’s no way you slept in this late,” Suga scolds and lets himself in. Daichi files in after him with an apologetic mutter.

And hey, what do you know, he probably _didn’t_ sleep in this late; Iwaizumi shuffles about in the kitchen, wearing _nothing_ , his back to them. His back, decorated with _several_ interesting claw marks and equally telling bruises near his hips. Suga claps a hand over his mouth to hide his utter delight ( _finally!_ mixed with _woah nice ass_ ) and scandalized horror ( _is this something I should condone when he may or may not remember Iwaizumi?_ ).

“You fucked the lizard guy?” Daichi asks bluntly.

Suga’s feelings swing firmly over into delight and his hands do nothing to muffle his giggling. Tooru gives them both a look down his nose, trying _so hard_ to seem disappointed and holier than thou, but it’s hard with sex hair and what Suga can now see are several bruises and bite marks along the side of his neck. At least _someone_ didn’t have a crappy night last night. “Right, I’m supposed to remember you, aren’t I?” Tooru scoffs.

“I.” Suga, hands on his knees, has to take a deep, calming breath to stop his laughter. God, there are _claw marks_ on the kitchen wall. Iwaizumi glances at it on his way out, a mug of coffee in one hand and a plate of half-cooked bacon in the other. “I-I have something. For that. Oh god, _please_ tell me you remember Iwaizumi a-at least!”

“He remembers more of me than you, so I don’t see what’s so funny,” Iwaizumi says.

“And I’m an adult who can make his own decisions,” Tooru reminds them and Iwaizumi nods as he passes him the mug.

“And it means he didn’t call me ‘Iwa-chan’ once. It was great,” he adds around a mouthful of half-cooked meat.

“Hm, Iwa-chan… That’s cute,” Tooru mumbles.

Suga grins at Iwaizumi’s pinched expression, and tells them, “I’m glad you two are… whatever you are. Glad for now, anyway, until Oikawa remembers me and then I’m going to have a long chat with him about sexual safety with nonhumans. No offense.”

“He seemed to do well enough last night.”

“Are you trying to out-TMI me?” Suga asks in surprise. Iwaizumi gives him a level look as a response. “You are _so_ lucky Oikawa doesn’t remember me right now because I—”

“Suga, aren’t you trying to _fix_ that right now?” Daichi asks and tugs him back. Suga relents. (For now.) Daichi also gently grabs either side of Suga's face and brings it back up to look Iwaizumi in the eye. The skinwalker sighs and heads back toward the bedroom.

Tooru yawns widely, probably faked, but a lot of his little expressions have shifted since his half memory wipe, so Suga can’t be sure. He doesn’t look forward to the prospect of digging back through Oikawa Tooru’s layers of show and covers. “Yes, let’s hear this idea, because I’m sure there’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now. And don’t threaten to dump the coffee on me so loudly.”

Suga frowns at him. He needs to work on completely building up those walls again, but with everything else going on, he’s gotten lax. Tooru sits and sprawls on the couch, taking up as much room as possible, and Suga rolls his eyes. So does Iwaizumi, back and now in sweatpants, who sits on one of his legs without warning. Tooru yelps and shrinks back down into something a little more welcoming.

Suga sits on the other end of the couch and lets Daichi take the armchair. Iwaizumi’s sudden competitive streak is interesting, and another day, Suga would try to prod at it by flirting with Daichi in front of them, but he really thinks he has a way to help Tooru. That comes first. “So, you’ve gotten some memories back about other people you know, right?” Suga asks.

“Yes, a few.”

“Good. That means you _can_ get them back.” That’s all Suga needed to hear. He digs around in his bag (finally, he has it back, thanks to the wonderful Hitoka) and pulls out the unopened jar. “I’m just going to need a couple more answers from you. Do you trust me?”

“Do I trust the stranger who wants to pour coffee on me?” Tooru hums with a thoughtful tilt of his head. He’s enjoying this.

“Don’t be an ass,” Iwaizumi growls. “Yes, he trusts you.”

“Don’t talk for me!”

“Don’t piss off the guy who’s going to help you!”

“ _Fine_. I trust that you want to help me,” Tooru says and childishly crosses his arms. (Suga can’t help but wonder if he’s crabby because they interrupted something.) “And I trust that we probably _did_ know each other. But keep in mind that as of right now, all I see is a man holding a questionable potion out to me.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll respect that. I only have one more question for you, anyway. What’s your favorite flavor?” Suga asks.

Tooru’s expression goes open in his surprise, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow beside him. Suga smiles at them both, not elaborating, and he hopes his guess is right. “Um…” The psychic fields for a moment, glancing away as he thinks, then he finally tells him, “I like milk bread and peanut butter.”

Iwaizumi gives him a look. Daichi’s probably making the same face, too, but Suga smiles in relief.

“What? It’s good!” Tooru replies defensively.

“Thank goodness,” Suga mumbles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a tupperware container with a few slices of milk bread and a glob of peanut butter stuck in the corner. Tooru stares at him like he’s performed an actual magic trick.

“So you’re going to bribe me with food?”

“You can have the extra pieces, but that’s not the plan, no.” Suga lets him steal the top piece and about half of the peanut butter, and Tooru eagerly nibbles on it (and tries to shove it in Iwaizumi’s mouth). Suga unscrews the lid to the jar and the potion inside sizzles upon contact with the air.

The other three watch in disgusted horror as Suga rips off half a piece of bread, smears it with peanut butter, and crams it into the pinkish mixture.

“That’s what we had to go pick up? Please tell me you don’t plan on feeding that to him,” Daichi says uneasily. Suga hums, not responding, and pulls out another, smaller jar from his messenger bag. Daichi recognizes that one, too. “Suga, what are you going to do to him.”

“Just watch!” The second jar smells deliciously spicy when he opens it. Suga scoops out a good dollop with his finger and drops it into the potion, then sucks the rest off his skin with another pleased sound. The potion sizzles again and turns completely clear, despite the thick sauce and bread that had just been added.

Iwaizumi, fingers over his nose to block out the spicy smell, asks, “Are you going to _drink_ that?”

“We both are,” Suga chirps back. Tooru looks faintly ill. Oh, the delicious karma of this moment, and Tooru doesn’t even remember it. Hopefully he will in a couple minutes. “C’mere, Tooru,” Suga adds with a wide, cheery smile.

“That smells disgusting,” Tooru replies and shakes his head.

“It’ll be good for you.”

“Hold up, what does that _do_ exactly?” Iwaizumi cuts in.

“Base memory potion. If Oikawa can regain memories, then it means his brain is trying to fill the gaps left by the angel.” The word tastes exceptionally ashy on his tongue. Suga quickly continues. “So all he needs is a prompting. I’m going to give him one of my memories to remind him that I’m supposed to be somewhere in that weird brain of his, too.” His mind _should_ fill in the rest, although a fair few of them will likely be false memories. But Suga can’t go too much longer without one of his psychic friends.

“Then why didn’t you do this first?” Iwaizumi asks. He leans forward, sniffing at the clear potion again, then leans immediately back with his nose pinched shut again. It smells perfectly fine to Suga, and it probably smells alright to Tooru, too, but Suga hopes Daichi doesn’t try to sniff it like the skinwalker had. It’s meant to be highly personalized; it would only work for Suga or Tooru.

“Well, I’m giving up one of my memories entirely, it’s taken me a little while to pick one that’s just the two of us.” The best memories to help combat amnesia are recent ones, and most of Suga’s recent memories with Tooru have either contained other people or information Suga doesn’t think he should give up right now. He eventually settled on one of their planning sessions for when he’d been trying to track down Tsukishima. Suga hopes talking about another person isn’t too much information for Tooru’s brain to process. Suga picks up the jar, and in a show of good faith, drinks from it first. He downs half of it, trying not to wince at the slimy texture, and holds it out to Tooru.

“…You actually expect this to work?” Tooru asks, eyeing the jar with clear trepidation. Suga nods. “This isn’t going to scramble anything further?”

“No, I’m only putting a memory in, not taking anything out or reordering anything. That’s all on you.”

Tooru’s eyes flick back and forth between the jar and Suga’s own eyes. “Did you normally practice spells and potions on me?”

“No, actually it was the opposite. That’s what makes this so amazingly ironic.”

Tooru takes it with no further whining. He drinks it, spluttering a little on the first swallow, but soon downs it as well. Suga motions Iwaizumi out of the way, scoots over to the couch, and grabs one of Tooru’s hands in his. He laces their fingers together and Suga can practically _hear_ the raised eyebrows from Iwaizumi and Daichi.

Suga rests his forehead against Tooru’s, lightly, and the psychic gives him another expectant gaze. “I’m going to need you to stay still for this part,” Suga tells him, keeping his voice gentle and even, and thankfully Tooru doesn’t do something stupid like move or ask why. With his left hand, Suga writes the marks in the air, and Iwaizumi makes a sound that tells him that he recognizes them. The drain on his magic weighs heavily in his stomach, but it’s bearable.

Suga presses his index finger and thumb against his temple, concentrates on the memory of just the two of them—talking in Tooru’s living room, sipping tea, TV on in the background, Tooru teasing him about his new shitty luck, Suga teasing him about _Faust_ —and with a pinch, pulls it free. Suga has never pulled one of his own memories free himself, and the feeling is jarring, to say the least. He feels suddenly empty and off-balance and the ear nearer to the silvery memory is ringing.

Before he can lose his own concentration or wonder what he just pulled out of himself (how weird, his brain already picked up on the gap), Suga presses it against Tooru’s temple and forces it in. The memory slithers into him and Tooru scrunches up his nose, eyes squeezed shut, mouth a thin line.

When Tooru reopens his eyes, hesitantly and with something unfocused in his expression, it takes him a long moment to center on Suga. Suga finds himself holding his breath. They’re still touching foreheads, hands locked tight, and Tooru blinks those big, chocolate eyes at him. “…Koushi,” Tooru says and Suga’s breath leaves him in a relieved rush. “You gave me another headache, you ass.”

“I just rewired your brain for you. You’re _welcome_. Did it work?”

“I remember talking about a missing luck spirit and—and you talked me into letting you use my bathtub that night.” Tooru seems to realize at the same time as Suga that yes, it worked, and all of the memories seem to be toppling in after that first one opened the floodgates. They pull apart from each other, Tooru releasing his hand to gesture excitedly with both of his, and he excitedly babbles on. “You’re always exhausting yourself! And—And I know what you mean about that potion now, and oh my god, _Halloween_! And you and Iwa-chan—”

Iwaizumi facepalms and Suga smiles, not really sorry.

“—and you helped me with that poltergeist and we couldn’t lock its box and—”

“And none of that was me,” Suga cuts in before it can get too out of hand. “Noya always handles poltergeists, so he probably did that for you. I only work with non-hostile or intangible spirits.” He supposes it’s too good to hope everything would be neat and orderly and _correct_.

“Then how is this progress? Won’t it be just as much trouble to sort out a bunch of fake memories?” Iwaizumi asks and Suga doesn’t like the disapproval in his tone.

“That will take time, yes, but his memories have a few less holes in them now. And at least he _remembers me_ now.” Iwaizumi hadn’t been completely forgotten, and Suga had seen how much it had affected him. Suga pulls his bag onto his lap and digs around in it again. “This means I can ask for bathtub rights again!”

“Is that all you want me around for?” Tooru asks with an almost-convincing pout.

Suga grins. “Of course. Just like you just want me around to scare off spooks for you. But before I forget, _Iwa-chan_ , I have a gift for you, too!”

“Is this going to scramble my brains, too?”

Suga pulls out the bundle of white feathers, and Iwaizumi’s expression lights up. Suga hadn’t thought the man possible of such starry-eyed elation, and he can see now how Tooru fell for him so fast. Sending a sideways glance at the psychic, he finds Tooru with an almost matching expression of gratitude for being able to see Iwaizumi so happy.

Iwaizumi takes the pelt silently and immediately presses his face against it. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but when he does speak up, his voice is a little choked. “Thank you, Sugawara. I hadn’t thought I’d see this again.”

“It’s what I do. Befriend spirits and run errands.”

“You realize now you’re going to have to share the bathtub with a swan, right,” Tooru says in a stage-whisper.

Daichi politely waits until they’re leaving, pulling on boots and coats (and guess who’s now wearing Daichi’s APECS jacket because like hell Suga’s giving that up while it still smells like him), and leans over to ask, “What’s with you and that bathtub?”

“Have _you_ ever taken an hour soak with a bath bomb after trying to wrestle a banshee? I have a lot of fond memories of that tub,” Suga replies with as much primness as he can muster. It’s not his fault that he loves bubble baths, and if Daichi isn’t on board with that, maybe this isn’t meant to be.

“I remember that!” Tooru says, and Suga _should_ recognize that gleam in his eyes. But he’s distracted, nuzzling into the high collar on Daichi’s coat with a happy hum he makes sure is loud enough for Daichi to hear. “How many times have we fucked in that tub, Koushi?”

Suga freezes. He can _feel_ both Daichi and Iwaizumi staring at him. “Fond memories, huh?” Daichi asks with equal parts smugness and amusement.

\--

Asahi watches sullenly as a pair of water sprites skitter across the top of their frozen pond. (Yuu always liked the cold.) Apparently the magical population of the city was just as surprised by the sudden turn in weather as anyone else. _Probably that archangel_ , Asahi thinks and sighs. He’s not sure how Kiyoko is going to handle that, but ever since he and Yuu’s contract was severed, they’ve been a step removed from all of the action. _Well, what good is a nonmagical exorcist?_ Yuu had skills and enthusiasm, but he’d worked as a _team_ with Asahi.

And now they’re both hung out to dry.

“And I made it worse,” Asahi mumbles into his arms. He hunches further over and wishes he could feel the cold from all of the snow around him. On some level, he wishes he’d just kept his mouth shut, knuckled under like he always did. Helped Yuu and Suga as best he can. Lived—except not—with the rest of the world largely ignoring him.

He could have timed it better.

But he _can’t_ keep doing this.

 _It’s not running away_ , he tells himself, like he’s been telling himself all night. And day. He’s not sure what time it is, actually, but what use does a ghost have for time? _It’s not running away to want to pass on. I’m so tired of this._

The water sprites notice him, chattering between themselves, but don’t shy away from his presence. One of them approaches, and he tries to smile and holds out his hand. The little sprite flaps its wings, threatening to flee, but reaches out and touches his outstretched fingers with its own tiny hands. “You’re just a human spirit!” it squeaks in realization.

“Oh. Yes.” _Just_ a human spirit, huh? Asahi sighs at being so low on the spiritual ladder; these sprites are barely the size of his palm and hardly have an ounce of proper magic between them. Then again, he’s a little thankful for the company right now, so he shouldn’t complain.

“Look at our water!” the other sprite squeals with a big, two-armed gesture to the frozen pond.

“I think the weather will be a little rough for awhile. Sorry,” Asahi replies.

“Because of that high angel, right?” the sprite in his hand asks.

Asahi stares down at it. He can almost imagine he feels cold with shock. “That… high angel? You’ve seen it?” he asks with a calm he certainly doesn’t feel. If they _know_ where it is, then they can do something. Asahi can’t shake the feeling that the archangel is tied directly into the oncoming apocalypse situation.

“It ate the weather spirit who kept our water thawed!” the sprite says with an agitated twitch of its fin-like antenna. The other one stomps its tiny foot against the ice beneath it.

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Asahi says and he _means_ it, but he can’t help but be thankful that the archangel is snacking on something not closer to home. He feels bad even for that little thought. “Where is the, um, high angel?”

The bark of a dog sends both sprites squealing back into their pond. Of course. Sometimes, Asahi thinks that he must have accidentally pissed off Yaku or Tsukishima, too. He sits back again, floating up higher to see who it is, and feels his heart proverbially skip a beat when he sees Yuu with both of Saeko’s dogs on the path behind him. Asahi swallows thickly. His mouth feels dry.

Yuu looks him up and down. His eyes look a little red and his hair is more unkempt than usual. “You’re not allowed to pass on,” Yuu declares, and Asahi feels caught between crying and yelling and steels himself for a mixture of the two, but Yuu finishes his thought, “until you give me a new idea for a tattoo.”

The wind leaves Asahi’s sails and he’s just left feeling like he’s missed a step or two. It takes him a moment, but he recognizes the exclamation for what it is: Yuu gets tattoos to remember. He’s preparing himself to let go, but not yet, trying to buy himself time. Asahi can respect that. “Okay,” he replies, quietly.

A little tension drains out of Yuu’s stiff posture. Asahi hopes this means they’ve moved past the initial worst of it. “Okay,” Yuu repeats. “…Okay. Good. But it’s gotta be fucking _perfect_ so don’t think you can just run off and disappear until we sort that out!” He sniffs, rubs his red nose with a gloved hand, and quickly changes the subject. “You spend the night out here?”

“Most of it,” Asahi answers vaguely. He’d spent a couple of hours last night visiting Yui’s and his gravestones. Yuu won’t go near them and Suga only goes on anniversaries or birthdays, but Asahi finds something soothing about talking to the stones themselves. He’s not sure what happened to Yui but he likes to believe that she’s sending warm thoughts when he visits hers.

Asahi looks back out over the mostly-frozen pond and one of the water sprites stares dolefully at him from a rough patch of ice near the middle.

“Wait, Yuu! I think I know how we can find the archangel!”

“The one that curbstomped Ushijima and made Kiyoko less witchy?”

“Are there any _others_ on the loose?” It’s not really a joke; who knows what could happen overnight. Yuu shakes his head, so Asahi points out at the pond. “There are some water sprites who may have seen it. It ate their weather spirit friend. But you’re going to have to take the dogs away before they come back out, probably…”

Princess gives an offended snort, ears laid flat against her skull.

“I’ll finish walking them, and you can talk to your sprite friends. We can meet up later,” Yuu tells him and doesn’t meet his eyes.

Oh, and there’s a wall between them again. Asahi can’t say anything, because he doesn’t want to sound defensive or apologetic or worse, start some sort of argument again, so he just nods. He waits until Yuu and the dogs head back down the park path before chewing on his bottom lip. Asahi doesn’t know how to fix this; there’s always been so few arguments between he and Yuu in the past, and even rarer were those that Asahi started.

 _Not that this should be an argument_ , he tells himself. _I can make my own decisions. It’s not running away_. But he doesn’t want to hurt Yuu or Suga further, and he has no idea how to minimize that pain.

Maybe progress toward keeping the world un-ended could help. Asahi puts out his hand to try to beckon the water sprites out again.

\--

Kenma wakes up to Akaashi chewing noisily while leaning over his face. The tengu blinks in surprise and quickly reels back out of his personal space. “You’re awake,” they mumble after swallowing. “Good.”

Kenma gingerly sits up. His body feels weak, feverish, yet different from when he was sick. Akaashi reaches over and pops something else into their mouth, this time covering it as they chew.

Lev abruptly crouches down beside him and Kenma jumps (sluggishly). He doesn’t make any move to touch him, but the relief is written clear as day across his face. “I thought you’d died!” Lev exclaims. Kenma squints at him.

“If you’re awake,” Akaashi murmurs, “Kuroo should be waking up soon.” They spear another morsel on a claw and pop it into their mouth, and Kenma recognizes it as a wisp before it vanishes. Akaashi’s teeth are sharper than usual. “Lev, please help him. I’ll be right back.”

Akaashi stands and steps away from them. Kenma’s eyes widen when he sees that Akaashi’s normally tan feathers are darkened and crumbling in some places like charcoal. They disappear with a gesture before Kenma can ask.

“You need to drink something,” Lev announces and pushes a glass against Kenma’s lips without further warning. Kenma barely catches it before it spills down his front. Kenma sips at it, expecting water, but it’s apple juice; the sugar feels good on his tongue and in his stomach.

“What happened?” Kenma asks between sips. His chest feels like a giant stepped on it, and the room is dark save for a few lit candles, so he’s not sure how much time has passed. (Kenma narrows his eyes at the nearer pair of red candles. Those were supposed to be for a spell.)

“Okay, so we were making up and I think we’re friends again, but then you got a bad nosebleed and just passed out, and it was like you couldn’t breathe!” Kenma vaguely remembers that part. Lev continues, gestures growing ever bigger as he does. “And then Akaashi came back, just teleported like Yaku does! And they explained that someone grabbed Kuro and the other bird guy and something about betweens and humans shouldn’t go there and because you were contracted it was bad and. And I didn’t understand a lot of it,” Lev admits. He lets out a shaky laugh and his shoulders slump.

Kenma, however, does understand it. That’s an answer to a question he’d had about the contract, but good god, he’d never wanted to _test_ it. “It’s hyperspace,” Kenma explains hoarsely. “Empty space. Or like it. It’s how higher spirits travel on their own. Humans can die if they’re put there.” So, apparently, can demons.

Kenma looks pointedly down at the bowl of wisps Akaashi had been eating out of. Lev brightens and shoves an escaping one back into the pile. “I’ve been feeding Akaashi! They’ve been popping back and forth to try to fix things, since Kuro is hurt, too. We, uh, took some of your blood.”

Kenma’s arm gives a twinge. He’d been ignoring the sloppy bandages on it. “I see.” Well, this isn’t how he wanted his reunion with Lev to go, at _all_ , and he’s not sure what to feel about Akaashi right now. It seems like a stretch to imagine they’re doing it all for only Kuro’s sake. _Wait, shit, they’ve got to know he’s a demon for sure now_. He’d held onto some small hope that Kuro could have hid the black blood earlier.

Kenma doesn’t understand why a tengu would try to keep a demon and his contractor alive, tengu friend or not. Lev must mistake his worried frown for something else, because he reaches over, rubbing small, soothing circles into his back. Kenma can’t help but lean into the touch. “If you or Kuro didn’t wake up soon, our next plan was going to try to summon him here. Would that work?”

Kenma stares at the bowl of wisps. _Right_. Lev is a summoner. Suddenly, his headache feels much worse. “Probably not.” Another thing Kenma does not want to test. In _theory_ , a strong enough summoner _could_ summon an existing demon, provided they knew what the original summoning circle was like. … _Which Lev does_ , Kenma remembers with another weary sigh. Lev doesn’t need to know that.

“You clearly need me around,” Lev says, pity thick in his voice.

Kenma, sick, injured, and recovering from a near-death experience, glares at him.

Akaashi reappears in the room, making the candles flicker and bringing the sharp tang of raw magic with them. Several feathers crumble off at their clawed feet. “Kuroo still hasn’t woken up, but he’s more stable now,” they say and reach for the bowl of tiny spirits. Akaashi wolfs several down like they’re starving. “But now you’re awake, Kenma. Kuroo’s fallen mostly out of his settled form and we’re afraid of moving him. We also have no idea where he and Bokuto are right now.”

“How many times have you been back and forth?” Kenma asks with a cough.

Akaashi chews and doesn’t respond. Lev cocks his head and thinks. “A dozen, maybe?”

“You shouldn’t keep doing that.” No wonder Akaashi looks like shit. Empty space is dangerous, even for higher spirits (even for tengu).

“You were both dying. I didn’t know where they are in this realm. What else was I supposed to do?” Akaashi replies, clearly annoyed. Kenma can only imagine what Bokuto is feeling like right now.

“Switch places. I can talk Bokuto through helping Kuro settle again.” Kenma isn’t sure how, but he’ll figure it out.

Akaashi shakes their head, a short, aborted movement, then rakes back their claws through their black hair. “Bokuto doesn’t know where the other place is here—he was dragged there by a matagot. And if I show him the route, that’s time that Kuroo is left alone. There was _something_ in that room with us, and I don’t want _either_ of them left there, but I don’t know how to move them.”

Kenma realizes that Akaashi is _panicking_.

The owl tengu paces and frets with their hands, claws clicking as they do so. Lev reaches and grabs a wisp of his own. “Мы уже говорили об этом,” he whispers in Kenma’s ear. “Мы ждали когда ты проснешься потому что никто из нас не знал что делать.”  [6]

“Я знаю ваш человеческий язык,” Akaashi snaps. Lev jumps guiltily. Kenma reaches over and pulls the wisp from his grasp before he can do something dumb like try to eat it. “I’m not accustomed to being unable to do anything. So _please_ tell me you have some way of finding them and bringing them back here.”  [7]

“Lev, phone,” Kenma rasps. Lev gives him his smartphone without asking; it’s not actually that strange of a request from Kenma. The little bit of returned trust makes him feel better about the situation, if barely. The witch unlocks the phone, opens up the GPS, and hands it to Akaashi. “Give this to Bokuto and tell him to stay there.”

Akaashi nods, unable to hide their relief, and disappears again. Kenma rubs his nose at the overpowering magic. “…Am I going to get that phone back?” Lev asks, resigned.

“You should, unless getting it there fries it. I’m not sure how technology works in empty space, but it should be fine.” Kenma downs the rest of the juice, then another half glass of water by the time Akaashi returns. He’s feeling a bit better now, although not in prime condition. But he can sleep after this. “Lev, my phone is in my backpack by the door.”

Lev fetches it while Kenma hauls himself to his feet, using the bed to prop himself up. Alright, standing. Not so hard. He wipes his brow and ties back his hair. Akaashi hovers nearby, eyes narrowing further and further when it becomes obvious that Kenma is getting ready to move. He’s pulling on his coat when Akaashi finally speaks up. “You’re in no condition to move.”

“Neither are you,” Kenma retorts. Akaashi presses their lips together in disapproval. “Lev and I will go find them. It won’t be that hard.” Ooh, Kenma does not relish the idea of trekking across town right now. His phone beeps with the notification of Lev’s. That’s good, he hadn’t accidentally fried the other phone. He can’t add too much more to the list of Things To Apologize To Lev For without having another anxiety attack over it.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Akaashi says.

Kenma gives them a flat look, then points to Lev.

“You need protection,” they quickly correct.

“Bokuto is fine, right? And I’m a witch. I’m… fully capable of protecting myself and Kuro.” Yeah, like he had right now.

God, they’d both almost _died_. And it hadn’t been from anything Kenma had seen coming, anything he could’ve predicted.

 _Now’s not the time to think about that_ , he tells himself. Lev holds out his hand, already bundled back up in his winter gear, and Kenma takes it for support. Akaashi’s frown deepens. A few more blackened feathers fall off of their wings and disintegrate on the floor. Kenma gives Akaashi a long, challenging look. “You’re going to stay here and rest. We’ll be back within the hour.” He, unfortunately, ruins the otherwise strong message with another bout of coughing. “And don’t argue,” Kenma adds around his glove, watery-eyed, “because I don’t think you can hold a glamor right now with how, um, agitated you are.”

Akaashi folds their arm-wings. More flight feathers break and crack. But they don’t argue the point.

“You really should sleep…”

“Kenma’s the doctor we wanted,” Lev says helpfully. “He can fix Kuro and you should trust him so you don’t hurt yourself further. Just eat some more of those marshmallow spirit things.”

Kenma facepalms with his free hand. _This_ is their summoner. (He squeezes Lev’s hand with his other.) Kenma doesn’t want to outright ask Akaashi to trust him, because that’s unfair and he probably won’t like the answer he receives, but he also doesn’t want to try to cast a sleep spell on a tengu. Kenma has accurate faith in his abilities, but he’s exhausted and he’s never tried working magic on a tengu.

Akaashi sits down on the edge of the bed, wings still crossed, and gives them both a narrow-eyed look that clearly says _well, get going then_.

Kenma tugs Lev out the door.

\--

Kiyoko massages the bridge of her nose, glasses resting on her head for the moment. Is she just going to have to live with this perpetual headache from now on? _Not for much longer_ , she remembers. She pulls her glasses back down to their proper place and give Yui a look out of the corner of her eye. She… shouldn’t have done this. Guilt mixes heavily with dread in her stomach; they’re dealing with a lot of unknowns, and she _shouldn’t have asked Yui to do this with her_. She’d explained her plan to Yui, asked her for help, and Yui had _agreed_.

The mostly-settled archangel reclines on her back in the slushy, half-melted snowdrift, reading upside-down. She’s using her wings to help prop herself up, already used to them as extensions of herself.

It’s exactly like how she used to read. Suga still does it from time to time. Kiyoko tears her eyes away from Yui and tries to concentrate on her own book in front of her, but it’s difficult. It’s cold out, her head is pounding, she feels like she may vomit, and it would be the best thing in the world right now if she and Yui could hold a conversation that _wasn’t_ about the impending end of days.

“You’re fidgeting,” Yui says without looking away from her book. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m fine,” Kiyoko mumbles. It’s not a lie, because she can still cope and push forward. Anything that involves progress is still fine.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Kiyoko doesn’t respond.

Yui pulls the book away from her face, and Kiyoko finds herself peering over at her, at the way her brown hair flops away from her forehead, the way she seems paler than she had been alive, or how her eyes occasionally seem darker than they should be, like right now. “Kiyoko,” Yui says sternly. Her boss voice. Kiyoko wants to laugh out of sheer joy for the simple gift of being able to hear it again.

“Sorry,” she says instead and pushes her glasses up again to rub at her eyes. Alright, she’s tired. _Exhausted_. And she regrets pulling Yui into this, but her other option had been… _To what, banish her?_ She doesn’t know how to banish an archangel. Suga doesn’t know how, and neither does Yuu, and Kiyoko can only _imagine_ their expressions if they knew what she was keeping from them. Kiyoko draws her knees up tighter to her chest. She definitely feels sick now.

“You okay?” Yui asks in concern. She rolls over onto her stomach and the snow hisses as it melts beneath her. Her glowing wings drape over her shoulders and back like a cape. Kiyoko can almost pretend it’s one of the quilts her mother was always making for them.

“No, I’m not,” Kiyoko confesses. She’s so tired of hiding _so much_ from the people she cares about. She’s so tired in general, because alright, it’s been a couple days since she’s had a proper rest. …Since before she found out about the side effects of angelic magic. Her burned hands tingle and itch whenever she thinks about it. “Yui, I’m sorry, I should have never—”

Yui is in front of her faster than she can blink. She puts her hand over Kiyoko’s mouth, interrupting her, and that skin contact tingles, too. “Do we need to go over this again? Because this is some heavy shit to go over again without, y’know, emotional preparation. But I _agreed_ to help you with this, Kiyoko,” she tells her, back to her stern, no-nonsense voice.

“I shouldn’t have asked you—I can’t use you like this, Yui,” Kiyoko mumbles against her hand.

“What else am I gonna be doing out here?” Her wings flutter, almost like a shrug. The movement looks _too_ natural. “Kiyoko, I’m _in_. I don’t know what I’m doing here, or what else I _could_ do—I want to help you, and Koushi, and everyone else. I don’t want this place to get wiped off the earth.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Yui would likely survive such an event. Kiyoko is still facing her own changed identity, and she cannot _begin_ to fathom what Yui must be thinking about hers. (Or Suga; both of them are so far removed from her own experience that she feels like she’s losing them both to this same issue.)

But Yui is Yui, and she’s good at hiding her own problems until the safety of more private moments. Kiyoko used to be privy to them. Now, she supposes, there’s too much between them for her to expect that same level of trust or familiarity. It stings.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to help me with this,” Kiyoko maintains, voice soft. It had just been too… tempting? That implies some sort of fault, and Kiyoko _knows_ this is the easiest, cleanest way. She had banished a piece of a Great Old One with an angel’s grace, so with an actual archangel’s help, they should actually stand a chance at this. But it’s so unfair to Yui herself. She doesn’t deserve to be used.

Yui laughs, just as quietly, and moves her hands so she’s cupping Kiyoko’s face. Yui places a nervous-quick peck against Kiyoko’s bangs. It’s the most physically affectionate she’s been since Kiyoko found her again, and Kiyoko doesn’t know what to think about it. “Kiyoko, what _else_ could we do? Could _you_ do?”

That reminder, again, that Kiyoko couldn’t bear to let an archangel roam free in the city; the other side of the coin. Yui is mostly settled now, and she’s still having an effect on her surroundings—and that’s nothing compared to her appetite. One weather spirit, two poltergeists, and a junjudee, and that’s just what Kiyoko has caught her with. Yui swears up and down that poltergeists are the closest she’s gotten to human spirits, but weather spirits are fully sentient, and Kiyoko thinks junjudee might be endangered.

She _trusts_ Yui, but Yui has been dead for three years. Yui is no longer living or human. Kiyoko must protect the city— _her_ city, her peace. She’s given up too much to maintain it thus far and she’ll keep it up until this apocalypse is stopped.

Kiyoko only wishes, not for the first time, that the cost wasn’t so high.

“I’m glad I’m able to help,” Yui says with a smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes and shows off that dimple of hers Kiyoko is so used to trying to kiss. It’s that sort of expression that further muddles the feelings in Kiyoko’s heart. “Even if it’s like this.” They don’t discuss _this_ further. …They really should. “And I’m glad to be able to catch up on my reading!” Yui finishes with a chirp.

“Ever the optimist,” Kiyoko says with a fond smile. Even if it’s laced with pain, she _is_ glad to be able to spend this time with Yui again. It’s a sort of closure she had never thought she’d be lucky enough to have with her.

“Someone’s gotta be. Now you and I are gonna research this black magic, go kidnap Sunny, kick Northot’s ass, and save everyone!”

“I’m not helping you steal the cat,” Kiyoko deadpans. She supposes Northot is the name (or some sort of term?) for whatever Ushijima is trying to summon. It sounds familiar. It makes her teeth ache.

Yui flops down onto her lap, shockingly heavy, and Kiyoko grunts from it. Yui pats her thigh as apology, yet she doesn’t sound very sorry when she says, “I just want to see my cat again. My _familiar_ , Kiyoko! I’ll make it my last wish, I fucking _swear_ I will, don’t make me do that.”

“He probably wouldn’t recognize you, and Suga will wonder why Sunshine is so upset.”

Yui falls silent again. Kiyoko holds her breath, waiting for the archangel to request to see Suga. Kiyoko can’t say no to her—she and Suga were so close, and Yui misses him—but such a situation would need to be handled _delicately_ , to say the least. It worsens her headache just to think of it. It’d be so much easier to keep putting it off, but that’s unfair to Yui.

But Yui knows what Kiyoko told Suga—Yui helped Kiyoko realize it, too—and the timing of it is just this side of sadistic.

“I just want to see him,” Yui says softly. Kiyoko nods. Then, she wonders if Yui isn’t completely talking about the cat to begin with. “Do you think…” She trails off, shy, and Kiyoko sets a hand on her back, just above the juncture of her wings. Yui puffs out her cheeks with a childish pout. “D’you think there would be some time before everything to see everyone else? One last time type deal?”

“…I don’t know. Maybe,” Kiyoko hedges. She honestly has no idea how any of this is going to play out; she hasn’t been able to see further than January for some time. (Less than two months to go now.)

“Is Saeko still as much of a hard-ass about monsters? Have they promoted you in the coven yet? How are Noya and Asahi doing now? Have you—”

“One question at a time,” Kiyoko says, gently breaking through Yui’s growing (and glowing) enthusiasm. Yui droops again, embarrassed, and her wings don’t feel quite so hot now. “Saeko’s doing fine. Ryuunosuke has really come into his own now, too, and is actually a better shot than she is.”

“ _Really_?” Yui asks, cracking a grin once more. It’s so much more natural on her face than any frowning.

“Really,” Kiyoko confirms with her own, smaller smile. “And the coven… I left it after your accident. We’re still on good terms, but it’s for the best, since I’m no longer a witch. It’d only be a matter of time before they found out.”

“I _guess_ … And I guess it’s too late to try to convince you to make your own coven, huh?” Yui asks. Kiyoko nods, grimacing at the very _idea_ of trying to run her own coven. Managing the shop and her handful of employees is a nightmare enough. (Not that she would give it up for anything in the world.) Yui sighs and sits back, crossing her legs and folding her wings. “How’re Noya and Asahi?”

“Apparently, they had some sort of fight. It must have been bad, since Suga is upset, too. I think it had to deal with the contract…”

“They were still contracted?”

“Well, not anymore.”

Kiyoko tries to think on how she’s going to tell Yui about their escapades in the Dreamlands—especially since the story is secondhand even to her—but Yui groans loudly and runs both hands back through her brown hair. “So it didn’t _work_?!” Her voice is exasperated, but her skin briefly flares and more snow sizzles and evaporates around her. She’s legitimately aggravated, trying (badly) to hide it, and Kiyoko leans back with alarm.

Yui’s words, secondary to her unconscious display of power, belatedly process. Kiyoko blinks, slowly, and asks, “What didn’t work?” The contract had been made before Yui died. It _had_ worked.

Yui scrapes a hand back through her hair a second time, further betraying her annoyance, and opens a mouth to respond—then freezes. It doesn’t take clairvoyance for Kiyoko to realize that she’s missing something. Something that easily upset the normally cheerful Yui, related to Yuu and Asahi, and that happened before she died.

All of the questions Kiyoko always had about Yui’s death jump to the forefront of her mind. She feels her mouth fall open. “What did you _do_ ,” Kiyoko breathes. It does not come out as accusatory (thank god), but Yui’s eyes flash dark with hurt and she curls her wings around herself in a defensive gesture.

“Koushi never told you,” Yui murmurs, voice laced with guilt.

“All I ever knew is…” Is that Yui and Suga _died_. Is that Kiyoko had been the one to find them. Suga came back, and Yui didn’t, and neither of them ever knew what happened to her. It took some time, but Suga eventually confessed bits and pieces: they were working on something that required necromancy, they were trying to experiment, and he didn’t know anything more about Yui than she did. Kiyoko sucks in a shuddering breath. “Wh-What were you two trying to do?” _Why does it have to do with Yuu and Asahi?_

Yui’s dark eyes are wet and shimmering with guilt and sorrow. Kiyoko knows she isn’t going to like this answer, but she refuses to let the matter drop. She wanted this closure.

\--

Kuro blinks awake to two pairs of gold eyes peering down at him, one about three shades darker than the other. His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth, but he still finds the energy somewhere to croak out, “Kenma…?”

“He’s not dying anymore, is he?” Bokuto asks worriedly.

“ _That’s_ Kuro?!” Lev’s voice demands, somewhere unseen. Kuro closes his eyes and can’t help but smile, just a little, because Kenma and Lev are in the same room. (It doesn’t quite process that they’re in the same room as he is.)

“He’s alright. He just needs to settle again,” Kenma says. Small arms come down to help lift Kuro up into a sitting position, and the world spins even behind his eyelids, but it’s not as bad as before. Kenma’s presence is strong and solid beside him. “You’re okay, Kuro,” Kenma whispers, hardly audible, and Kuro cracks open an eye again.

“ _You’re_ okay,” he counters with a happy hum. He turns toward Kenma, resting his head on his shoulder, face buried in the crook of the witch’s neck.

“Do you think you could settle again? We shouldn’t stay here,” Kenma asks. Kuro is pretty sure he already knows the answer; they both feel like shit and Kuro doubts he could walk more than ten feet on his own, much less change form again. Kenma takes his silence for the answer it is and sighs. Kuro presses his face further into his skin, enjoying the warmth and the steady, if quick, thrum of Kenma’s pulse. “Alright, then you’re going to have to tag along in my shadow.”

“Five more minutes…”

“You sure he’s okay?” Bokuto butts in, a sudden, even warmer weight on Kuro’s other side. Wait, Kenma shouldn’t be cold, he was feverish not so long ago.

“None of that _looks_ okay,” Lev agrees.

“We’re fine. We just need to get out of this place—it smells like black magic and blood.”

“It’s safe now,” Bokuto says, pressing in further against Kuro’s shoulder. Kuro welcome the heat and wonders if it’d be selfish to ask Kenma not to shy away from him so bad so he can enjoy it. “Akaashi dumped the fox spirit and the… other guy into the empty space. They’re both probably dead. I mean, the human is for sure, but they’re not here anymore.”

“What’s to stop the fox spirit from just popping back here?” Lev asks.

Kuro opens his eyes again and finds Bokuto giving Lev a surprisingly disdainful expression. It’s Kenma who answers, tired and hoarse, “Akaashi likely dragged them from here through empty space and sealed it behind them. I’ll, um, explain the logistics of it later, Lev. Kuro, I need you to get into my shadow.”

“Sounds confusing.”

“Says the summoner.”

“You’re a summoner?” Bokuto asks with big eyes. Lev nods proudly. “I’ve never met a human summoner before!” Kenma, still propping his own summoned demon upright, twitches a little at the awe in Bokuto’s voice. “That’s so cool—how does human magic summon things?”

“ _He_ doesn’t even know,” Kenma mutters.

“Jealous, Kenma?” Kuro purrs.

“We can make it back to the room ourselves. Bokuto, if you wanted to go back to check on Akaashi—”

“Nope!” he replies instantly. “I’m escorting you two—three—back.” There’s something uncharacteristically guilty in his voice, but Kuro can’t see his face after he turned to Lev. “It’s the least I could do, and I have to make sure no one passes out on the way back. And I guess we can talk more about magic on the way back!”

“…Where’s your glamor?” Kenma asks flatly.

Bokuto looks down at himself. He pulls out the collar of his ripped shirt, looks down at his chest, then feels around his neck for the charm. Kuro can’t help but snicker. He’s still tired as hell, but having Kenma nearby was helping, and he’s pretty sure his lifted mood wasn’t hurting him (or Kenma) either.

“I guess I… left it behind? Or it got torn off, o-or something?” Bokuto droops, literally _droops_ , as he continues patting down his clothes and feathers for the missing charm. Kuro’s mood drops as quickly as it’d come. “I don’t know any hiding spells, but I don’t want to leave you alone after that…” Bokuto admits with a heavy, depressed sigh.

“Kenma, your ignore-me spell,” Kuro says with a tug on his sleeve. Kenma frowns, nose (adorably) scrunched up, and Kuro’s gaze drops down to his pursed lips. “Please,” Kuro adds, still staring at his mouth. They’re actually very close—Kuro isn’t sure he should be so easily distracted, but relief and fatigue are making him giddy.

“I’m not sure it will work on tengu…”

“You have a spell?” Bokuto asks warily.

“I don’t know how it will work with tengu magic,” Kenma stubbornly maintains.

“Teach it to me, then!” Lev volunteers.

“You _can’t_ learn it.”

“I’m sure Bo can learn it,” Kuro says, and Bokuto may perk up, just a little. Kenma’s expression softens, but remains sour overall.

“He should just go back to check on Akaashi—”

“I want to at least do _something_ to help! And making sure you get back without dropping dead from something else counts!” Bokuto insists. Kuro nods in agreement. He’d honestly feel a little better with a tengu guard, too, especially considering how fast that fox spirit had gotten the drop on them.

Kenma’s frown deepens again. Kuro isn’t sure if it’s him not wanting to share his spell or if it’s a(nother) trust issue, but he’s tired and he can feel Kenma’s tiredness and he wants them both to get back to bed and try to sleep this off. Kenma feels cold and his voice is still husky; he’s in little position to be arguing like this.

 _Arguing_ , Kuro thinks absently, unable to help frowning himself. He doesn’t like arguing with Kenma, especially since he doesn’t want it to come down to just being ordered to take Kenma’s side. He doesn’t have it in him to resist any commands right now, that’s for sure. “Kenma, please? For me?” Kuro tries. Kenma blinks down at him. “Just _try_ to teach Bo the spell. For me.”

“I promise I won’t break it or misuse it or tell anyone I made it,” Bokuto adds.

“…Fine,” Kenma mumbles. He averts his eyes, tilting his head just so to try to get his hair to shield his face, but it’s tied back so the movement fails. Kuro hides his grin against Kenma’s neck.

Lev helps both Kenma and Kuro to their feet, and Kuro leans heavily against Kenma’s shoulders. Bokuto hovers nearby, wringing his claws nervously, and Kuro wonders if he learned the habit from Akaashi. Kenma teaches Bokuto the charm, slowly sinking down further and further with Kuro’s weight on him.

Lev, squinting in concentration, repeats the charm over and over under his breath while Bokuto tries to work with his own magic. Kuro doesn’t really understand magic, much less the nuances of different types, but he knows when it works when Bokuto sags in a concerning amount of relief. “It didn’t do anything,” Lev grumbles.

“I can feel the magic!” Bokuto shoots back, defensive.

“It worked,” Kenma reluctantly agrees. Shoulders hunched, even with Kuro’s weight on him, he doesn’t look up at the tengu and instead digs around in his coat pocket. An only slightly happier Bokuto hands Lev’s phone back, and Kenma taps something into his own. Kuro sees it’s a message, but he doesn’t have time to read it before Kenma catches him looking.

“Thank you for trusting him,” Kuro tells him and rubs his cheek against the top of Kenma’s head.

“Not like I had any choice in the matter…”

“Thank you!” Bokuto adds eagerly, bouncing beside them. “I’ll teach you a spell when you’re feeling better, but I’m really glad you’ll let me walk back with you guys.” Kenma gives him an annoyed look and Kuro huffs a laugh; they’re _definitely_ not walking all the way back. Maybe Bokuto and Lev can carry them. “And thank you for stopping Akaashi from jumping so much! I knew they were worried, but they wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to tell them we’d be fine, so thank you, Kenma!”

Kenma colors from Bokuto’s rambling and growing, grateful attention. Wait, _grateful_. That’s all the warning Kuro gets before Bokuto seizes Kenma by the front of the coat and goes in for a kiss.

Kuro catches Bokuto by the back of the shirt, halting him, at the same time that Kenma reels back. “ _No_ ,” Kuro says flatly and Bokuto whines wordlessly. “You don’t get to kiss him first!”

Kenma slowly, incredulously, turns to look up at him. He squints and mouths the word ‘ _first_ ’.

“I mean. He shouldn’t. Uh.” Kuro quails under that judgmental look, and he’s not completely certain why.

“I thought that was gratitude?” Bokuto says, nonplussed. Kenma turns the judgy expression on him and he, too, balks. “I-Isn’t that what kissing means?”

Kuro can’t quite come up with an answer to that, because kissing someone because you’re thankful is totally a thing, right? He hadn’t minded so much when Bokuto had kissed him, after all. (Even with tongue.) But it seems criminally _unfair_ that Bokuto could kiss Kenma, even in such a quasi-platonic way, before Kuro got to. (And, alright, _maybe_ he has an inkling that there are different kinds of kisses and some seem more up his alley than others. If anyone ever asks, he’s going to continue to feign innocence.)

Kenma, still radiating mild distaste, ducks out from between the two of them. Kuro flounders, and as Kenma shuffles over to cling to Lev, Kuro dives into his shadow and lets himself be tugged along behind him. He doesn’t have to look at either Kenma or Bokuto that way, and he doesn’t have to explain himself. Good deal all around.

“Kenma, why does a tengu want to kiss you?” Lev asks, gratingly loud, and Kenma huffs.

“Let’s just go back,” the witch says. He leans against Lev’s arm with a physical familiarity Kuro can’t help but feel uncomfortable with. (…He’s becoming aware it’s probably not just discomfort, especially because he’s still so goddamned _happy_ to see that they’re back together.)

(Except not _together_. Not like how Sugawara eyes Sawamura, or how Tadashi and Tsukishima are, and Kuro is _certain_ it’s the blood loss making him go down this trail of thought.)

“I thought you wanted to kiss Kuro,” Lev says quietly, or as quietly as he can ever manage. It’s really not quietly. Color rises again in Kenma’s cheeks and he doesn’t answer; Kuro wishes he would. He doesn’t want to hope that the non-answer is answer in itself—

“Did I do something wrong?” Bokuto asks, and Kuro feels bad for ever being jealous of a misunderstanding.

“…No,” Kenma replies softly, fidgeting, “just please don’t do it again.”

Bokuto’s expression still looks a little off, but he nods solemnly, and Kuro feels worry niggle in the back of his mind.

Kuro frowns at himself, safely within Kenma’s shadow; half these emotions are still new to him, and not all are welcome. But for once, he’s not sure he can ask Kenma about it. (A new sense of embarrassment?) He curls up in the darkness near Kenma’s feet, resisting the urge to wind his way up his ankles, and tries to dwell on the warm relief at simply being alive with him.

\--

Tendou drags them both back into a solid realm. His chest heaves as he sucks lungful after lungful of air back into his body and it feels like there’s ice instead of blood running through his veins. The sweat begins to freeze onto his body but he can’t be assed to care right now. That probably took a couple decades off his life. Oh well, maybe he can ask Wakatoshi’s divine boss for something like immortality. Would he want to live forever? That’s a lot of time to eat, but with his body feeling like it’s been run through the world’s sharpest and coldest meat grinder, he doesn’t give it much other thought. Too much effort.

Tendou looks down at the man beside him.

He’s dead.

“ _Ah. Merde_.” Well, it’s been long enough that it’s solidly dark out now and humans are fragile, so it had really been a given that Wakatoshi would die in the Inbetween. Even running on whatever hellish magic he’d been channeling, it was a longshot at best. Tendou does an inventory of himself: his tail, toes, and fingers are numb and the tail won’t quite move right, but he still has all of his limbs, and he himself probably won’t die.  [8]

He’s not sure at first where he finally popped back out, since the damned tengu had slammed shut every door, portal, and crack they could find, and Tendou had been half-crazed with the need to get _out_ of that void that he’d jumped on the first peek of anything else. There are buildings around him, a haphazard mix of architectural styles, but not many beings. Tendou catches sight of a troll lumbering by what must be another road down. Goblin market? Probably, but he’s not sure which one.

Not the _worst_ place to get caught with a dead body, but certainly not the best. His stomach rumbles, reminding him that now he’ll _never_ get that food he’d been promised. He plans on using Wakatoshi’s body as proof that he’s trying to help his boss, in hopes that he can still get payment from whatever gross thing it is, but maybe he can eat him if he doesn’t rot before then.

With a garble of noise so deep it makes his teeth ache, Wakatoshi’s body spasms beside him. Tendou leaps away, blackened fur on end, and Wakatoshi sits up. No, not sits up—that would imply some sort of control—this movement is like a puppet being tugged upward by strings. His head rights itself last and with a nasty-sounding _crack_ , Wakatoshi turns to face him. His eyes open, and they’re solid black.

Oh hell no, Tendou is _not_ about to become a black magic zombie snack. Everything about this situation screams at him to _run, get away from that THING_ , but he feels rooted to the spot. Only a small part of it is horrified curiosity. The distant sounds from the market are muted further, and the night seems to darken around them, and Tendou can’t stop staring at those eyes of pitch.

“ _I. Am not. Done yet_ ,” Wakatoshi says in a voice that is so Not His that Tendou squeaks out a laugh. It’s deeper and more terrifying than his previous speaking in tongues episodes, somehow more… real. Not a good sign.

“Uh, well, I’m pretty sure that witch is. Y-You’re going to need a new agent,” he says. He almost sounds calm. Wow, it’s _painful_ to have his body rigid out of fear for this long. Not to mention what that voice did to his poor ears. He scrubs at one side of his face and is unsurprised to come away with red. Just what he needs.

“ _Ya naah_ ,” Wakatoshi hisses. “… _Ya naflah_.”

And _goddamn_ that hurts even more than his normal voice. Tendou scrambles backwards until his back hits a building, ears pinned flat and hands clamped down over them. “Let me talk to the witch again! You’re not supposed to be in this realm yet!” He cracks open an eye and bares his teeth when he demands, “And who even are you, anyway? I don’t think possessing a broken human body is the smartest way to get a foothold here.”

Wakatoshi cocks his head with another _crack_. Tendou is beginning to worry that he’ll be a corpse all over again by the time this thing is done. “… _I am The Thing That Should Not Be_.”

Something about its words itches in the back of his brain. Tendou relaxes his mouth into a forced grin he certainly doesn’t feel. “I’ll say. How about you not-be in the witch’s body? He’s the only one trying to summon you, and you don’t want to trip over the finish line when you’re so close, right?”

“ _You just offered to aid us_.”

“Yes!” He wishes he could feel his tail enough to wag it. “I want gold and power.”

“ _You are like the smaller witch. I care not for your price—it will be done_ ,” _The Thing That Should Not Be_ scoffs.

“I also want food.”

The thing in Wakatoshi gives him a long, flat look, then his body slumps again. Tendou droops, wondering if Wakatoshi really _is_ dead for real, but then he coughs and rolls onto his side. The matagot isn’t sure why he’s relieved. Wakatoshi coughs until they’re wet and red is running down his chin, but when he blinks blearily up at Tendou, his eyes are clear again. Well, no, one is still bloody, too, but it’s a significant improvement.

“So… You just died,” Tendou bluntly tells him.

“I know,” Wakatoshi replies. “I was just ripped away from my Door. I think I’m deathless now.”

“Huh. That’s… something.” Good thing he hadn’t eaten his body. Maybe immortality is the way to go, after all.

\--

“Day three,” Iwaizumi says seriously, despite holding an empty mug like a microphone in front of himself. “Will Oikawa wake up with the proper name today?”

The man in bed with him (with frankly unfair bedhead; no one should be able to look that good with a tousled mess of chocolate brown curls) stirs at the sound of his voice, but doesn’t wake. Iwaizumi sets the cool rim of the mug against his bare shoulder and Tooru’s nose scrunches up. He wiggles, curling around until he finds Iwaizumi’s legs and tangles his own long legs in with his, seeking more heat.

“C’mon, wake up,” Iwaizumi tries again. “You have an appointment in an hour and you get grumpy if you don’t have enough time to shower and put all that shit on your face.”

“Mmgh,” Tooru replies.

Iwaizumi sighs and sets the mug back on the nightstand. He throws an arm over Tooru’s back, nestling in against him again, because it’s so tempting to just lay around with him like this. Iwaizumi is loath to admit it, but sleeping with Tooru has spoiled him. Just being near someone like this, so consistently, is a blessing Iwaizumi wasn’t sure he’d ever have again. It seems like lifetimes ago when he last had this luxury. …Maybe it was.

“You should get up,” he sighs against Tooru’s skin. He doesn’t move from atop him. Tooru doesn’t make any moves, either.

But he does murmur, “Kiyoko…”

Iwaizumi reopens his eyes, glaring at the far wall. “That’s a woman’s name, you ass.” Tooru hadn’t gotten the gender wrong yet, although maybe this is an improvement from being called Hanamaki? Iwaizumi rubs his scratchy face against Tooru’s back to annoy him and growls, “See if I bottom for you again anytime soon. I don’t know who Kiyoko is, but I’m not a woman, last I checked.”

Tooru whines and wiggles, although because of Iwaizumi’s annoyance tactics or all of the talking, he’s not certain. The psychic manages to worm his way out from under him, and rolls onto his side, blinking up at him. No one should be that beautiful with pillow marks on their face and bedhead from hell, but here is Oikawa Tooru, ready to prove that rule wrong. Every fucking morning. Iwaizumi would be annoyed in other circumstances.

“ _Quién es Kiyoko…_ ” Tooru says with a wide yawn he doesn’t bother to cover. [9]

Iwaizumi grabs his pillow and presses it over Tooru’s face. “I’m not dealing with memory bullshit _and_ Spanish bullshit in the same day. Try again, Oikawa.”

Tooru squeals and bats him away. When he sits up, he seems marginally more awake now, and comes to the realization of his switched language a moment later. “ _Tú no eres Kiyoko. ¿Quién es Kiyoko?_ ” [10]

Iwaizumi sighs again. It’s going to be one of _those_ days. “Just go shower and get ready for your appointment. Let’s hope they’re bilingual. I’ll call Sugawara… Again.” This is something he hopes does _not_ become part of their new domestic ritual. (Iwaizumi’s fine with just about everything else.)

“ _Él no habla español_ ,” Tooru snorts as he gets out of bed and heads out into the hall, not bothering to put on clothes. “ _¡Y él es la causa de esto! Probablemente… ¿Y quién es esa tal Kiyoko que ha causado un problema de esta magnitud? Preguntale a Suga._ ” [11]

“I _don’t_ speak Spanish!” Iwaizumi shouts back. The bathroom door slams behind Tooru and Iwaizumi feels, absurdly, like he just lost an argument.

Maybe this will wear off like the last language shift did. Iwaizumi’s not sure what will happen when one of these changes _doesn’t_ wear off, however. Tooru has woken up the past three mornings calling him different names, but he’s been able to recognize him after properly waking up, so it hasn’t worried him too badly. It’s just his brain rewiring itself. Again. Probably.

Who’s he kidding? He’s worried about Tooru. He’s _always_ worried about Tooru. Iwaizumi has happily adjusted to a life of domestic bliss, but that life also comes with a perpetual state of low key concern. Even without rogue gods hanging over them, he throws himself into any problem that comes his way with a worrying intensity, and then laughs it off when anyone has the gall to notice. Seeing Tooru with his customers (visitors?) is something new, but he can see now why Suga is so frantic when dealing with Tooru. The man attracts trouble.

Like today’s. The Spanish does not, in fact, wear off, but thankfully the old woman who meets him speaks it. She talks with a watery, anguished voice and worries a wooden cross around her neck for most of their appointment. Iwaizumi waits in the hallway, out of sight but listening, and it’s strange to hear a (fake) seance conducted in another language. Since he’s not distracted by the words, he picks up easily on how efficient Tooru is with his charm.

The hour is soon up, and Tooru bids the old woman a fond farewell, even going so far as to press a kiss to her cheek. Iwaizumi manages to work out enough of the situation to gather that she was worried about her dead son or something, but when she leaves and Tooru eases out of his business persona, the psychic just gives him a lofty snort and tells him, “ _Ella tiene un poltergeist o algo así en su ático. Creo que trata de comer las cosas de su sobrino_.”  [12]

Iwaizumi gives him a blank look and shrugs. Tooru, in response, gives him an epic eye roll.

“ _Mattsun no nos perdonará si le pedimos que sea nuestro traductor_ ,” Tooru tells him. Iwaizumi continues with the blank look. Why does he _insist_ on trying to maintain a conversation like this? Does he like the sound of his own voice that much? Chin in hand, Tooru loudly muses (more or less confirming Iwaizumi’s theory), “ _Makki tampoco lo haría. Necesitamos algo nuevo para unir mis memorias. ¿Quieres saber quién es Kiyoko, Iwa-chan? ¡Y puedes pedirle a Suga que se encargue del problema fantasmal por nosotros!_ ” [13]

“Just. Stop. I’ll call Suga, alright?”

Tooru beams at him.

\--

“Someone’s popular,” Tsukishima complains as Suga’s phone goes off. Suga ignores it and shines the flashlight into the spirit’s other eye. Suga’s never actually been close enough to test to see if ghosts’ pupils dilate or not, but Tsukishima’s definitely are.

“Is he going to be okay?” Tadashi asks. For the thirteenth time. He’s hovering over Suga’s shoulder, wringing his hands like a father in the delivery room, and Suga _does_ appreciate his concern. It’s cute, and Tsukishima had better fucking think it’s endearing, too, because Suga doesn’t know what else to tell them about this. Tadashi’s worrying himself into a tizzy, Tsukishima is maybe-sick, and Suga is scratching his head.

His phone beeps to signify a missed call when the ringing finally stops. “I’m not a ghost doctor, I’m sorry to say. But as far as I can tell, he’s fine. You just need to stop letting him eat human food,” Suga tells them with an especially pointed look toward the blond spirit.

“But he’s hungry,” Tadashi replies in Tsukishima’s stead.

Which would be an absolutely _wonderful_ thing if it weren’t for the claws Tsukishima is stubbornly sitting on. It’d mean he’s close to becoming a higher spirit—of some sort—but since he has some demon thrown into the mix, Suga isn’t sure what direction he’s headed in. “He needs to eat… other things,” Suga tells them. “Ask Yaku or Kenma. It may come down to things like sprites and shades, or…”

“Or?” Tsukishima asks archly.

“What if your new diet is something like ghosts?” Suga asks. Tsukishima doesn’t look away, meeting his gaze, but he doesn’t look entirely comfortable with the notion. Suga sighs. “Well, good, I guess. I’ll talk to Kiyoko and Noya about tracking down some malevolent spirits or something. A poltergeist probably wouldn’t be bad… Kenma still hasn’t answered you?”

“No, not since yesterday. And I think it was Kuroo,” Tadashi replies. So Kenma’s still sick, and Suga is beginning to worry. Witches generally have above average immune systems, but who knows what they’ve been up to. And as sweet as it’d been to see Kuroo worrying over Kenma’s health, Suga isn’t sure he’d be the best caretaker.

But they can’t _find_ Kenma to check on him. He’s outright ignoring Suga (fair, maybe), barely responded to Tadashi (less fair), and warded his hidey hole to make it impossible to track down via normal means. And apparently only Lev knows where it’s at, and he’s uncharacteristically silent on the matter. (Yaku seems about to ready to eat Lev whole if he doesn’t spill, but he’s not. Kiyoko has remained neutral on the subject.)

His phone goes off again. Suga leans back in his chair to check who it is; it’s Tooru’s ID on the display. Because Suga, _so close_ to getting his luck fixed, apparently isn’t quite out of the woods yet. “Hold on a moment, please. It’s probably important,” Suga tells them. He grabs his phone, gives the boys another apologetic smile, and ducks outside. It’s unseasonably warm again today—or warm for almost December, at any rate—and the overhang drips onto the concrete in front of him. Suga accepts the call. “Hello?”

“Oikawa’s broken again,” comes Iwaizumi’s gruff voice. There’s a muffled squawk on the other line, probably said broken psychic.

“What happened?” Suga asks. Because it’s partly his fault, of course.

“He’s back speaking nothing but Spanish, and I think there’s some sort of job he wants you to take—hell if I know the details, _I’m_ not the mind-reader here, Shittikawa—” more background noises, this time decidedly accented, “—and he woke up this morning calling me Kiyoko. Does the name mean anything to you?”

“Oh. Yes.” He hadn’t realized Tooru had forgotten about her, too. Everything the angel took seems so random, and Suga hasn’t had the time to sit down alone with Tooru and try to figure out what other gaps he needs to fill. Or the gaps that Suga could try to help with. “She’s another psychic, a friend of ours. She runs a potion shop on the other side of town. It’s open today, so you two could probably drop by to see her.”

“Does she speak Spanish?” Iwaizumi asks flatly. There’s more half-garbled noises on the other line, then a single, triumphant crow. “What the hell—?!”

What the hell indeed. Suga, grinning, pulls the phone away from his ear when it sounds like the other two get into a loud argument. They’re like children, squabbling and bickering and teasing and pulling each other’s proverbial pigtails. …Children who Suga did not need to know were fucking. He tells himself he’s not jealous. (Suga lies to himself.)

“Koushi!” Tooru coos into the phone. “Potions, huh?”

“That doesn’t sound like Spanish,” Suga replies mildly. “Are you alright, Oikawa?”

“Yes, yes, I’m working on being alright. You know me, I’m not a morning person.” It’s well past noon. And Tooru _is_ a morning person, if it suits his needs. “Sooooo, another psychic, huuuuh?”

“You’ve known her longer than you’ve known me, Oikawa. She’s not a clairvoyant like you, and she’s a witch.” Well, was, but that sounds like something Kiyoko can tell Tooru herself. Suga wedges his phone between his shoulder and ear and jams his hands underneath his arms to try to keep himself from shivering. He should’ve grabbed his coat before coming out here. Daichi’s going to scold him if he gets the sniffles. “Come to think, you haven’t seen her in awhile since you were busy gallivanting around with a skinwalker…”

“Is that what I was doing?” Tooru asks in reply.

 _Maybe the possession went with people he hadn’t seen in some time? No, I saw him frequently enough_. And it doesn’t explain the other missing memories, either. “Yes, that’s the polite term for what you were doing,” Suga says firmly. “Look, I’m pretty busy today, but I can give you the address of her shop and you two can stop by. Introduce her to Iwaizumi, too, if you’d please. Is that job of yours something urgent, or can it wait a day or two?”

“It can probably wait,” Tooru admits with a sigh. “Are you _sure_ you work for me? You don’t seem to do much.”

Suga scowls out at the cityscape. Tooru’s teasing, and Tooru doesn’t have the full picture, but the remark still stings. “I’m doing _plenty_ ,” Suga replies stiffly. Trying to diagnose a luck spirit/ghost/demon, low key trying to track down an avoidant witch, soothing a bakeneko, poring over memory research, poring even _more_ over angel information, not to mention trying not to ignore his new _boyfriend_ too badly. A benign haunting can wait a little.

There’s a noise from Iwaizumi on the other line, and Tooru covers the receiver to respond. “I guess we’re going out today anyway, Iwa-chan says he needs something bigger than a bathtub. For _what_ —? No, you’re not going swimming in the lake. I’m going to lock those pelts back up— _ow_!”

“I’ll let you go, then,” Suga says dryly. Tooru hums some sort of confirmation and hangs up. Suga ducks back inside before he can freeze further, and in the living room, Tadashi seems to be missing. He raises an eyebrow.

“Bathroom,” Tsukishima replies.

“Oh. Good. I’d like to ask you a couple of quick questions in private.”

Tsukishima frowns when Suga takes Tadashi’s spot next to him on the couch, but doesn’t argue. Good.

“So, you’ve been hungry, but have you had any cravings for anything specific?” Suga asks. He keeps the question neutral, but he can see Tsukishima clench his fists in his lap.

“I haven’t been wanting to eat people or ghosts, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, I’m not. Please just answer the question?”

Tsukishima looks away, still frowning, but he reluctantly mutters, “Cinnamon. …And sugary things.” Suga lets out a sigh that’s relieved enough to have the blond glaring at him. “Why’d you ask? Going to give me some sort of dessert ghost to eat?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Suga asks. Tsukishima’s only answer is continue glowering. “Fine, fine. The good news is that you probably just have a sweet tooth. And higher spirits regularly eat human food, so it’s entirely possible that once you, uh, settle a bit more you’ll be able to eat whatever you’d like again. The bad news… Some types of magic can smell like cinnamon. Nothing _bad_ , but things like plant singing or healing magic can smell like that, and you may be craving something like that. You’re like a pregnant person—you should follow your body’s cravings for the time being.”

“Tsukki’s pregnant?” Tadashi, of course, picks that moment to return to them. Tsukishima facepalms and Suga laughs into his hand. “Uh, with who? I-I mean, with what, but don’t you need someone else, even with ghost shit—uhh, _stuff_ —”

“Ghosts can’t get pregnant,” Suga says with a valiant effort of trying to stop his laughter. It’s not so much that he believes that Tadashi thinks Tsukishima is pregnant, but _god_ , the look on _his face_.

“But higher spirits can,” Tadashi replies without missing a beat.

“Well, _some_ can, that’s true…”

Suga’s phone goes off again. This time, it sounds like a text, but he still groans at how busy he’s been. “Can demons get pregnant?” Tadashi asks, and like he’s precognitive, Suga reads the name _Kenma_ on the display. Huh. Maybe they should look into how luck operates with someone living with a luck spirit 24/7.

“No one’s pregnant. Sugawara was only telling me that I have to eat healers and dessert for the rest of my second life,” Tsukishima grounds out.

“That’s not what I said,” Suga replies absently as he checks the message.

‘ _heyyyy sweet sugar daddy this is kuroo i need a favr please_ ’

“Do me a favor and ask Kenma if demons can get pregnant next time you see him. Make sure it’s in front of Kuroo and is as embarrassing as possible,” Suga tells them. Tsukishima unrepentantly leans over to read over his shoulder before Suga can exit out of that conversation.

“Sugar… daddy? Is there something you’re not telling us?” Tsukishima asks, grinning like the cat who caught the canary. Tadashi’s eyes go wide and he claps a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing outright. “Maybe you _should_ become a hunter, Yamaguchi. I had no idea they had that much disposable income.”

“He doesn’t know what it means,” Suga replies defensively. Oh, he’s never going to live this one down. He reopens the chat and texts back ‘ _I told you to stop calling me that OR any variation of it! why should i do you a favor now??_ ’

“Do we need to let you go to meet with your demonic sugar baby?” Tadashi asks with a poorly hidden snicker.

“I don’t know where they are anymore than you two do. And how do you know what they’re called?” Suga shoots back. Tadashi shuts up immediately.

Suga’s phone goes off with Kuroo’s response. ‘ _i was just trying too flatter you because i wanted teh favor please kenma is sick again and i am too please help us i am sad and pathetic nd i am tired of the soup lev keeps bringing us_ ’ Sad, pathetic, and not understanding of punctuation, evidently.

‘ _If you tell me where you are, I can check up on you both. And if I can I want to ask Kenma about Tsukishima’s condition._ ’

The reply is a lot faster this time. ‘ _no no no i do not want you here_ ’

Suga squints at his phone. How rude. Can demons lie over text?

‘ _kenma would hate me if i let anyone else in especially you no offense i like you but kenma is sitll learning to trust people you know_ ’

‘ _What if I sent over Yamaguchi & Tsukishima? at least tell kenma to stop ignoring their questions please. We don’t know what to do with a half demon half luck spirit._’ He sends the message, then realizes that if Kuroo isn’t begging for more medical advice, Suga has no idea what he’s asking. He quickly adds, ‘ _what is the favor kuroo_ ’

Suga is aware that Tsukishima is still reading over his shoulder, although from the way he’s positioned, Suga thinks he may be floating and intangible again. …Which is not sneaky _at all_.

“Can I help you?” Suga asks politely. Tsukishima blinks and floats over to hover behind his other shoulder.

“You’re talking about us, so I’d like to know about what specifically.”

“You’re talking about us?” Tadashi asks in surprise.

Suga sighs. Nosy kids. “I’m trying to get answers for you two, yes. I don’t know the first thing about demons, to be honest, and Kenma would be able to help you with that far better than I ever could. That’s all, nothing new.”

“Aside from sugar daddies,” Tsukishima says.

“Nevermind. I’ll use a favor from a grateful demon and powerful witch for my own use.”

“We’re happy you’re helping us!” Tadashi says at once. He leans over and tries to tug Tsukishima away from Suga, but his hand goes through him, earning a flinch and a dirty look. But it’s enough, and Tsukishima sullenly floats over to sit on the floor beside Tadashi. “We really appreciate this,” the freckled teen earnestly adds. “And we’ll owe you favors, too! Like, um…”

“You two don’t owe me anything,” Suga tells them with a fond smile. (Tsukishima looks relieved.) His phone buzzes again against his leg.

‘ _i wish we could help them i will tlk to kenma about it today i promise but i actuallyy want you to talk to akaashi for us_ ’

…Yes, because Suga’s hectic day needs tengu added to the mix.

Kuroo adds, ‘ _they did us a huge favor and i think we made bo sad and akaashi might be mad and kenma doesnt want to talk too them and i wnt to make sure they are okay too and not mad at us_ ’

Suga isn’t going to say no, but he is going to be a little firmer with his payment for this favor. ‘ _I’ll do this for you but a) I want details on what I’m supposed to ask about and b) are you two okay?? and c) I want you two to help the kids. Tsukishima is hungry and human food is making him sick. Ask Kenma about it and either text them or I’m going to send them over there_ ’

‘ _you dont know where we are_ ’ Kuroo responds. Suga isn’t sure if he’s nervous or being childish about it, though.

‘ _you have my quilt_ ’

‘ _please dont come over here until kenma is better i will talk to him about it and ask lev about feeding tsukki a wisp or two in the meantime_ ’

“Alright, Kenma will get back to you about Tsukishima’s eating habits, and in the meantime, ask… Lev? Do either of you know why Lev would have a wisp?”

“Because he’s a summoner?” Tadashi replies, nonplussed, tilting his head to the side.

“He’s a _what_?!”

\--

Tooru walks into The Crow’s Cup with the strangest sense of déjà vu. Everything smells too strong in here, a mix of spice and herbs and flowers and something heavy beneath it all, and it _should_ be unpleasant but it isn’t. There’s faint music coming from an open laptop on the desk, but it appears as if the main room is empty.

He regrets not dragging Iwaizumi out of the water now. The shop, while full of things to the point if nearly seeming cluttered, is eerie when empty. Something feels off, and he’s not certain why.

A short blonde comes out of the other hallway and doesn’t notice him at first. Tooru jumps at the sudden entrance, and she in turn jumps when the movement startles her. “Yachi!” Tooru exclaims, hand pressed to his chest in only partly mock shock. “You surprised me. What are you doing here?”

“I’m… helping Kiyoko?” Yachi replies warily. “O-Oh no, I’m sorry, were you looking for me?”

“Oh, no. I just thought this was… Nevermind.”

A tan cat, previously unseen behind a bin of feathers, jumps down onto the floor and startles them both all over again. Yachi laughs nervously and twists her fingers in her hair. “Oh, well, haha. I guess we’re both jumpy today. Can I help you with something today, Oikawa?”

Does she know about his current problem? He’s not sure. “I’m looking for Kiyoko,” he says neutrally. Yachi droops, just a little, and must take it as some sort of dismissal. “It’s nothing important—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You weren’t interrupting anything! I-I mean, what _would_ you be interrupting? I was just trying to crush up some mongoose bones, but I swear you weren’t interrupting, I’m only—I was just trying to be helpful,” Yachi finishes with a firm nod, though her eyes are still averted guiltily. Something about the pinkness in her cheeks seems strange to Tooru.

But she has nearly perfect mental shields, so he can’t actually read anything off of her besides her agitated body language.

“You smell like a psychic,” says the cat and Tooru blinks down at it. Him. He didn’t know familiars could talk.

“Yaku, this is Oikawa, and he’s another psychic like Kiyoko. Oikawa, this is Yaku. U-Um, Kiyoko employs him now to bring luck to the shop.”

“Hello,” Tooru tells him.

Yaku gives him a blatantly distrustful look. His (very) long tail wags once behind him. “Sugawara’s mentioned you. You’re the one who got into trouble in the Dreamlands, right? The one who got his brain chewed on by an angel?”

Yachi flinches as the word ‘angel’ and looks up at Tooru with newfound concern. Tooru feels the need to wave it off; it’s rare that he’s met with such sincerity, and he doesn’t want to exacerbate that worry. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad. It just means I can now blame any outstanding debts on my amnesia, right?”

“H-Have you…” Yachi falls silent with downcast eyes. She visibly steels herself, and raises her head once more to face him, although her eyes remain averted and on the cat. “Have you heard anything else about the angel since then?”

“No? Last I heard, Sugawara was trying to track it down to squish it. Or whatever he does.” The details are a little fuzzy.

Yaku and Yachi exchange a pointed look. Despite being a mind-reader, Tooru feels like he misses everything in that look, and that rubs him the wrong way.

But he can’t comment (probably for the best), since they’re interrupted by another woman coming down the stairs. She delicately pats her mouth and nose dry with a handkerchief and doesn’t seem to register Tooru’s presence at first. Her mind is curiously open—no, scrubbed _raw_ , sandpapered down by force. Tooru recognizes it at once since the same thing happened with Iwaizumi and Sugawara.

The woman’s mind is a tired, anxious mix overlaid with a thin, worn blanket of fear, like she’s used to it. Tooru catches glimpses of her thoughts— _angel_ and _Yui_ and _Suga_ and _Door_ and _January_ —and then she looks up and locks eyes with him.

Fear overrides _everything_ and he physically winces at the mental shout of _NO!_ before her mental walls slam down like so many guillotines. Tooru rubs at his temple, certain that that one will give him a headache, and the woman makes a soft sound. “Oh. Oh no, I’m so sorry, Tooru,” she says and steps forward, holding out her handkerchief.

Tooru realizes it’s for the blood now dripping out of his nose. “Augh! Ew. Uh, thanks, I guess.” He has little choice but to take it if he wants to keep his shirt and jacket clean. “You must be Kiyoko,” he adds.

“Oh. Yes, Shimizu Kiyoko. I was not aware you had forgotten me as well.” Kiyoko studies his face for a moment longer, then turns to the other two in the room. “I’m sorry, but could you two excuse us? Hitoka, I’ll… call you later.”

Yachi stammers out some sort of vague affirmative as she hurries to gather up what Tooru supposes are her things. He wonders if it’d be polite to point out how painfully apparent it is that she is hopelessly attached to Kiyoko. Yaku simply vanishes, which means he’s certainly not a familiar, and Tooru feels unease crawl up his spine at not being sure _what_ he is. Questions for later, however; soon enough, the bell on the door tinkles after Yachi leaves, and they’re left alone in the neatly cluttered shop.

“It’s tough being a psychic lately,” Kiyoko says with a wan smile. Tooru pulls away the handkerchief, glad to see his nose is done bleeding, and nods. “If you can’t remember me, then… Well, we’ve known each other for several years now, and I’m not clairvoyant like you, but—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tooru says, not terribly sorry, “but I’m sure the general details will come back to me in a day or two. Right now, I’m far more confused about _this_.” He holds up the bloody cloth.

“Ah.” Kiyoko adjusts her glasses and uses the movement to look away. Stealthy, but not enough. “Contact with any sort of ancient magic can break down barriers within the psyche. You’ve gone through it too.” And so has Iwaizumi, and Sugawara, and probably half their friends by now.

“Mm, yes. But you clamped down on me pretty hard and fast there.”

“Suga has told me that you’ve been unable to keep yourself out of others’ thoughts lately.”

“Suga is touchy.”

“And you have a reputation for being nosy,” Kiyoko says with a small smile. Tooru won’t argue that. Despite talking with this woman, he can’t really remember her—yet, hopefully. She’s formal, but she’s speaking with a degree of familiarity that sets him on edge, like it always does when there’s things he _knows_ he’s missing. It’s getting old.

“Since my reputation precedes me, then may I ask why you were so worried about angels? That seems to be something that may concern me,” Tooru says coolly. Kiyoko’s hand twitches, and he can see partly faded burns on her palms.

“Oh. Suga hasn’t told you.” Her tone is curt. Tooru inclines his head. “We found the angel and during a confrontation, things escalated. It’s an archangel now.”

“That’s one hell of an escalation!”

“It was my fault. But I have it under control. Please don’t worry yourself over this. Is there anything else you’d like to ask?” she asks quickly, moving the conversation onto a new subject, and though he doesn’t like it, he lets her. Although she’s keeping a tight rein on her thoughts now, she isn’t put together enough to prevent a trickle of nervousness from coming out.

 _She’s keeping a secret_ , Tooru realizes with annoyance. Alright, that’s fair, he’s only just re-met the woman and he _may_ be a little nosy. He’s prevented from making an ass of himself by the front door chiming open again. Kiyoko frowns faintly.

“Uh, hello? Oikawa?” It’s Iwaizumi’s voice, and after a moment, he ducks into the main room. His hair is still damp, sticking up in haphazard spikes, and he’s tightly clutching his duffel bag with his seal and swan pelts in them.

“Enjoy your swim, dear?” Tooru asks brightly. Iwaizumi arches an eyebrow at the unnecessary cheer.

“You must be Kiyoko,” he says instead of answering him. She nods and moves to stand, but he waves her back down. “Iwaizumi, this jackass’ bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard,” she repeats in disbelief. Tooru pouts, overly childish and entirely for show. “Alright. It’s a pleasure to meet you after hearing so much about you from Suga.”

“He talks about me?” Iwaizumi asks with a cock of his head.

“Oh yes, he has a lot to say about the not-extinct skinwalker who keeps hogging his favorite bathtub.” The corners of her eyes crinkle though she fights a smile, and Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish, awkward chuckle.

Iwaizumi puts a hand on Tooru’s shoulder, giving him the tiniest squeeze, and Tooru wraps up the conversation shortly after. “I’ll take you out for coffee sometime later this week! Maybe I’ll be a bit more myself by then, but we really should be running right now.” It’s a weak excuse, but Kiyoko lets them both go with a polite nod and a wave.

Before they’re out the door, she presses a small plastic jar of something orange and thick into Iwaizumi’s hands. At his confused look, she only says, “Put a teaspoon onto your forehead before you go to sleep. It will help you—both of you—sleep more soundly.”

Iwaizumi waits until they’re outside before asking, “Do you remember if she’s the type to give away this kind of stuff?”

“No idea,” Tooru says with a shrug. “But Suga trusts her, right? That should count for something, I suppose.”

Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal noise and eyes the orange concoction. Tooru nudges him, confused by his distrust, and with one last glance back over his shoulder at the tiny potion shop, he tells him, “She smelled like—” He grunts and shrugs almost aggressively. Tooru tries not to let his unease show on his face. “Like, angel mixed with old gods mixed with charcoal. And I think she was trying to hide the smell with everything else in the shop.”

Tooru gives a thoughtful hum for his benefit. “So suspicious, Iwa-chan. Though I think I’ll ask Koushi why everyone’s so worried about angels.” Iwaizumi nods, still staring down at the jar, and Tooru wonders if he realizes how loudly his thoughts are blaring distrust.

Tooru knows he’s not in a position to be selective with who they work with—Ptar-Axtlan may be dead, but there are still other nasty things afoot—and he has no reason to personally doubt Kiyoko or what she’s been up to. But he can’t deny his curiosity about her extreme fear reaction at being presented with an unexpected clairvoyant. It’s not the first time he’s dealt with that sort of response, but it has been one of the more panicked, and she had been totally unaware that he’d forgotten about her. What would she not want her dear friend Oikawa Tooru to know about angels, or January, or Doors, or those people?

“Who do you think Yui is?” Tooru asks. _And what’s a Door?_

\--

“You know, after you start ‘officially’,” complete with finger quotes, “dating someone, you’re supposed to see _more_ of them, not less.”

Suga had apologized, because it’s Suga and he is nothing if not responsible for his guilt, but Daichi brushed him off. All he ended up asking was to spend more time with him. (He has to admit, getting drunkenly asked out, forgotten, and then basically ignored for the better part of two days is _not_ good for his ego.) And Suga had accepted, so they are supposed to be hanging out tonight. Daichi was delighted at the time.

He is not delighted now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Suga calls from atop the streetlight. Daichi gives another yelp and leaps to reach his outstretched hand. He’s still not used to his lighter weight, and he nearly ends up colliding face first into Suga. The sigbin, below them, snarls and jumps up after them.

Suga hauls Daichi onto the streetlight and turns his flashlight on the creature. It hisses, flinching badly enough to throw off its jump, and it hits the pole with a _clang_. It slumps to the ground, dazed, but not dead, and after an irritated snort, it sinks down into the streetlight’s shadow.

Suga fixes Daichi with a grin. He’s sweaty, his chest is heaving, and even his bright smile can’t hide the paleness of his skin or the bags under his eyes. But at least he looks _happy_.

“Why do you look so goddamned happy when a vampire goat thing is trying to eat us?!” Daichi complains. He wobbles on top of the light, and Suga puts an arm around his waist to help steady him.

“It’s a sigbin. And since it can’t get to our shadows up here, we should be safe for the moment.”

Suga, who spends much of his free time reassuring Daichi that his job is Safe and he Doesn’t Engage Hostiles, peers over the edge to find the sigbin’s eyes glaring back up at them. They reflect the flashlight like the world’s creepiest dog.

“At least you’re getting some practice with that potion?” Suga has the gall to add.

Daichi holds up his bleeding hand with a grimace. Suga takes it, gently, and presses his lips against his knuckles. God, he shouldn’t be allowed to be this stupidly charming, because that’s gross, and Daichi didn’t ask for a monster hunt as their first couple date, and he certainly didn’t ask for a pity kiss to be the first kiss of the evening, either.

“Well, float potions can be tricky,” Suga says tactfully and leans back over to check on the sigbin. There’s no reflected light from the flashlight, and he frowns, pushing out his bottom lip a bit. Daichi notices the tiniest smear of blood on it from his hand.

So gross. Daichi wants to kiss him properly. …Which is also gross, but he can’t stop thinking about goddamned blood because that thing is a shadow-jumping, vampiric goat monster, and it had nearly gotten Suga earlier.

“Of course, this would be easier if either of us had our things,” Suga muses, giving Daichi a sly look.

“Do I need to start bringing along my sword when we hang out?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well, you forgot half your stuff in that bag of holding of yours, so it’s not all on me,” Daichi points out.

Suga gives him a mock pout. Daichi’s eyes go down to his mouth again. “I’m sorry for turning this into another magical disaster.”

“At least this one is like we’re in a bouncy castle,” Daichi relents. He reaches over and wipes away the half-dried blood on Suga’s lip with his thumb, earning a surprised blink, then leans in and kisses Suga quick on the mouth.

The color rises slowly in his cheeks. “Do you like bouncing that much?”

“I like _you_ that much, even with all of this weirdness you keep dumping into my life.”

“Aw, you’re so sweet when you’re bleeding,” Suga says and gives Daichi a playful (surprisingly hard) punch on the arm. “And I li— _shit_!” The sigbin leaps up out of the light’s shadow again, this time from behind them, and Suga shoves Daichi off the streetlight. He hits the ground shoulder-first, but it doesn’t hurt as much as he expected, and he bounces awkwardly to a stop before landing on his back.

Suga is hanging upside-down from the light, held up by the sigbin’s tail. The monster is cast into shadow from the top cover of the light, eyes just barely reflecting a gleam from below. It lifts Suga, and Suga gives Daichi one wild look before shrugging off his messenger bag and tossing it to him.

“What am I supposed to do with this?!” Daichi calls in exasperation. The bag hits the ground in front of him and scatters half a dozen items on the wet asphalt.

“Throw something at it? Find my flashlight? There’s a—ahh, oh god, wh-why’s it tickling—?!” The sigbin lifts Suga higher and reaches out with its long ears and runs them over his face and neck. Daichi looks for anything he’d feel halfway comfortable using. Jar of stuff, jar of other stuff, what looks like a moldy half-eaten _something_ in a plastic baggy. Suga ends up in a fit of laughter and Daichi looks up to find the sigbin snuffling its snout against Suga’s neck.

The sigbin opens its mouth, ignoring the weak way Suga is pushing at it, just as a boot collides with its back. The creature sways, stabilizes, then looks upside-down through its legs at Daichi.

With its attention elsewhere, Suga hurriedly draws a mark in the air and gasps out, “ _Light_!”

With a squeal of pain, the sigbin drops him. He hooks his foot on the streetlight itself and uses it to twist far enough in the air to land on his feet, stuttering to a stop before landing ungracefully on his ass. Daichi jogs over while Suga and the sigbin both get back to their feet. “Do you have a Plan B?” Daichi asks, forcing his voice into a deadpan.

Suga gives him a sharp grin and a not-gentle slap on the back. “I’m still on Plan A! Watch this.” Daichi folds his arms and obediently watches as his boyfriend steps up to square off with the monster again. The sigbin lashes its whiplike tail, teeth bared, but doesn’t approach him again. Maintaining eye contact with it and careful not to make any sudden moves, Suga crouches down and retrieves a soggy paper envelope.

He frowns briefly at its sorry state, but carefully peels it open. The sigbin sinks into the nearest shadow in response. Suga takes a couple of cautious steps backward, and Daichi wonders if he should start unlacing his other boot.

The sigbin reappears, leaping out of Suga’s shadow with jaws open wide, but Suga reacts in time—he reels back, grabs the thing by a wing, and shoves the wet gunk directly into its open mouth. The sigbin kicks and coughs, trying to detach, but just seconds pass before it slumps with a gurgle.

Daichi hops over to retrieve his boot and Suga drops the sigbin onto the concrete. He flashes Daichi another bright grin. “Told you! I didn’t mean for this to interrupt us, but I’m used to things like this.”

“Are you going to… take care of it?” Daichi asks uncertainly. Where are they going to put the body? Sure, they’re in a nearly deserted part of town, but Daichi is sure that _someone_ will notice a winged goat monster’s carcass in any nearby dumpsters.

Suga begins gathering up his scattered things while Daichi pulls his shoe back on. His sock’s wet and his foot is cold, but he can deal. Suga rescues his phone and dials a number. Daichi is confused until Suga says, “Kiyoko? I got you a present. A sigbin—no, we’re both fine, it only startled us is all.”

Right. _Startled_. “That thing tried to hamstring us!”

“We’re fine, I promise!” Suga repeats firmly, although to Daichi or Kiyoko, he’s not certain. “We’re over near the park by my place—no, on 21st. It ate an entire packet of sleep soot, so it’ll be out for awhile, but try not to wait too long. …Yep. Bye!”

Suga unceremoniously scoops the rest of his stuff up and dumps it into his bag. “So,” Daichi says, “this sort of thing happens _that_ often?”

“Yeah, this is sort of normal for me. Is that—is that a _bad_ thing? I know it looked scary, but sigbin rarely actually kill people, and—”

“No, no, I’m just surprised at how _well_ that went,” Daichi interrupts, hands up in a placating gesture. Suga puffs out his cheeks before looping their arms together. He tugs Daichi into a bounce, trying to skip with him in the weirdest sense of the word, and Daichi may cling a little harder than strictly necessary to him. For balance, of course.

“I’m not unlucky anymore,” Suga reminds him. “Tsukishima squared me out and—and you never saw the end of that cat vine!”

Suga’s idea of a good date: trying out float potions in the middle of a wet winter night while showing him cat vines. It’s the cutest fucking thing Daichi has ever done with someone else. Not even the arrival of a magical monster can completely ruin the night, especially as easily as it was dispatched, Daichi’s sock as a casualty aside. Suga assures Daichi that _yes_ , it’s _fine_ , they can practice with this in this part of town; why else does he live near here?

Suga leads him to a park that’s about fifteen minutes from his apartment. It’s deserted at this time of night, but is of surprising size considering the part of town they’re in. Suga releases his arm, beams at him, and with a hop, grabs the top bar of the swings. “Oh god—cold metal—!” He lets go, shaking out his fingers.

“I told you to bring gloves,” Daichi says pointedly. For how cold Suga runs all of the time, his winter gear leaves much to be desired: a worn coat and a knitted blue scarf, and no hat or gloves.

Suga reaches into his bag and pulls out a pair of mittens with a sly look. Daichi tries not to smile as he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, Daichi, we have the place to ourselves. What’s your favorite part of playgrounds?”

“Well, about _two decades ago_ , I suppose I liked slides.”

“You’re never too old for slides!”

“I’m pretty sure neither of us will _fit_ anymore,” Daichi tells him, and of course Suga takes it as a challenge. He hauls himself up onto the top of the swings again, walks across it like a balance beam, hops from the monkey bars to the cold, wet, half-metal structure with several slides sticking out of it, and he looks just as happy now as when he was trying to explain the appeal of vines.

He gets stuck in the tube slide.

“Okay, there’s being a child at heart, and then there’s being stubborn,” Daichi calls up the bottom of the slide.

After some swearing and thumping, Suga tumbles out the bottom of the slide. Daichi grabs him before he can fall into the puddle at the bottom. “I did it,” Suga maintains, upside-down. He nudges his scarf out of his face and Daichi raises an eyebrow. “…Back to the swings?”

\--

“So,” Suga says, stirring his tea, “you wanted to know what happened to that infection?”

“Ah, yes. I know it’s broken, but I’d like to know the details, if that’s alright,” Akaashi replies with an incline of their head. They keep their hands tight on their mug for warmth.

Suga tries not to be obvious about it, but he can’t help but stare at Akaashi; he’s never seen the tengu looking so _bad_. Even hidden with a human glamor, Akaashi’s hair seems to lack its usual luster and softness, and there’s something tight around their eyes that hadn’t been present before. Not to mention the tremors they’re trying so badly to hide.

Suga sips at his drink and wonders how much information would be prudent to share. “The deity responsible for the infection is dead—that’s why it’s gone. Oikawa’s the one who broke it, too.” Akaashi’s eyes widen a fraction and Suga feels bad for the half-lie. “He was possessed at the time, by an angel. He’s already been exorcised and is recovering.”

Akaashi’s mug rattles as they let go with one hand to cover their sigh. They quickly return it to keep the mug steady and Suga gives them a pointed look over the rim of his own drink. “I’m relieved to hear that it’s been taken care of and that Oikawa is… dealing with it. Is he still with that skinwalker?”

“Oh, yes. Iwaizumi is taking the quieter times after that god’s death to settle into some sort of life in the human realm. Or maybe he’s just taking a break. I got the impression he’s happy, right now.”

Akaashi makes a neutral sound.

“If you receive any information about an angel or an archangel, I’d appreciate if it were passed along,” Suga adds. Akaashi’s surprised look hardens into a glare within seconds. “We’re taking steps to minimize further damage, but we’re pretty sure that the archangel is not on Ushijima’s side.”

“And Ushijima is…?”

Hoo boy, this is going to be a long explanation. But Suga supposes he ought to take advantage of his tengu friend status. His tea is almost gone by the time he’s finished outlining what they’ve gathered and warning Akaashi of the threat Ushijima and his goals pose.

After everything, Akaashi only sips at their drink and tells Suga, “Oh, him. I killed him.”

“You… what.”

“I was under the impression that you spoke to Kuroo somewhat frequently,” Akaashi replies.

It clicks into place. _No wonder Kenma has been ignoring everyone!_ If Ushijima had made a pass at Kuroo—okay, that brought up strange mental images—then Kenma would absolutely go into lockdown mode. Bad news for Tadashi and Tsukishima. Also bad news if Ushijima has been casting a wider net to get his last two ingredients; a higher spirit would still be tricky to capture without gaining attention, but there’s far more opportunities to grab up fresh ghosts before anyone else can get to them. “Is he alright? Is Kenma alright?” Suga asks.

Akaashi turns away with an openly sour expression. This must be what Kuroo was worried about. “They’re both fine, as far as I know.”

“Are you upset with them?” Suga carefully asks. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

“…Ushijima was working with a matagot, and he caught and jumped with Bokuto and Kuroo. It nearly killed Kuroo—and Kenma. The witch looked like he was possessed by something, so I locked them both in the Inbetween as soon as I could,” Akaashi replies as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. And Daichi wonders why he’s nervous around tengu. “The matagot probably got out, but humans can’t survive there.”

Suga files away the potential Ushijima accomplice for later. He’s not sure how Kuroo thinks Akaashi is mad at him, however, since they went to such lengths to—oh. Suga finishes off his drink to buy himself enough time to figure out how to word this. “If you find out anything more about that matagot—” he’s not sure what a matagot is, actually, “—please let me know. I know our working relationship has been a little rocky, but I’m glad to hear that a tengu would go to such lengths for their friends. Ushijima is—was—incredibly dangerous.”

Akaashi’s expression sours again, but not quite in the same manner as before. “That was a special case, so please don’t get your hopes higher than they should be. It was taxing.”

“…You know, Kuroo asked me if you were angry with him.”

Akaashi’s head snaps around. “Angry?” they repeat blankly.

“If you’re not, you should probably talk to him, he’s really worried—” _and bad at texting_ —

“I _am_ angry,” Akaashi says.

“…Oh.” Suga quickly pretends to drink from his empty cup, avoiding eye contact. That hadn’t gone where he’d thought. “Wh-What did he do to piss you off?”

“Did you know he was a demon?” Akaashi asks.

Suga splutters on his inhale.

“I thought so. He thought he was keeping that a secret from us.” The nasty sour grimace is back, eyes narrowed to slits and hands trembling worse than ever. “And I’m not sure _what_ he said to Koutarou, but he’s been depressed since then and will barely talk to me—and Kenma still acts like he is afraid of us more often than not, and I wish he would understand that we’re only trying to be his _friends_. I have done everything I can think of to make him comfortable with us, but he still keeps his distance, and that of course means Kuroo does as well, which I can see is just killing Koutarou—and what does kissing mean?”

“I. Um. Kissing?” Suga echoes, struggling to keep up. So his initial guess was correct; Akaashi isn’t mad, Akaashi is _hurt_. Hurt and defensive of Bokuto and _where the hell did kissing come from_? “It usually means some sort of romantic interest…?”

Akaashi squints at him.

“It can mean other things,” Suga quickly adds. He’s not opposed to playing therapist, but he’s a little unused to doing it for nonhumans. “You can kiss someone for sexual reasons, or romance, but there’s also familial kissing and stuff like greetings, and gratitude, and…” He doesn’t want to explain the nuance of kissing someone before bed or the myth of kissing injuries, but he isn’t sure how else to word it. With a grimace, knowing his cheeks are red, Suga miserably finishes, “It usually just depends on how much tongue you use. It’s like a sliding scale. Please don’t ask for practice.” Well, okay, Akaashi is gorgeous, but Akaashi is also upset and their teeth look sharper than usual in their agitation and _Suga has a boyfriend_. Wait, are they monogamous? Suga had assumed but he needs to have that conversation with Daichi next—

Akaashi folds their hands in their lap and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, “Why are _tongues_ involved?” Suga pretends not to hear it. “Would you think it… wise, or prudent, if a tengu were to become romantically involved with a demon?”

Or maybe _Akaashi_ needs to have that conversation with Bokuto. Suga chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, admitting, “I’m _really_ not the best person to ask about the questionable politics of human and nonhuman dating.” He’s not sure where he himself stands on the human spectrum anymore, and he doesn’t want to admit that. “Maybe ask Oikawa? He’s now with a millennia-old skinwalker—ooh, okay, forget I brought up Iwaizumi.”

“Please give me time to adjust to the fact that one of the men I hired to track down a thief is now sleeping with said thief. So no thank you, but I will not be asking him for advice,” Akaashi says curtly.

“Maybe you should just try to talk to Kuroo and Kenma instead?” Suga tries. Akaashi fixes him with a withering look. “Just a suggestion. Maybe either of them could shed some light on what’s upset Bokuto so badly.”

Akaashi looks like they’d rather eat a bowl of nails.

“And if I may ask, when’s the last time you slept?” Suga asks, because he _knows_ that sense of jitteriness mixed with a lack of filter. Akaashi gives him a wide-eyed guilty expression, surprised at getting called out on it, and Suga gives them a soft, reassuring smile in return. “I’ll talk to Kuroo and Kenma. You do me a favor and take a nap before talking to Bokuto.”

“Why? I mean—why are you telling me this?”

“Tengu _friend_. And honestly, if it makes you feel better, the less sleepless, frantic tengu I have to worry about, the better _I_ sleep.”

\--

Kei has become sick enough (or perhaps pathetic-feeling enough) to allow Tadashi in the bathroom to rub his back whenever he throws up. Tadashi wonders if it’s sweet or self-serving. Kei leans his head against the toilet seat, coughing, and blindly reaches for his cup. Tadashi grabs it off the sink and pushes it into his hands for him.

“At least you can drink water,” Tadashi says sympathetically. He thinks he does a good job at hiding the worry that’s gnawing at him; Kei hasn’t been able to keep anything down, despite his hunger, and it _must_ be bad if he keeps trying to eat, right?

“You should get back to work,” Kei says dryly. “You’re going to get fired at this rate.”

Tadashi has traded out of two shifts this week already, and was almost late to today’s. He refills Kei’s glass before regretfully leaving him to head back out to the floor. It’s not like the store is busy, not with it so wet and miserable outside, especially now that it’s getting later in the evening. Issei gives him a _look_ as he ducks guiltily into the mystery aisle to tidy things.

When did his life nosedive? Everything happened so fast. Kei is sick and getting sicker, Tadashi has missed more school in the past two weeks than the rest of his high school career combined, his paychecks are about to dwindle into nothing because he’s missing work, and Kiyoko is probably going to cut him off from that potion. It’s already worn off; he’s been trying to buy time to steel himself and muster up a convincing argument. (Waking up next to Kei, leaving the room, and then becoming unable to see him for the next two hours had been a harrowing experience he never wants to repeat.)

Tadashi rubs at his eyes. They’ve been stinging more and more lately. _Aren’t I supposed to be lucky?_ he thinks bitterly.

“Oi. Yamaguchi. Stop pretending to work and come here,” Issei calls. Tadashi jumps, hoping he’s not about to get fired, and slinks over like a kicked dog. His manager rolls his eyes. “Despite your slacking off, I’m not giving you the boot. I just want to ask you two things.”

“Yeah?” Issei slides a pair of papers across the countertop. Tadashi blinks at them. It takes maybe a little too long for his eyes to focus well enough to read properly. They’re resumes. _Didn’t he just say I’m not getting fired?!_

“We need another keyholder, and I’m going to tear my hair out if I have to read over another goddamned person that Sawamura picks out. Who would you rather work for?” Issei asks and taps the papers.

“Is this… legal?”

“I’m not saying anything about your ghost puking in the bathroom, though only employees should be back there.”

“R-Right.” Tadashi tries his best to read over the resumes in front of him while his boss starts up a running commentary on the magic he had _not_ wanted in the store. The two people seem similarly qualified, but he’s getting a headache by the time he reaches the second one, and honestly, he doesn’t care. As soon as Kei gets fixed, he’s going to be back on track with learning from Suga, and then—

…And then what?

He’s not sure what the path to becoming a supernatural janitor is like, but he knows it doesn’t involve student loans, at least.

“Eyes bothering you?” Issei asks and Tadashi snatches his hand away from where he’d been rubbing at them _again_. “Missing a certain potion?”

“No, I mean— _what_?” How did he know about that?

Issei clicks his tongue and walks his fingers over to pull the resumes back from Tadashi. “Maybe a little birdie told me that you’ve been cut off from something.”

“Who?” Tadashi demands, more rudely than he would in other circumstances, but Issei has _never_ mentioned interest in Tadashi’s magical affairs, even when presented with a sick spirit in the employee bathroom. Tadashi is certain he’s never talked about anything else with him.

“I’m not telling until you answer my other question,” Issei drawls. Tadashi doesn’t bother pointing out that he hadn’t asked it yet. “Are you going to quit soon?”

“Uh. N-No! No, I really want to keep this job, I’m sorry I’ve been trading shifts lately—something came up, and—”

“And that something is in the back, I got it. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are. Like I said, you’re not getting fired anytime soon. I have a feeling it has to do with Sugawara, but you have Sawamura wrapped around your little finger when it comes to your work schedule lately. Enjoy it while it lasts.” And he honestly sounds halfway sincere, despite the dismissive flap of his hand.

“Then why’d you ask?”

“Despite my warnings,” Issei says pointedly, and Tadashi tries not to frown, “you seem pretty damn keen on jumping headfirst to the magical community. I’ve found that that sort of thing is mutually exclusive with a ‘normal lifestyle’.” He puts up a single air quote, his chin resting on his other hand. “We’re already short-handed, and it’s going to be a pain if we lose you, too.”

“If I quit, it won’t be anytime soon. I still need the money here,” Tadashi replies.

Issei surveys him for a long moment, face unreadable, then he reaches under the counter and pulls out a small vial of the spirit sight draught. Tadashi doesn’t like how his mood lifts at the very sight of it. No one had mentioned it being addictive, right? “Little blonde dropped this off for you this morning. She said it was a _se-cret_ ,” Issei teases, finally losing his serious expression with the grin slicing across his face. “You got a thing for blonds now?”

Tadashi isn’t sure why Hitoka helped him, but he’s not complaining. “No, she’s just helping me learn some magic.” She’d said she didn’t know anything about what was making Kei feel so bad, other than the same vague guesses about him being caught between states that Suga had made.

“…You don’t happen to know anything about memory magic, do you?”

“Uh, no. Sorry.”

“Worth a shot,” his manager sighs and slumps down against the counter. “I’m tired. Want to just nap for the rest of the shift?”

Tadashi is never certain how serious he is. He couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to, however, he knows. “Can I go into the back and check on Tsukki again?” And take some of the potion, just in case.

“If he’s puked on anything, _you’re_ cleaning it up. And I want you to pick up an extra shift this weekend so I don’t tattle to Sawamura. Go back to earning your keep around here. We don’t need two Kunimis.”

“But—!” Tadashi begins but Issei cracks open an eye to give him an unamused stare. “…Alright. I think I can come in on Sunday morning.”

“Thanks, kid. Now go babysit your ghost.”

Tadashi no sooner ducks into the back room before Kei ambushes him. Tadashi freezes out of fright, allowing Kei to push him up against the door, and under literally any other circumstance, Tadashi would be a little more interested in this arrangement. But now, Kei’s eyes look dark behind his glasses, no longer gold but a deep brown halfway to black.

Kei rips the potion out of Tadashi’s hand, breaks the lid off, and downs it in one gulp. There’s a long, silent moment where he still looks halfway feral, and the brunet wonders if he’d imagined the glimpse of sharp canines when Kei had opened his mouth.

Panic stomps down the fear in Tadashi’s belly and he seizes Kei by the shoulders. “Tsukki, that shit’s poisonous! It made me pass out, remember? And—why the hell did you drink that, anyway?!”

Kei avoids eye contact as he grumbles, “I’m _hungry_ , Yamaguchi.”

“Do you feel sick again?” Tadashi suspiciously asks.

“No. …I’m still hungry, but that settled my stomach.” Kei steps back until Tadashi releases his hold on him, and Tadashi wonders what the hell was in that potion. He’d tried feeding a sleep potion to him last week, and it had made him just as sick as the pizza had.

 _So what’s the difference?_ Kiyoko isn’t going to let him have any more of that potion, but maybe he could make a strong enough case to convince Hitoka to keep smuggling him doses. Tadashi goes to hit Kei in the arm, telling him, “I needed to take some of that so I can see you when you’re not around, Tsukki!” but his hand goes through him. Kei flinches and shies further away from him.

“…It’s two birds with one stone, but we still have no way of convincing them to sell us more,” Kei comments.

“I was thinking maybe Hitoka could.”

“The moment Kiyoko finds out, she’ll put a stop to that. We need to find another potion-maker.”

“Or find out what’s wrong with you. If you could stop flickering like a broken light, I wouldn’t need it,” Tadashi says and sighs. “But we need to talk to—”

The two stare at each other in realization. Two birds with one stone.

Tadashi tugs Kei out of the break room behind him, although he reaches the front counter first. Issei looks up from his book at them both, one eyebrow raised, but doesn’t ask. “How do you find something that’s not yours, but you know whose it is and you can get something of theirs?” Tadashi breathlessly asks.

Issei’s eyes flick back and forth between them. “Is this something I should be condoning?”

“I’ll work both Saturday and Sunday.”

“Deal.”

\--

Kenma doesn’t outwardly react when Kuro hooks his chin over his shoulder, laying halfway across his back, and watches him play his game. He does, however, quickly save and quit the game, opening up a different file. Kuro does not need to see the one he has where he’s romancing Tetsurou. “…Can I help you?” Kenma asks when it’s clear Kuro isn’t going to say anything. His voice is still a little raspy, but he’s feeling better overall. …Physically, at any rate.

“I’m glad you’re taking a break,” Kuro says with a happy hum. He rubs his cheek against Kenma’s hair like a demonic cat. “Thank you.”

“That’s not something you have to thank me for…” And now the situation feels awkward, great. Kenma wiggles, trying to get Kuro off, but if anything, Kuro just puts more of his weight on top of him. With a wheeze and a cough, Kenma manages to roll over onto his back. Kuro rolls with him so he’s now laying on Kuro’s chest. “What are you doing?”

“I want to cuddle.”

“ _Why_?”

“Suga said we should and talk about our feelings.”

“When have you been talking to Sugawara?”

Kuro doesn’t respond and instead wraps his arms around Kenma’s waist, squeezing him in a nearly too-tight hug. With perhaps a little too much elbowing, Kenma wriggles free and flops onto his side of the bed. (When did they get _sides_ of the bed?) Kuro props up his head with one hand and then simply _watches_ Kenma. Because yes, that’s going to make him feel more comfortable with this situation.

Kenma ducks his head, using his loose hair to hide his face, and quietly asks, “Why have you been so touchy lately?”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better. And I’m glad you’ve reconciled with Lev.”

Except Kuro has clearly been hoping more would come of it instead of just occasionally having Lev over to discuss summoning magic and play video games. Kenma is hugely relieved that they fall back into their prior friendship with so little effort; Kuro keeps hovering around them like he’s expecting them to elope and leave him behind.

“Are _you_ glad Lev and I are speaking again?” Kenma carefully asks him. Kuro tries to quash his surprise at the question, but it’s not as if he’s particularly hard to read.

“Yeah. Of course!” That’s not a lie, and Kenma himself would be lying if he said he isn’t a little relieved at that. He’s been hoping against hope that Kuro isn’t _jealous_ or something.

Even if he had _clearly_ been jealous of Bokuto trying to kiss Kenma.

Sugawara is likely right, and even if they have less than a month to go, there are probably some things they should discuss. But Kenma is exhausted and busy and stressed—he hasn’t gotten to the point where he’s recruited Lev to helping him with his plan (and potentially expanding it), because that’s another thing he’s putting off. There’s so much to do, so much still left to do, and talking about his Feelings with Kuro and/or Lev is not something he wants to prioritize.

Kuro scoots closer ( _again_ ) and truth be told, Kenma is so used to his presence he doesn’t notice it at first. He does, however, notice when Kuro presses a soft kiss against his bare shoulder.

Kenma freezes.

“Why—?” Kenma croaks. He _does not want_ to confront the What Are We decision when he has less than a month left with Kuro. Why can’t Kuro see that?

“I would really like to discuss this with you,” Kuro replies in a low voice and trails tiny little pecks down the outside of Kenma’s arm. He takes Kenma’s hand, moving slowly enough to give him plenty of time to pull away, and gently detaches it from his handheld. Kenma pauses the game on reflex while Kuro intertwines their fingers. His hand is warm, dry, and surprisingly soft, nothing at all like Kenma’s scarred and clammy ones.

“What is there to discuss? The contract is up at the end of the year,” Kenma reminds him.

“I’m not going to disappear in a puff of smoke, Kenma. And I don’t want to attack or eat you.”

There it is again. The reassurance of Kuro’s intentions, but he still has never said _I will not_. Kenma shoves his handheld under the pillow, then buries his face in it to avoid looking at his demon or their hands. Kuro makes a concerned noise, tugging gently on his hand, and Kenma moves his head just enough to tell him, “You’ve never said that you _won’t_ attack me, Kuro. What am I supposed to think of that?”

Kuro blinks at him. “I won’t eat you, Kenma.” He says it _so easily_ that Kenma raises his head again, staring at hard at him. Kuro’s eyes go wide with realization. “I thought it would have been more reassuring to know that I don’t want to—”

“How can you be so sure of what will happen?” Kenma snaps. He yanks his hand free and ignores the way Kuro’s expression falls.

“Well, I’m _me_ , so I know what I want or don’t want to do. And I know that if it comes down to a fight, you’ll be able to win.”

Oh. _Oh_. Kenma’s stomach churns. “So you _aren’t_ sure you won’t attack me, but you have enough faith in _my_ abilities to be able to put you down?” This makes Kenma feel impossibly worse about the entire situation. And Kuro is trying to _flirt_ with him right now?

“Yes,” Kuro replies with the air of someone _not getting it_. “You’ll be okay, Kenma.”

“Yes, I’ll be fine, because I’ll just have to kill you to save myself, right? That’s—” Kenma burrows into the pillow again. “…That’s really cruel, Kuro.”

“That’s just the worst case scenario! I’m sure everything will go fine.” Kenma can feel the warmth from Kuro’s body as he gets close, but he seems to hover nearby, unsure about whether or not to touch Kenma. Kenma puts his back to him and draws his knees up to his chest. “Human memories are wiped when someone becomes a demon,” Kuro says after a pause, sounding sad, making Kenma’s heart clench in his chest, “and you’re worried in case of a second reset after the contract ends. Right?”

“… _Now_ I am,” Kenma grumbles.

“Then what were you worried about?”

“ _You_!” he snaps without meaning to. Kuro is near enough that Kenma can feel the way he stills. “Yes, if we end up fighting I’ll probably win. But I—” He what? Kenma would laugh, in other circumstances, at how Kuro ended up winning this time; they’re having their Feeling talk, after all. “I don’t want to lose you, Kuro. I-i don’t want you to die, or forget about me, and this… Right now, I know what _this_ is.” He’s safe in the familiarity. (If there’s one thing Kozume Kenma hates, it’s the prospect of the unknown, be it people, events, or thoughts. Kenma is self-aware enough to admit this to himself.)

“I won’t leave you, Kenma,” Kuro says and he wraps his arms around him, pulling Kenma flush against his chest. “I really like you, you know. Even if you pretend like you’re not romancing Tetsurou in your game.”

“I just want the Completionist trophy,” Kenma mumbles.

“You already have it, and it’s unrelated to who you romance,” Kuro says with something that sounds suspiciously like a snicker lurking beneath his words.

“I don’t want to have to kill you. I just… I just want this.” Kenma isn’t articulate enough to put it properly into words; he wants this same level of comfort and safety and familiarity as now. He’s not a person who likes change, and he likes the idea of confronting the coming apocalypse alone even less. He’s not ready to confront the possibility of that.

Maybe that’s why Kuro keeps pushing him toward other people.

“Have I let you down yet?” Kuro asks and Kenma can hear the grin in his voice. Kenma doesn’t respond. “Thought not. Don’t worry, Kenma. I got you.”

Kenma, both wishing to avoid the heavy topic and lulled into drowsiness due to the warmth of the body wrapped around him, closes his eyes and lets his breathing even out. He pretends to be asleep with Kuro presses another kiss to the hair behind his ear. _I got you_ , Kenma thinks and hopes it’ll still be true in a month. He’s not sure he can face the idea of anything else.

His almost-nap is ruined by his phone going off. Kenma snuggles in tighter against Kuro, refusing to get out of bed to retrieve it, but his demon solves it with an inky tendril grabbing it. He dangles the phone in front of Kenma’s face. “Shouldn’t you be settled again?” Kenma grumpily demands.

“All of this back and forth is letting me practice. I’m plenty settled into a physical form, but what’s the fun in that if I can’t grow a tail or two or use Pokémon moves for you?” Just to prove his apparent dexterity, he unlocks Kenma’s phone, too, revealing yet another frantic message from Tadashi. Kuro rubs his cheek against Kenma’s hair again and asks, “When are we going to help them?”

“They keep changing what they want help with.”

“We promised to help them,” Kuro says, disapproving, and Kenma almost points out that they didn’t _promise_ anything. “And you’re sort of the resident demon expert in the city now.”

“I never wanted to be…”

“And I’m sure Tsukki never wanted to be part demon, but here we all are. Won’t you give the poor kids a break? I’ll give you a backrub.”

Kenma pauses, caught off guard by the sudden bribe, and considers it. It’s not as if he _wasn’t_ going to help them (he tells himself). “…Alright.” He takes the phone and reads over the all-caps message. Something about wisps and Tsukishima still being sick and _potions_ , of all things.

“And I’ll give you _two_ backrubs if you stop ignoring Bo and Akaashi,” Kuro proudly continues.

Kenma’s fingers pause in typing out his message. A new message from Tadashi lights up the screen, overtaking his half-written one. ‘ _OKAY PLZ DON’T HATE ME BUT I AM GOING TO COME OVER AND I WILL BRIBE YOU WITH COOKIES AND LOTS OF LUCK SO DON’T HAVE KUROO EAT TSUKKI PLZ_ ’

Wait— _come over_? “I’m not ignoring either Bokuto or Akaashi,” Kenma says quickly as he starts to type a new response. ‘ _did lev tell you where we are_ ’ “They’re back home,” Kenma adds, and he tells himself he is _not_ being defensive. “In another realm. I think we’re both going to stick in this one for awhile.”

“Yeah, okay. But I think we should let Tadashi and Tsukki come over. It’d be nice for you to talk to some— _a_ human. You can beat him at Mario Kart again,” Kuro presses. He pulls his arms back—Kenma already feels colder—and begins rubbing small but firm circles into the top of Kenma’s shoulders. Kenma isn’t sure when Kuro made the switch from food bribery to physical bribery, but he can’t say he’s complaining right now. “Having a grateful luck spirit wouldn’t be a bad thing, now would it?”

Kuro’s hands move lower, fingers splayed over his shoulder blades and thumbs pressing in on either side of his spine, and Kenma rolls a little to accommodate him. It’s embarrassing how well this is working. Hopefully Kuro doesn’t abuse this power. “…Fine,” Kenma hums, maybe groans, as Kuro finds a particularly tense knot of muscles. He digs his thumbs into it, just this side of painful, and Kenma _does_ groan in relief. He’s going to get Kuro a manual on backrubs. He’s going to turn him into the patron saint of backrubs. And this is all Kenma is going to do for the rest of his life, because sitting here and becoming putty in a demon’s hands is the Best Life Decision Ever.

Kenma hardly hears his phone go off again. Kuro’s hands go lower again, to his waist, and Kenma’s lying entirely on his stomach now. He sucks in a breath when Kuro pulls up his shirt to get it out of the way, but the skin contact is warmer and firmer and wonderful.

“And then we can talk over what to do with Lev and his newfound summoning plans?” Kuro asks, voice dropping low. The drowsiness is returning in full force. “We can bring him back into our plans for the apocalypse, right?”

Kenma had already been planning as much, so he hums an affirmative.

“And we’ll go visit Sugawara soon and say thank you for the blanket and ask him how Kiyoko is doing with her apocalypse plans?” Kuro whispers in his ear. He’s moved up to his shoulders again, kneading away the tension and knots like magic.

“Mm…”

“And you’ll stop falling asleep now?”

Kenma drifts off.

\--

Kiyoko nearly smiles at the big, round eyes that meet her when she carries the sigbin to her, slung over her shoulders. Yui waits until she drops it in front of her before touching it. “What _is_ this thing?” she asks as Kiyoko watches the ease with which she tears into the monster’s haunch.

“A sigbin. Suga caught it for me the other night.” He’d meant for her to sell it for parts; Kiyoko doesn’t need the money that badly right now. Yui, however, needs food that isn’t local spirits. Some part of Kiyoko is relieved when it turns out that the archangel can eat physical animals just as easily as magical ones, and she spreads her blanket on the soggy forest floor before sitting next to her.

They used to go on picnics out here.

This used to be one of Yui’s favorite spots—far enough from the city to feel alone, but within a half hour’s broom ride. Yui’s stubborn refusal to leave the area is not lost on Kiyoko now. But she cannot deny her even this nostalgia.

The forest clearing has been settled, as much as a wild animal would do so; there’s bark rubbed off of trees, most of the dead leaves are charred and tamped down to create an even floor, and Yui has created a sort of wall with some dead branches near her sleeping bag. Kiyoko wordlessly floats her basket of things over to set beside the other bins.

She’s an archangel living out in the woods. Kiyoko tries not to cry in dismay at the thought. She’s brought what she can for Yui, and Yui herself has asked for nothing outside of news, books, and food. She seems perfectly fine camping out in the cold, damp forest, and it pains Kiyoko to know that Yui may not tell her if it _was_ bothering her.

“Suga officially has a boyfriend,” Kiyoko says and Yui chokes and coughs on a mouthful of vampiric goat monster.

She thumps her chest, wings flaring behind her, then bursts out laughing. “R-Really? Is this the first person he’s dated since I died?” she breathlessly asks.

“Second.”

“Second person in nearly four years. Glad to see he’s still got it,” Yui chuckles. She wipes her chin and smears red across her skin. “Is the guy nice? What’s he like, what’s his name?”

Kiyoko tells Yui about her limited interactions with Daichi (mostly, she just tells her about all of the things Suga has gushed over). Gossiping about their friend’s love life is pleasingly normal. Ignoring Yui’s faintly glowing wings, and the coppery stench of blood, and the miserable weather, and about everything else about the situation, it’s a nice outing.

“Do you remember Oikawa Tooru?” Kiyoko asks once she’s exhausted her Suga Boyfriend Trivia.

“Are you kidding me? Most of the coven was madly in love with him.” Yui tosses a hoof between her hands, seemingly unaware that she’s doing it. Kiyoko looks away, both from the grisly sight and the fact that Yui hasn’t realized that he was the one she’d possessed.

 _Possessed_.

Kiyoko hasn’t come to terms with that; she hasn’t come to terms, not fully, that Yui is inarguably no longer human or anything approaching it.

“He stopped by suddenly and I was worried that he’d been able to glean something from me. But he’s been having nightmares lately. I gave him some baku juice.”

Yui breaks into a nearly blinding grin and leans forward eagerly. “Holy shit, _really_? When’s the last time you got someone with that?”

“Suga, in high school.”

“You have to tell me how it goes!”

“Exactly as advertised,” Kiyoko says primly, adjusting her glasses. She drops the formality and allows herself a small smile. “He definitely won’t be having nightmares again anytime soon.”

Yui dissolves once more into delighted laughter, clapping her bloody hands. Kiyoko’s smile grows at the sight. The less stress on Yui, the better, and if that means she hasn’t realized certain things, then Kiyoko won’t enlighten her.

\--

Asahi always waits until he thinks Yuu is asleep before slipping out. He’d done it even when he’d still been alive, although those times had been few and far between, usually just when he was stressed about a paper or when he and Suga agonized over rent. (In hindsight, they’d been perpetually worried about their college apartment, but whenever they’d really been strapped for cash, he’d shown up the next day tired, bruised, and telling them with a proud grin that he took care of it. Yuu spent a year and a half convinced Suga was some sort of mafia prince.)

After Asahi died, he did it more and more. And now, after their fight, despite the fact that Yuu is _over it_ (he’s not) and Asahi slunk back home and they’re totally going to Get Through This somehow, Asahi has yet to spend the night at home. …Yuu can’t actually blame him. It’s not the same and the frigid air between them can’t be fixed with forced grins and jokes about adopting a puppy.

They’re not jokes. He’s going to keep laughing about replacing Asahi with a puppy until it stops hurting.

Yuu leans against the cold windowsill and watches as Asahi wanders down the street. From that direction, he’s probably headed toward the park again. He’s been trying to befriend the nearby spirits to get information about that angel, and. And.

Yuu is _happy_ Asahi is finding something to do. He wishes he could find the same sort of distraction for himself. But the angel is the wrong direction; Kiyoko had _insisted_ she take care of the archangel herself. It’s not the first time she’s taken on a job herself—she’s far from helpless—but there’s been something off about her since she rescued Tadashi and Kenma from Ushijima.

Yuu had seen firsthand how the angel-powered Tooru had taken down the leopard god. Asahi had seen that, too. Why the fuck would he want to get _closer_ to that thing, especially if it’s even stronger now? He’s worried that Asahi is trying too hard to be helpful, but it’s not like Yuu can talk. He knows Kiyoko just wants to give him a break, but if he doesn’t go out and get his hands dirty, he’s going to crawl up a wall.

It’s not like Yuu could sleep tonight, anyway. It’s one of the bad nights. He thinks about calling up Ryuu, or maybe even Suga, but he doesn’t want to deal with sympathy right now. Ryuu’s pretty good about it, but he also doesn’t _get it_. And Suga acts like they’re both made of glass. He throws on some sweats, one of Asahi’s old hoodies, and his boots. He stomps out into the night and turns over what he’s going to say to Asahi in his brain.

 _Hey so I can’t sleep again and where the fuck are you going_. No, too confrontational. _Why are you so invested in tracking down that archangel it’s_ way _above our pay grade and don’t you trust Kiyoko to do it_. No, that’s even worse. … _I’m tired but I can’t sleep and I don’t want to be alone._ Too vulnerable. Nishinoya Yuu does not do vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to manipulate Asahi’s gentle, worried nature.

…He _knows_ it’s not manipulating to seek help. Ryuu’s helping him with that, too.

Asahi’s out of sight, but he wasn’t moving that fast. Yuu breaks into a jog, wishing he’d laced up his boots, breath puffing out into little clouds with every exhale. He doesn’t see Asahi when he turns the corner onto the next street, so he decides to just head to the park on his own.

When he makes it there, he finds it empty. Yuu plops himself down on a relatively clean bench to put his boots on properly, fingers already clumsy with the cold, and resolves to wait.

Yuu waits over an hour, steadily going numb and shivery, and Asahi doesn’t show up. He’s not sure whether to be annoyed with himself or with Asahi. It’s not like they made plans; it’s not like he’d actually done a proper job of following him. He’s usually so good at reading Asahi, too… Is that something else they’ve lost? Yuu knows, empirically, that he’s soon going to lose _everything_ of Asahi, but he hadn’t really wanted everything like this going at once, too.

It’s not fair. It’s _still_ not fair. (But it’s not his decision to make.)

Yuu realizes Asahi’s not coming, and he’s not going to sit outside in the middle of the night and continue to freeze his ass off for him. He tells himself that that’s not some sort of shitty metaphor as he hops back to his feet and begins to shuffle home. His limbs feel heavy and achey, half-frozen, and he horribly wonders if this is how Asahi or Suga feel sometimes. _Get some goddamned sleep_ , Yuu, he scolds himself.

He’s a block from his house when he hears the shouting. It’s probably a couple of drunks, but Yuu hasn’t lived in this city for this long to grow a sense of apathy now, so despite how his body protests, he takes a detour. It’s dark as shit outside and half the streetlights on the street are out, so he hears the strangeness before he sees anything; some of the shouts are decidedly inhuman sounding, growls and snarls.

He’s poorly dressed with nothing on him but his phone and a pocketknife. Yuu breaks into an uneven run, chest already burning from the icy air, but everything goes numb when he finally finds the source of the noise.

Asahi runs out through the nearest building, half sprinting and half flying, and something humanoid but with massive antlers leaps after him from a second-story window. The creature lands badly, skidding on ice and looking like its arm or paw might be injured. As soon as Yuu gets a proper look at it as it stops moving, it vanishes. Asahi catches sight of Yuu while crossing the street, and freezes in place, eyes huge.

“What the fuck is that?” Yuu demands shakily. He looks around, wondering where it’ll pop out from next, hand shaking around his little pocketknife.

“What are you doing out here?” Asahi cries and hurries over to him. “You need to go back home, this is—”

Yuu catches sight of the creature out of the corner of his eye. Definitely humanoid, or at least human enough to _glare_ at them both as it—he?—lunges at them with claws out and antlers lowered.

But as soon as Yuu whirls around to face their attacker, he vanishes again.

Three things happen at once: Yuu realizes that the monster asshole hasn’t been disappearing with the usual weird _pop_ sound that higher spirits usually come and go with; he’s bowled over by the _invisible_ monster and sent skidding across the street; another comes onto the scene with the weird _pop_ sound.

“Yuu!” Asahi scrambles over to him, hands hovering fretfully, eyes filled with pain at being unable to help him up. Yuu sits up on his own through sheer force of will; he does _not_ want Asahi worrying over him right now. (Well, not in this way.) He feels over his chest, and it doesn’t seem like any part of the invisible guy’s horns actually punctured anything, but he’s going to be feeling that tomorrow, he knows it.

“Alright, talk fast,” Yuu hisses while the intruder on the scene—a redhead with a half-black fox tail and matching ears—sizes up Mr. Invisible Antlers. If he squints, he can sort of make out the rough shape of him. “What is that and why was it trying to eat you?”

“I-I don’t know,” Asahi replies, “but more spirits have been approaching me lately since I’m, um. N-Not spending so much time with you and Suga.”

“So they think you’re easier pickings,” Yuu surmises grimly. Rude as fuck. Asahi doesn’t argue but instead glance over at the pair with another nervous wince.

Mr. Fox circles Mr. Invisible Antlers, floating maybe five or six feet off the ground, which means he’s definitely a higher spirit. But he doesn’t look any friendlier than the smudge Yuu can make out standing in the slush. Yuu has know idea who or what either of them are, and the smartest idea is probably to run. Yuu can call Ryuu or Suga and Asahi can lose them through buildings and walls.

“What’re you?” Mr. Fox asks at last, ears rotating forward in curiosity. “Besides strangely hard to see.”

“You’re interrupting, asshole,” Mr. Invisible Antlers snaps back. Yuu really hadn’t hoped he’d been intelligent enough to talk. It always rubs him the wrong way when he has to kill smart monsters.

“High or low spirit?”

Yuu feels a chill go down his spine at the question that has _nothing_ to do with the chill of the night. “Asahi, go. Through buildings and I’ll meet you at home.” Their place isn’t as warded as Suga’s or Kiyoko’s, but it’ll certainly slow down a couple of spirits.

“What about you?”

“I’m calling Suga,” Yuu says and slowly pulls out his phone. Suga’s on speed dial, but it’s not on silent, and he’s worried the sound or the light will attract their attention again. “Get going. _Now_.”

Asahi gives him his We Will Discuss This Later look. In return, Yuu gives him a wide grin.

“Get going before I eat _you_ ,” Mr. Invisible Antlers growls.

“But what _are_ yoooou,” Mr. Fox sings and floats closer, hanging upside-down in the air. “I’ve never seen something like you before. And I— _urk_!” Getting closer had been the wrong thing to do. He’s seized by the throat and Yuu only registers a blur of movement as Mr. Invisible Antlers slams him down against the concrete.

Yuu’s getting a little better at seeing him—the trick is to not look at him directly, which is made more difficult by the pitch black night because Yuu’s life sucks right now—but it’s honestly easier to just track the fox spirit’s movements instead. Asahi still hasn’t left, and Yuu doesn’t want to start running until he’s out of the picture. And he can’t elbow him to get him moving or anything because his life _absolutely_ sucks right now.

Despite getting in the first hit, the tables are quickly turned and Mr. Fox soon has the other pinned beneath him. But he doesn’t look as interested in eating him. Instead, he looks up at Asahi and Yuu, eyes bright even in the gloom. “Ah, a human ghost,” he says hoarsely, but happily.

“ _Go_!” Yuu snarls and shoves reflexively at Asahi.

The fox lunges at them. Yuu raises his knife, but he hardly seems to notice and he slams into both of them, claws out. Yuu can feel them digging into his shoulder, right over his tattoo. He rips his little knife out of the spirit, aiming higher—throat or eye—this time, but then they’re _all_ shoved up against the nearest concrete wall when a pair of antlers catches the fox in the back.

Asahi tries to phase out of the spirit’s grasp, but it doesn’t work, and he has that stupid _I won’t leave you_ look in his eye that Yuu absolutely does _not_ want to see right now. Despite the way his lungs are burning for more air, Yuu reaches up and shoves his pocketknife into the side of the fox’s neck. He hisses and releases Yuu, hand instead coming up to clamp down on his bleeding neck, and Yuu sinks down to the ground with a grateful lungful of air.

With a _crack_ , part of the antler digging directly into the fox’s spine falls off. The fox disappears with a _pop_ before it even clatters to the ground. Yuu stares at the spot where Asahi had just been— _it’s okay, he just went through the wall, he’ll pop back out in a moment_. Asahi does not reappear. Yuu can see Mr. Invisible Antlers—Antler—staring in shock down at his fallen one out of the corner of his eye.

The invisible guy groans, anguished, and runs his hands back through his brown hair. He doesn’t pick up his broken antler but instead melts into the darkness of the night with another mournful sound. Yuu is left alone with half an antler and no Asahi.

\--

Just when Kuro begins to worry about how much Kenma has been sleeping lately, the witch is jolted awake by a banging on the door.

They both stare at said door. There shouldn’t be anyone _knocking_ on it—the tengu just pop (literally) in, and Lev stands there and tries the door until he gets in or someone lets him in. Kuro gets out of bed first, and tries very hard not to smile at Kenma’s absolutely affronted expression. Maybe his spells have finally broken because of all of the traffic in and out?

Kuro cracks open the door and is frankly shocked to find Tadashi and Tsukishima standing there. Tadashi looks like he’s had too much coffee, vibrating on the spot, and Tsukishima looks like he’s about to fall asleep standing up, wearing what appears to be half of Tadashi's winter wardrobe. “…It’s almost two in the morning,” Kuro says. He hears Kenma behind him looking for more clothes to put on. “What the hell, guys.”

“We’ve been. All over town. Trying to follow a blanket,” Tsukishima grinds out, head bobbing. He yawns and rolls his shoulders back.

“I can’t sleep,” Tadashi says uselessly, because _wow_ that is certainly obvious. “And Tsukki ate a potion today, and I’m sorry for coming over unannounced but I really, _really_ need your help, and I brought you cookies!”

“Ooh, cookies,” Kuro coos and takes the proffered box. He steps aside, letting them in, since Kenma’s decent in an oversized hoodie and actual pants. The witch gives him a sour look for inviting them in, anyway. Kuro just offers him a cookie.

“I’m very sorry!” Tadashi says again with a stiff, deep bow.

Kenma continues giving Kuro an irritated look. He tries his best to ignore it, and after a moment, Kenma relents with a long, tired sigh. “…I guess the damage is done. But it’s still the middle of the night. Don’t you have school or something…?”

“ _Yes_ , Yamaguchi, _don’t you have school_ ,” Tsukishima grouses. Apparently he does. Tadashi flushes and pretends to ignore them while unwinding his scarf. “He’s been unable to sleep, too, so if you have some sort of witchy cure for insomnia, I’ll pay you in luck.”

“You’re the priority here,” Tadashi says firmly. He grabs Tsukishima’s hand—the contact holds, and Kuro raises an eyebrow—and rolls up his sleeve for him. Yep, that’s still a demon hand.

Kenma takes the box of cookies before Kuro can eat any more of them. He gives Kuro a long, pointed look, and Kuro nods; he’ll try to help. Even if they _did_ bring cookies. “Tadashi, I’ll do my best to help him, but I’d, um, feel more comfortable if we could talk somewhere else,” Kenma mumbles, looking just sleep-rumpled and shy enough to instantly get Tadashi nodding.

“Yes! Of course! Sorry, I didn’t mean to come over like this—I lost track of time, and we were—”

“Yamaguchi, shut up,” Tsukishima complains. Tadashi quiets with a reproachful look. “There’s nothing you don’t know that we haven’t sent you over text, I’m sure. If you could point us to the nearest diner, we can talk there.”

“You’ll just get sick again,” Tadashi mutters.

“We can figure something out,” Kenma says and shoos them out of his hotel room. Kuro grabs his phone for him on the way out, and an extra coat to throw on himself, letting Kenma walk on ahead with them.

He hears Tadashi begin to explain—again—the haphazard list of symptoms and worries, interspersed with Tsukishima’s grouchiness, and Kuro _does_ wonder what’s wrong with him. He’s going to turn into some sort of spirit chimera at this rate, and who knows what will happen then?

But as worried as he is for Tsukishima, his concern for Kenma outweighs that. One one hand, Kuro is very happy that he’s finally interacting with someone again. On the other hand, he gives Kenma about twenty minutes, tops, before he withdraws back into himself and tries to escape. And then he’ll avoid Tadashi again. Kuro hums and opens up Kenma’s phone, scrolling through the contacts until he reaches Suga’s, then he dials.

It takes five rings until he picks up with a, “Mmngh?”

Out of all of them, Kuro finds it most amusing that Suga has the most normal sleep schedule right now. “Sorry, Sugawara! I just need a favor—”

“Kuroo…?”

“Yes, it’s me, your favorite child. And your favorite demon child wants a favor, since _you_ had a hand in this.”

There’s a _thump_ and something that sounds suspiciously like a snore. But after a moment, Suga replies, “I didn’t do anything to you… What’s the problem?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi found our place, and guess what he was tracking,” Kuro says mildly. Suga makes a small noise of surprise. It’s not like Kuro suspected he had a hand in it—if he had, he’d be here with them, most likely—but it’s nice to confirm that there’s at least one innocent party involved. “I told you Kenma will help them, but not when they show up at two in the morning and Tadashi is a human bag of jitters.”

“…And you want me to pick them up,” Suga says. With another yawn, he asks, “You know I’m not their parent, right…? I’m not _anyone’s_.”

“Yes but you’re my favorite not-parent and you’re very nice and I’ll buy you a milkshake.”

“You’re seriously asking me to go out in the middle of winter, in the middle of the night, to escort two teenage boys home.”

“Yes. Please. I don’t think this is a problem Kenma can fix easily tonight, and the last thing I need is someone getting frustrated and snapping at Kenma. Then no one’s happy, least of all me.”

“You owe me,” Suga grumbles and hangs up.

Kuro slips Kenma’s phone back into his pocket and jogs up to keep up with them again. Kenma instantly attaches himself to his side, looking more alert and wary of Tsukishima’s presence, but Kuro wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders. There’s an all-night diner a couple of blocks from the hotel, and Kenma herds them there. They’re the only ones there aside from a man asleep in a corner booth.

Kenma orders a slice of apple pie, and raises an eyebrow when Kuro orders two chocolate milkshakes. Tsukishima tops him and orders _three_ strawberry ones. Tadashi doesn’t order anything and instead drums his fingers on the table until Kuro reaches over and stops him. It’d been making Kenma twitch.

“Take a deep breath, and tell me exactly what you’d like me to do,” Kenma says after the server disappears into the kitchen.

“I want you to fix him,” Tadashi says at once. He waves Tsukishima’s blackened, clawed hand at them again. With a scowl, the spirit grabs his hand back and shoves it underneath the table.

“Fix him _how_.”

“I’d like to not get sick every time I look at food,” Tsukishima says dryly. Kuro opens his mouth to ask why the hell he ordered three milkshakes then, but Kenma prods him in the leg to keep him quiet.

“And this hunger and sickness started after you got that,” Kenma says. Tadashi nods several times. The witch yawns, sets his chin in his hand, and gives them both a bored stare. “Demons are always corporeal beings. So now he’s almost always a corporeal being, and that means he’ll need to eat, sleep, and, um, in some sense, _live_ again.”

Tsukishima twitches at the word ‘live’. Tadashi’s mouth drops open to repeat it silently to himself.

“You shouldn’t be eating human food, at least not until your body figures out what it’s doing. So that’s why you’re sick,” Kenma continues. He presses his leg against Kuro’s; Kuro happily shares warmth with him, but isn’t sure what to read into the physicality. “Try to eat small amounts of human food every day, drink lots of water, but otherwise just eat spirits.”

Tsukishima pales.

“But he ate a potion today!” Tadashi exclaims, too loud. The server, with their food, gives them a strange look as she sets down their orders. Kenma ducks his head and tries not to look embarrassed. They all wait until the woman is gone again before Tadashi continues, in a thankfully quieter voice, “He ate my potion today and kept it down.”

“He wanted to eat the magic. Um, probably. That’s fine too. It’s just harder for you to get hold of,” Kenma mumbles. He pokes at his pie with a fork, not really eating any of it, and Kuro worries that he’s beginning to regret coming out here.

“But I’ve given him other potions and he threw that back up, too!” Tadashi says quickly. Kuro watches as Tsukishima contentedly slurps down about half of a strawberry milkshake in one go. Without looking at him, Tadashi grabs one of the others and steals it for himself. Tsukishima doesn’t appear fazed.

“Well… What potion did he drink today?” Kenma asks, ducking his head further. Tadashi leans forward further, desperately trying to keep his attention, and Kenma shrinks down further.

Kuro pulls out the spoon from his shake and pushes Tadashi back with it. “Relax, kid, we won’t let you two freak out further about this.”

“I didn’t mean to _not_ help you,” Kenma adds in a small voice.

“It was the spirit sight draught,” Tsukishima answers before Tadashi can speak up again. He’s almost done with his first shake. Kuro does not want to be around when he gets sick off of that later. (If only from all of the sugar.) “We were hoping you remembered how to make it, since we’re not sure how to get spirits or spiritual things for me to eat in the meantime.”

“You’re asking me… to make you a potion,” Kenma replies with wide eyes. Kuro snickers into his collar.

“You’re better off finding a ghost to munch on,” Kuro adds.

“…I don’t want to eat spirits,” Tsukishima admits.

“It’s not a common thing! You eat one, you’re fine for a month or two.”

“I don’t want to be a spirit-eating _snake_.”

“You eat meat, don’t you?” Kenma asks. He pokes at his pie again, not meeting their eyes, but he probably knows what sort of scrunched-up scowl Tsukishima is making.

“It’s not the same thing,” Tadashi replies. Kenma makes a noncommittal sound and frowns at his pie.

“…Ask Lev.”

“What about the potion?”

“Trust me, you don’t want Kenma making you any potions,” Kuro says. Kenma nudges his leg again, probably annoyed, but Kuro just grins. His grin brightens further when he sees Sugawara duck into the diner, looking like he just rolled out of bed. Kenma spots him and shoots Kuro a confused, nervous look, but Tadashi and Tsukishima don’t realize he’s there until he’s standing next to the table.

Kuro slides over a milkshake with a beam. Tadashi jumps and nearly tips his over. Suga crosses his arms, looking disapproving despite the messy hair and bags under his eyes, and asks, “Is _this_ what you wanted my book for today, Tadashi?”

“Is everyone going to join us?” Kenma hisses at Kuro.

“He’s picking up his kids.”

“Tsukishima, stop drinking those,” Suga orders. Tsukishima gives him a baleful look and drinks more. “You’re going to make yourself sick. And Tadashi, it’s a school night, why are you tracking down witches and demons on a school night?”

Tadashi shoots Kuro a half-scared, half-betrayed look. Kenma sinks down further against Kuro’s side, away from Sugawara, even if he’s not directly addressing him right now. “I-I couldn’t sleep, and, uh, I was worried about Tsukki eating that potion today…” Tadashi replies weakly. Tsukishima sips loudly at his milkshake again.

“Is the insomnia from that potion Kiyoko keeps giving you?” Suga asks.

“…No,” Tadashi lies. Badly.

“Kenma, can we discuss this tomorrow or the day after?” Like flipping a switch, Suga is now all sunny smile and soft voice. “Kuroo, we can discuss that favor I did for you then, too.”

Kenma gives Kuro a _what did you do_ squint and nods. “I-I guess we can…”

Sugawara reaches over and physically pulls the milkshake away from Tsukishima, then calls to the server to get some to-go things for them. Tadashi steals the rest of Tsukishima’s second milkshake and dumps it into his own glass, and Suga puts his untouched one into a foam to-go cup as well. Kuro boxes up Kenma’s pie for him, frowning at how little he ate of it.

“We didn’t need to be picked up,” Tsukishima complains as Suga herds them out the door. Kuro ends up paying for the food, because he’s nice and also because he’s fine letting Suga drag the boys away.

“What did you do with Sugawara?” Kenma asks with a tug on his coat.

“Uh, well, I sort of asked him to check on Akaashi for me—”

“They’re fine. And Bokuto too,” Kenma says, too quickly.

“I worry, that’s all,” Kuro replies. He puts his arm back around Kenma’s shoulders and steers him outside. They can discuss the tengu later, hopefully, but right now they need to part on good terms with their unexpected guests.

But going back outside, they’re confronted with another _unexpected_ guest. Kuro freezes on the spot when he sees the matagot.

“You,” Tsukishima says, lip curled, and steps in front of Tadashi.

“It must be my lucky night,” the matagot says with a toothy grin. He catches sight of Kuro over Tsukishima’s shoulder and takes a hesitant step backward. “Well, what a small world this is turning out to be.”

“Can we help you?” Suga asks. He steps between the boys and the matagot with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Kenma looks back and forth between the fox spirit and Kuro, frowning in confusion at the fear response, probably the only reason why he hasn’t bolted yet. Kuro _really really_ wants to run for it. But he’s caught between fight or flight, because the matagot is right by the other three, and Kuro absolutely knows he’d like to get his hands on Tsukishima. They don’t realize.

“What kind of spirit do you think you are by now?” the matagot asks politely, cocking his head to look around Sugawara. “You certainly smell like more of a luck spirit.”

“I think you should leave,” Suga coldly tells him. His hand moves toward the messenger bag resting on his hip.

With a leap, the matagot turns into a fox in the air, hopping over Suga’s head and straight at Tsukishima. The blond backpedals, knocking into Tadashi. Suga reaches out for them, and Kuro starts forward with claws sharpening into points—but Kenma yanks him back.

The matagot lands on Tsukishima’s shoulder just as Suga grabs onto the scruff of his neck. Kuro stumbles backward just as the other three of them disappear with a _pop_.

Kenma stares at the spot where they just were and slowly releases his grip on Kuro’s coat.

\--

Tadashi has zero idea of what just happened, and if he didn’t know what a Door was, he’d probably be convinced that he’s now dead. There’s a terrifying, oppressive moment of _nothing_ and the next thing he knows, they’re all falling and he feels cold and his vision is going dark and red.

Someone flings him away and there’s the smell of pine through all of the blood— _blood?_ —and then he’s crashing through branches. He doesn’t even register the pain at first, not until he’s hanging by his leg, almost upside-down, with prickly pine needles digging into the side of his face. It’s very hard to breathe, even though the air smells very nice out here, and Tadashi ends up coughing up something wet and warm.

 _Oh my god, I’m dying_ , he realizes. He can’t be assed to actually panic. Kei went through it and he turned out mostly alright.

Tadashi hears his name and raises his head. There’s a clearing nearby, trees thin enough to let in some weak moonlight, and he can see a bright spot of gold against the darkness of the night. He realizes it’s Kei, and he tries to sit up against the broken branches he was caught by, but wow moving is hard.

He pulls himself up by the branch holding up both of his legs. Upon closer inspection, he realizes that one of them is actually _through_ his leg. His pants are already soaked through with blood. Despite how hard it is to breathe, despite his darkening vision and the numbness of his body and how far away everything feels, it’s the sight of the blood that finally pulls panic out of him.

The gold Kei speck, in the clearing, drops something and vanishes. The something hits the ground with a _crack_ , a black and red speck against the white snow, and then the ground gives; the something sinks through the ice into the dark water below.

“ _Koushi_!” comes a high, feminine scream. There’s a flare of light from the opposite side of the clearing, and something outlined in white fire breaks through the trees, leaving flames behind it. All of the light is too confusing to follow, and Tadashi flops back against the other branch, hoping it’s not in him, too. Something about the figure rings familiar in a frightening way. But at least it’s staying over there.

Except there’s no one else around. He’s bleeding too much, and he can’t really breathe, and he doesn’t want to die. Does he? Kei is going through hell trying to be happy while dead. His mother made him promise to stay alive. Tadashi is pretty sure he doesn’t want to die.

He props himself up as far as he can again, tears stinging hot in his eyes against the cold air, and tries to call to the figure. He can’t hear himself over the distant sound of the burning trees. “He… help…” _Help me. I don’t want to die. Please, help me_. Every movement makes his ribs ache, and he feels cold all over aside from his blood-covered thigh, and holy shit, he’s actually dying. Will his ghost wake up while stuck in a tree? Will that angel just come over and eat him right away?

Angel.

 _That’s right. Angel_. That’s where he’d seen her before. The branch cracks dangerously beneath him, but with his last strength, Tadashi croaks out, “Y-Yui…!”

He’s not sure if it actually made any sound. He doesn’t get a second chance, because the branch breaks. He swings upside down, and something in his leg tears, and something else breaks, and Tadashi looks down just in time to see the ground rushing up to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( if you imagine tendou bringing all of the spirits to ushiwaka like a cat bringing toy mice to cheer up its sick owner then this chapter doesn't hurt quite so bad
> 
> 1Нет, вы не можете. = "No, you can't be." [ return ]  
> 2Quitte ce putain de boulot! = "Quit the fucking job!" [ return ]  
> 3Merde. = "Shit." [ return ]  
> 4Что? Нет, нет, у меня нет! = "What? No, no, I don't!" [ return ]  
> 5Ah, merde. = "Ah, shit." [ return ]  
> 6Мы уже говорили об этом. Мы ждали когда ты проснешься потому что никто из нас не знал что делать. = "We already talked about this. We were waiting for you to wake up because neither of us knew what to do." [ return ]  
> 7Я знаю ваш человеческий язык. = "I know your human language." [ return ]  
> 8Ah. Merde. = "Ah. Shit." [ return ]  
> 9Quién es Kiyoko… = "Who is Kiyoko…" [ return ]  
> 10Tú no eres Kiyoko. ¿Quién es Kiyoko? = "You're not Kiyoko. Who's Kiyoko?" [ return ]  
> 11Él no habla español. / ¡Y él es la causa de esto! Probablemente… ¿Y quién es esa tal Kiyoko que ha causado un problema de esta magnitud? Preguntale a Suga. = "He doesn’t speak Spanish. / And he’s the cause of this! Probably. …Who is Kiyoko to manage to cause this much of an upset? Ask Suga!" [ return ]  
> 12Ella tiene un poltergeist o algo así en su ático. Creo que trata de comer las cosas de su sobrino. = "She has a poltergeist or something in her attic. I think it’s trying to eat her nephew’s belongings." [ return ]  
> 13Mattsun no nos perdonará si le pedimos que sea nuestro traductor. / Makki tampoco lo haría. Necesitamos algo nuevo para unir mis memorias. ¿Quieres saber quién es Kiyoko, Iwa-chan? ¡Y puedes pedirle a Suga que se encargue del problema fantasmal por nosotros! = "Mattsun’s not going to forgive us if we ask him to be our translator. / Makki won’t, either. We need something new to jog my memories. Want to find out who Kiyoko is, Iwa-chan? And you can ask Suga to take care of this ghost problem for us!" [ return ]
> 
> i solemnly swear not to have this much foreign language bullshit in future chapters. thank you [mizu](http://mizuouji.tumblr.com/) for the spanish help!! and [shameimaruaya](http://shameimaruaya.tumblr.com/) for the french fix!! i also have [a tumblr](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/) so you may scream directly at my face ))


	19. Bokuto Koutarou Is Almost Too Good Of A Wingman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( this chapter would not have been possible (or up this soon) if it weren't for [hoshi](http://hoshikyuu.tumblr.com/), my beta and the brave soldier who dragged me through this like we were in the trenches. 
> 
> grab a long playlist (such as [the one i made for this](http://8tracks.com/skittidyne/the-bbac-finale-listening-monstrosity)) and buckle in, skittens. ))

Suga looks at his Door and sighs. He can’t move toward it (oh, he may have tried, and doesn’t want to think about the attempt or what it means that he tried); he’s weighed down by the runes encircling him, forbidden from it by the magic still tethering him to life. Mostly life. …Well, he’s kept from passing on, at any rate. Suga pulls his knees up to his chest and stares into the last memory he has: Tsukishima’s wide-eyed fear, making him look so young, as he reached out for him after the fox spirit had shoved him off.

 _So that’s what a matagot is_ , Suga idly thinks. He squeezes his eyes shut, unable to stand the glow of his own skin, and tries to summon enough energy to worry about what will happen to Tadashi and Tsukishima. Without some sort of kickstart, he’s going to be dead awhile before he can come back on his own, and that means they’re left alone. Fuck.

Kenma and Kuroo had been there; they knew they were in trouble. They came to their rescue the last time Ushijima appeared, so maybe…

What other choice does he have? Memories float by Suga and his fingers slowly go numb. It’s so very hard to care, even when he knows he should.

 

\--

 

The water hisses as it turns into steam upon contact. Yui hardly notices. She throws herself into the lake, burning through the ice that she can reach, flailing into the dark water beneath it. There’s a smear of red on the ice still floating along the hole that Suga had made.

The lake isn’t that large or deep, but it’s pitch black and her wings are not made for submersion. Yui kicks and flaps, trying to get downward, and her panic makes her glow brighter. Her back itches and she may be sprouting more wings, but it makes it easier to see at least, and finally she sees the glint of starlight hair beneath her. Yui keeps fighting until she wraps her arms around Suga.

She hauls him up out of the water, both of them steaming from the warm water in the cold night, and she wipes away her tears so she can properly see. The water on his face is a little reddish but she doesn’t see any obvious wounds. He’s wearing his old winter coat and a too-large button-up underneath, along with jeans and his old boots, and all of him is sopping wet, and Yui nearly laughs at how little he weighed when she’d picked him up.

Suga isn’t breathing. It’s hard to tell beneath his clothes, but she thinks he may have a broken arm or shoulder or _something_ , because it’s laying at a weird angle against her lap.

“Koushi,” Yui whimpers, leaning down over him and shielding them both with her wings. It’s warmer, lighter, in the cocoon she creates. “Koushi, please, K-Kiyoko said you _can’t_ die…”

She fumbles against his slick skin for his pulse. She doesn’t feel anything with her fingers on his neck, but maybe she doesn’t feel as much as an archangel? Her nose itches with the smell of blood and she wrinkles it, trying to ignore it while she tells herself that he’ll be okay. She hardly feels the temperature, so maybe her fingers are just a little numb right now—

 _Blood?_ Suga isn’t bleeding. Yui looks up sharply, scanning the firelit forest, hands tightening protectively on Suga. She finds another human figure across the clearing, sprawled at the base of a tree, blood staining the snow beneath it red. Yui recognizes the shaggy hair and freckles as belonging to the boy who’d tried to keep her from eating the bakeneko. One of Kiyoko’s people.

It nearly kills her, but Yui gently lays Suga down on the bank and leaves him.

 

\--

 

All Kei knows: Tadashi and Sugawara were just hurt, very badly, and separated from him, and the fox bastard is to blame. They fall into a heap onto hardwood floor, and Kei barely orients himself before digging his claws into the fox’s neck. He yowls but shifts into human form to break his grip. Kei scrambles after him, looking for blood, though his chest burns with some curious pressure, as if the air is too heavy. But adrenaline is a perfectly fine substitute for oxygen.

 _“Pull,”_ comes a voice from behind him and Kei is yanked backward by what feels like a hook midway down his spine. He thrashes, and manages to catch the fox guy under the chin with his shoe with a satisfying _thwack_ , but soon finds himself looking up into a very unamused glare. “What is this supposed to be?” Ushijima asks flatly.

Kei reaches up for him, too, with his claws. Ushijima catches his wrist, twists his arm behind his back, and then Kei is pressed face-first into the floor with a knee in his back. “Let me go,” he demands, glad his voice doesn’t shake.

“Tendou, what is this?” Ushijima asks again.

“Maybe a higher spirit?” the fox guy guesses. Ushijima makes a disgruntled sound and he quickly adds, “If nothing else, he makes for good bakeneko bait.”

 _They’re after Yaku?_ Kei doesn’t want to know where he falls on the spiritual spectrum, least of all right now, but he doesn’t want them to have any excuse to drag anyone else into this. “Except kidnapping people generally doesn’t mean others know where they are. Or are you planning on writing some sort of ransom note?” Kei snarks. He’s pressed further into the floor as answer— _floor._ Kei’s eyes widen and he concentrates on floating through the floor.

He sinks into the floorboards but in a flash, he’s yanked back up by the iron grip on his wrist. “Not good enough,” Ushijima growls.

 _Why can he touch ghosts?_ Kei irately wonders. So the easy options are out the window. Tendou would probably just catch him if he got too far, anyway. He pushes against Ushijima’s hold on him, surveying the place; it looks, honestly, like a haunted house. The wallpaper is peeling and stained in places, it’s poorly lit, the floorboards are warped and cracked, and there’s a noise upstairs that sounds like it may be a broken window. Are they still in the city? How far can fox spirits teleport?

Across the nearly-empty living room, he also finds a circle with another ghost inside it. Asahi. He and Kei exchange a surprised look, but the other spirit isn’t the trembling mass of nerves Kei had been expecting. He looks scared, yes, but also strangely determined. Maybe he’s aware that they may be the last line of defense.

Kei sincerely hopes he’s not a luck spirit right now.

 _The world could end within the hour._ That’s a sobering realization to make when just ten minutes ago he’d been trying not to fall asleep into a milkshake, and the pressure only serves to make Kei feel ill.

“Wanna make a bet before we try this thing?” Tendou asks conversationally. He floats over, carefully out of reach of Kei, and gives Ushijima a narrow-eyed smirk. “Whether or not blondie is more human or luck. Do you think your summoning thing will explode if he’s the wrong one?”

Kei hopes that he’s (still) not a luck spirit, but he sure as hell also wants himself to be lucky enough to make this entire operation explode in hellfire and brimstone if he’s about to get sacrificed.

“It would just fail,” Ushijima replies curtly. He hauls Kei up to his feet, grip not weakening in the least, and begins to march him over to the confinement circle. Kei makes an obligatory attempt at running again, but the witch catches him almost before he moves, and all that ends up happening is a _ding_ of his bell and a painful wrench in his shoulder.

Tendou’s eyes are on Kei, unblinking, calculating. Kei realizes what he’s thinking when he floats forward to reach for the leather collar around his throat. Kei jerks back, knocking against Ushijima’s chest, and the fox spirit snickers. “Let’s find out what this kid is at his core, Wakatoshi. I’ve been dying to know what’ll happen if we just—”

He reaches up and grabs the leather. It feels like Kei’s been shocked, but he can’t reel back any further, and instead he tries to kick by using Ushijima behind him as leverage. It doesn’t work, but it does get Tendou to tug on his collar, reminding him of how tightly it’s fastened. Kei tucks his chin hard against his throat, trying to keep him from undoing it, ignoring the ice-like feeling sliding down his spine.

Ushijima bats Tendou away. Kei lets out the breath he’d been holding. “Don’t try to turn him into something else when we need a luck spirit,” he snaps. Tendou obligingly floats back with another, lighter chuckle, but there’s still something in his gaze that Kei does _not_ like.

Kei isn’t sure he has it in him to continue baiting the fox. It could drive a wedge between them, perhaps, or perhaps it’d just get his bell collar yanked off. He’s not confident enough to believe he’d remain a luck spirit. He’d probably turn into a demon on the spot. Kei is fine passively hoping for their plan to go wrong should he be sacrificed; he is not brave or stupid enough to actively try to sacrifice himself.

He’s marched over to the circle. Kei feels anxiety constricting his throat, but what else can he do? Asahi, at least, looks strangely self-assured. _What can a ghost do?_ If Kei has learned nothing else in the past few months, it’s that human spirits are weak as hell and don’t have much going for them.

With a wave of his hand, the witch creates a dip in the nearly-invisible magic of the confinement circle. Kei isn’t sure _why_ , but he can read the movement perfectly—Asahi leaps at the opening, and Kei reaches out for him and yanks him toward them before Ushijima can either shove him into the circle or pull them both out.

 _Why does he think he can fight them both?!_ Kei, pushed forward with a snarl from Ushijima, stumbles into the confinement circle. Asahi is locked out of it as the circle goes back up. Tendou grins, wicked and feral, and advances on the ghost.

Human spirits can’t fight for shit, but Kei realizes that that’s not what Asahi was aiming for at all when he disappears into Ushijima.

Tendou falters with a quiet _“merde”_ and Kei bursts out laughing. He clutches his stomach, leaning against the back part of the circle for support, and makes a point of laughing harder when he sees Tendou’s irritated expression.  [1]

“I guess _someone_ underestimated human ghosts, huh?” Kei exclaims with cruel delight. (Nevermind that he did the same thing.) “Your creepy boss is sure going to be pissed that you were outsmarted by a teenager and a ghost!”

Tendou scowls, but he doesn’t look _quite_ as disappointed as Kei had been hoping. “Possession is a funny thing. Humans are very susceptible to it, aren’t they?” he asks. He circles Ushijima—who has gone stock still, probably fighting for dominance of his mind right then—and walks his fingers along the man’s broad shoulder. “ _Very_ susceptible to it.”

Kei gets the sinking feeling that Tendou knows something he doesn’t. Ushijima still doesn’t move, but blood slowly begins to drip out of his nose. But Asahi hasn’t reappeared either, so that’s a good sign, right? Kei doesn’t know much about the finer details of possession. But he keeps up his coy grin, pretending to cover it with his hand, and remarks, “I can see that. You think you’d want a sturdier partner, but maybe you have a thing for perpetual bleeding and frowning.”

The argument is broken up by a cell phone ringing, of all things.

The two blink at each other, startled but mainly just confused, and it takes a moment to realize that it sounds familiar. Like Tadashi’s ringtone. Like— _shit_ , he’s wearing Tadashi’s coat. Kei had been so tired when they’d left the apartment that he’d let Tadashi shove whatever clothes at him. Tendou seems to realize what’s going on just as Kei pulls the ringing phone out of his pocket, staring at it like it’s the holy grail. It’s an unknown number on the screen.

Tendou hits the circle with a _thunk._ “H-Hey now, you shouldn’t have that! Give me that!”

But a confinement circle made to keep a higher spirit in also keeps higher spirits _out_. The fox spirit looks desperately over his shoulder at the frozen Ushijima, who is precisely no help, and Kei doesn’t have to force his next grin. He answers the call with a cheery, “Hello?”

“Oi, jackass, kick out the ghost and let’s get back to the sacrificing before any more of their guys arrive!” Tendou snaps.

“Uh, Yamaguchi?” comes a male voice.

“No, this is Tsukishima—”

“Well, okay, I need Yama. I have a huge sort of favor to ask of you two, well of him, I need him to track someone down for me. Like, real fucking soon. It’s sort of an emergency.”

 _Ah, Nishinoya._  Kei recognizes the voice at last, and glances back at Ushijima’s body. Asahi hasn’t reappeared and the witch hasn’t woken back up. “I’m actually not with Yamaguchi right now,” Kei smoothly interrupts. “But I believe I know who you’re trying to find. And actually, I think we need _your_ help here.”

There’s silence on the other line for a moment, then Nishinoya quietly asks, “The fox bastard got you, too? What happened to Yamaguchi?”

Hopefully nothing. “I’m not sure where he ended up,” Kei says with as much calmness as he can muster. “I’m trapped in a confinement circle and Asahi is trying to possess Ushijima right now. I think we could use your help.”

“I guess this beats finder’s magic. Turn on your phone’s GPS, point me in your direction, and I’ll gladly be your cavalry. How many guns do you think this case needs?”

Ushijima’s eyes have gone solid black and he’s begun mouthing words that make Kei’s eyes sting. Kei clicks on the GPS app and replies, “A _lot._ ”

There’s a flash of raw magic and the phone in his hand dies with a crackle. The bulbs in the lights _pop_ , submerging the room into darkness, and Kei reflexively tries to use the dead phone as a flashlight. He drops it a moment later and rummages through the rest of the coat’s pockets, but he just comes up with change, a tube of chapstick, and Tadashi’s keys.

Something is making the hairs on the back of his neck rise and Kei stumbles backwards on sheer instinct. He doesn’t realize that the confinement circle has broken until his back hits the solid wall.

Fire crackles to life over Tendou’s palm and illuminates the room. Ushijima is curled up with his head between his knees, muttering under his breath, and Asahi is sitting beside him, looking particularly blank-faced. Tendou crouches beside the witch, tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder, and doesn’t seem to notice the figure standing behind all three of them.

Instinctual fear keeps Kei from looking at that other figure. He rubs his arms, trying desperately to stop the shivering, and he simultaneously wants to reach out to pull Asahi away from it and simply run like fuck and leave them all there. Whatever that _thing_ is, it’s not human or spirit, and it _shouldn’t be here._

Asahi recovers first. Slowly, he turns and looks up at the silhouette. Tendou seems to notice it at the same moment and leaps away with a yip. Both he and Asahi scramble away with terrified cries, and Ushijima remains seated there, shoulders shaking. The figure reaches down to touch the back of the witch’s neck, and Tendou’s fire goes out.

Kei is shoved bodily through the wall and falls on his ass in some sort of kitchen next to a severely distressed Asahi. “We need to go. _Now_ ,” he whispers through his trembling fingers.

“What the hell was that thing?!”

“Ushijima’s partially possessed by it—I think it’s a part of—we need to go!” Asahi drags Kei back to his feet, hardly looking at him, and Kei’s collar _dings_ again from the surprisingly rough treatment. Tendou _pops_ into the kitchen at the noise and the two jump through another wall, this time arriving in a cleared-out bedroom.

There’s a pile of stuff on the ripped up bed. Asahi doesn’t seem to pay any mind to it, instead shrinking away from a mirror as though it burned him, but Kei’s eyes rove over the items on the ruined mattress. These are not the meager belongings of a man on the run; these are spell ingredients. The _rest_ of the spell ingredients.

“Grab and go!” Kei orders and grabs the nearest things—a large cloth-covered cylindrical case and two vials of probably blood. Asahi jumps at his harsh tone, blinks down at the things on the bed, and grabs some sort of skin, a jar of something glittery, and something squishy in a sealed plastic baggy. Tendou bursts into the room with a snarl and they sink through the floor before grabbing anything else. Hopefully it’s enough to stall their plans because Kei is _not_ going back, especially with _that thing_ up there.

Tendou catches him as he literally steps foot outside. Hiding in various rooms is one thing, but Kei is dismayed to get a glimpse of a big yard and an empty street; not much to keep the fox off of him outside. Tendou lunges at him and Kei faceplants into the frozen grass, the things he’s carrying scattering across the yard. “ _Now_ let’s see you—”

Kei twists beneath him, grabs one of the glass vials, and smashes it against his face. Tendou shrieks, and the maybe-blood hisses and crackles upon contact with either his skin or the air, and Kei wriggles out from under him. Asahi is already out in the street and Kei shoos at him to get him moving again.

It hits him that it’s probably not a _good_ thing that Ushijima hasn’t reappeared out of the house when his last two ingredients are escaping with half of his other ingredients. But Kei can’t be assed to care when it means they’re home free for the moment, and the two spirits hightail it out of there without further pursuit.

 

\--

 

“Don’t be mad,” is the first thing out of Kenma’s mouth. “Please,” he adds in a quieter, weaker tone while Kuro gapes at him. He makes a tiny, aborted gesture, like he’s reaching up to tug on Kuro’s coat again, and instead ends up pulling his hands up into his overly long sleeves as he wraps his arms around himself.

Kuro isn’t sure what he should say, because on some level, he _is_ upset. But he’s not mad at Kenma, he _can’t_ be mad at Kenma, because he’d been just as terrified at the prospect of dying. He hates himself for it, but he’s _glad_ Kenma stopped him. He could still say he tried to help without the actual risk of death.

 _Say that to who?_ It’s only him and Kenma left on the cold, dark sidewalk.

“We wouldn’t survive another trip,” Kenma continues like it pains him, but Kuro isn’t saying anything. The witch shrinks further into himself, hunching his shoulders, staring at their snow boots. “It would’ve been a waste if we’d all died, so…”

“They’re lucky,” Kuro says. It sounds pathetically desperate even to his own ears. “Maybe they survived…?” A protection charm, or maybe some sort of ward, or—or _anything._ Sugawara is clever and seems prepared for magical disasters. Tadashi is horrifically lucky. Kuro presses at his chest, scratching in vain at the painful little pull on his sternum.

“Tsukishima likely did. …Maybe the other two,” Kenma reluctantly agrees. “Sugawara might’ve done something, I guess. But we don’t know where they went, and Tadashi is the only one with finder’s magic, so… So I don’t know, Kuro. But if we’d been taken, too, then no one could stop them.”

In other circumstances, Kuro would be _elated_ that Kenma wants to stop them as opposed to simply avoiding them. (Kuro files that away for later all the same.) But now, as he rubs at his chest, he makes the startling realization at what the feeling is, and everything else pales in comparison. Kenma is right in front of him, agitated but healthy, so that means the pull is from the other, lesser part of the contract: Sugawara.

“I know how we can find them,” Kuro exclaims and grabs Kenma’s sleeve-hidden hands. He begins pulling him back in the direction of the hotel, careful not to jostle him too much but unable to completely restrain his excitement. “We need your broom.”

The tugging feeling isn’t very strong, even compared to normal, and it takes a couple circles above their building before Kuro can figure out what direction to head in. He tries not to think about how far from the ground they are; he wraps himself firmly around Kenma and concentrates on the twin sensations of the witch shivering in his arms and trying to follow the weakening feeling in his ribs.

 _Why is it weakening?_ Kuro wonders worriedly. He’s certain they’re not getting further away.

Kuro sets his chin on Kenma’s shoulder, pressing their cold cheeks together, and reaches forward to cover his hands with his own. Kenma isn’t properly dressed for this weather, much less flying in it. He’s probably going to get sick all over again. But Kenma isn’t complaining right now—Kuro can’t be happy about that, because it either means Kenma’s still feeling guilty or he’s more concerned about the situation than he’s letting on.

They pass city limits and Kenma slows. Kuro moves his head to Kenma’s other shoulder, rubbing against his cheek in silent apology, and the witch asks, “Are you _sure_ they’re this way?”

“As sure as I can be.” Right now, the pull on his sternum is little more than a tickle, although it’s remained constant at that level. “How far out do you think they are?”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Kenma mumbles. If Kuro hadn’t been so close to him, his voice would’ve been lost in the wind. There are still houses below them, little pockets of almost-suburbs, but there are more and more trees out here, too. Trees and the occasional field or meadow, and that’s a _lot_ of space to track someone down by a half-assed contract in the middle of the night.

Kuro hopes Kenma isn’t thinking of giving up yet. He doesn’t want to argue, especially because he can _feel_ how cold Kenma is. He’s not sure whose side he’d take in that situation. A twinkling, orange light catches his eyes in the distance. “What’s that?” Kuro asks, pointing out across a dark expanse of trees. It’s brighter than the few houses with lights on, and there aren’t streetlights this far from the city, not to mention its warm color. “It almost looks like…”

“Fire,” Kenma realizes aloud and with that, they’re zipping towards it without further hesitation.

 

\--

 

“Asahi!” Yuu shouts. He covers his nose with his arm as best he can and keeps his other arm raised, .45 pointed into the thick haze of black smog that hangs in the empty house.

The fucking empty house.

“You sure this is where they were?” Ryuu asks, not lowering his gun, either. They both have handguns out, but Ryuu has his rifle slung across his back, and Saeko should be there in twenty minutes or so. Ryuu rubs at his eyelids with his thumb, smearing bits of dark residue against his skin, giving him smokey eyes that’d make anyone else jealous. “Seems like no one’s here, man…”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Yuu snaps with more heat than he intends. Ryuu gives him a Look, but Yuu turns from him and continues going through the house, ignoring how the smoke makes his lungs burn. This shit is probably ten kinds of poisonous, but this is where Asahi and Tsukishima had been, so what choice does he have? The antler hanging around his neck bangs against his chest with every sudden jump—and there’s plenty to jump at in the creepiest fucking house Yuu has ever had the displeasure of being in. (And he’s been in a _lot_ of creepy fucking haunted houses.)

“Yo, I found Tsukishima’s phone,” Ryuunosuke calls from down the hall. Coughing, he ducks out of the room, holding up a fried phone. He looks around for a moment, then scowls and snags the antler from off of Yuu’s neck. “Take that fucking thing off, it’s only us in here. There’re scorch marks in that room, and looks like some magic residue shit. Nasty shit, whatever it was, and I’m _definitely_ sure we shouldn’t be breathing this shit in. Probably giving us black magic lung or something right now.”

“Smells fine to me,” Yuu lies in a hoarse voice.

“That’s the smell of curses and black magic.”

Ignoring his spluttered protests, Ryuu grabs the back of Yuu’s collar and drags him back outside the house. The winter night air stings his lungs just as bad as the smoke did inside, but this is cleaner, and Yuu pretends like his eyes aren’t stinging, too. He and Ryuu cough and retch outside, making faces with their new soot-stained lips and teeth, and both of them have black tears smeared around the corners of their eyes. By the time Saeko finds them, Princess trotting up beside her, they’ve managed to scrub off as much of it as they can with the meager amounts of snow in the yard.

“You two look like soot sprites,” Saeko complains. She lets her shotgun dangle loosely from one hand and runs her other, cursed one, back through her bedhead. “ _Fuck_ , and fuck you two, I thought this was some sort of goddamned emergency!” The doberman beside her lays her ears back in disapproval.

“It was! Asahi and Tsukishima were here with Ushijima and the fox asshat! And—”

“And they’re all gone now,” Ryuu flatly cuts in. Yuu gives him a reproachful look. “Tsukishima’s phone is fried, there’s no blood inside, but there’s some foul fuckin’ magic in there. We’re probably lucky we didn’t get cursed, too.”

Saeko’s glare softens, just the smallest amount, and she grumbles for show as she unloads her shotgun. Ryuu rubs the back of his hand once more against his cheek, then follows suit and shoves the magazine in his pocket. Yuu doesn’t know what to say; it’s not like this had been a false alarm, but he feels too keyed up with nothing to show for it. Was this a waste of time? Surely there’s something in that stupid fucking house that they can use.

“Gonna scrub you two down,” Saeko growls as she makes a ‘get moving’ gesture. The two grown men follow the short blonde’s order and, like dogs with their tails tucked between their legs, they slink out of the frozen yard. “I _should_ make you sit in the back,” she adds as they pile into the backseat of her pickup. Princess takes the passenger seat with a disdainful look toward them both.

They’re silent all the way back to Saeko’s apartment—Yuu moodily so—and she locks them in the bathroom after hauling her dogs away from them. Thankfully, the black shit washes off without a problem, and Yuu catches the way Ryuunosuke looks particularly relieved at that. Yuu drops his empty pistol in the gun bin and leaves the magazine on the kitchen counter.

Saeko has already passed out face-first on the couch, Queenie somehow finding the space to snooze between her legs, and Princess sits on guard near her feet. Yuu leans against the other arm of the couch, arms folded tight across his chest, and when Ryuunosuke comes out of the bathroom looking significantly cleaner, he tosses him the antler on a string.

“So what exactly is that thing?”

Yuu turns it over in his hands. “Dunno. But it’s gonna be my invisibility charm so I can sneak up and shove your .22 up that fox’s ass.”

“Yeah, because messing around with _more_ unknown magic is a good idea right now,” Ryuu scoffs, words probably cutting more than he’d intended.

“Like that time you licked a love spirit to see if it’d make you better at oral?”

“Hey. I learned my lesson on that,” Ryuu replies quickly. “Just promise me you’ll ask someone about that invisible thing before you try chewing on that or something.”

“I’m not a dog,” Yuu mumbles and pulls it back over his head. He’s not completely magically unaware; he can tell that whatever makes it invisible isn’t active magic, but some part of the antler—and thus creature—itself. So, hey, magic invisible antler. That’s something good to come of tonight. It only took _losing Asahi_ to get it. _Tsukishima and Asahi had to have gotten out. There’s no ancient evils unleashed, so Ushijima failed. They’re safe_ , Yuu tells himself.

“…C’mon, man, I’ll take you home,” Ryuu says. Yuu leaves his gun there, only bothering to grab a new coat that isn’t covered in magical ash, and trudges out after him. “Can’t sleep?” Ryuu asks as they get back into Saeko’s truck. Being in a vehicle twice in one night is making him jittery, but it’s not like he distrusts either Tanaka sibling. Otherwise he’s sure he’d be walking home from that godforsaken house.

“Y’know, one of those nights,” Yuu replies vaguely, chin in hand, stubbornly staring out the window. He keeps his other hand tight around the seat belt. Ryuu grunts instead of answers and turns his attention back to the near-empty, sporadically-lit streets of the city. Guilt settles into the bottom of his stomach—for what, specifically, he doesn’t care to think about—and he can’t stand this silence between them. There’s already silence between him and everyone else, and Yuu can’t _stand_ to push Ryuu away, too. He clears his throat and asks, “So, did it?”

“Did what huh?” Ryuu asks, brow furrowed as he stares out the windshield.

“Did it make you better at oral?” Yuu asks.

Ryuunosuke snorts out an unexpected laugh, then grins, wide and white white against the dim inside of the car, and Yuu hopes they’re going to be alright. (He needs someone to be.)

 

\--

 

Kiyoko jolts awake as her shop’s alarm wards go off. She peels off a paper and a pair of feathers off her cheek, rubbing at her eyes, and takes a moment to realize that she’s fallen asleep at her desk. Again. It had been dreamless sleep, at least, but she isn’t sure how long it had been.

She hears someone stumbling around downstairs. Whoever they are, they’re not bothering to be very quiet. Kiyoko stands, careful to be silent herself, and freezes when she catches sight of the tiny blonde curled up on top of her bed. Hitoka has a small pile of books beside her, still clutching an open one, her yellow hair fanned out across the dark bedspread. _She didn’t go home? I shouldn’t have fallen asleep_ , Kiyoko thinks, peeved at herself, but the sight of the younger woman there with her only spurs on her panic. _Can’t let anything happen to her_.

Kiyoko grabs her glasses and tiptoes out the bedroom. She locks the door behind her, spelling it shut, just in case. She can still feel most of her perimeter wards, so that means this is no ordinary break-in; someone had to have come in without use of the doors or windows. Higher spirit, teleportation spell, hell, lately, she wouldn’t have thought twice about someone creating a goddamned realm door out of thin air. Too much weird magic lately.

There’s a light on downstairs, so whoever it is _really_ doesn’t care about getting caught. Kiyoko gathers magic in her palm and jumps the last couple of stairs into the hallway. The light isn’t her actual light, but doesn’t flicker like fire magic, and she realizes who it is just seconds before she steps into the main room.

Yui accidentally knocks over another stack of tupperware with a wing as she whirls around to face her. “Yui…? What are you _doing_ here?” Kiyoko asks. Not mad, but upset, and worried. _Hitoka is upstairs_ , she thinks fearfully. Hitoka is the last person she wants to find her with an archangel.

“I’m sorry for the mess but this is an emergency!” Yui says in a barely-hushed rush. Her wings—four of them, now, if the lower ones are about half the size of her main ones—flare with her agitation and she knocks a hanging basket off its hook. Yui hardly notices and continues, growing brighter with each word, “Koushi and—and that little one, the one with the freckles and the dark hair, they were dropped into the forest—I think it was some spirit that did it, and they’re both _dying_ , and I need help!”

It feels like all of Kiyoko’s blood freezes in her veins. “What?” she says numbly, then gathers herself. “I—Yui, I need you to go back to them. Do you remember any first aid? I’ll call for help and—” And _shit_ , Kenma stole both of her brooms. She _has_ a healer here, and she can’t even get to them.

“I can carry you there,” Yui offers with another little flap of her wings.

“No, I have—” a guest, a friend, a— _what are they_ “—someone upstairs and they’re a healer. I should take them with me, but I need a broom,” Kiyoko finishes helplessly. Flight potions aren’t fast travel, especially if they’re in Yui’s forest. There are spare brooms in coven houses, but it’s the middle of the night and Kiyoko doesn’t want a lot of extra questions until she can figure out what’s going on. No, she scolds herself, nearly scaring herself with how conditional her help is getting. _Suga and Tadashi are the priority._ “Yui, I need a broom. Could you get one for me? I’ll take responsibility for it later.”

Yui’s expression clearly screams ‘ _you want me to_ steal _a broom for you?!_ ’ but she doesn’t argue. She disappears with another flare of light and heat, and Kiyoko rubs at her eyes to clear the spots from her vision.

Kiyoko piles most of the knocked-over things back onto tables, then disappears back upstairs. She unlocks her bedroom, hopes it isn’t a migraine growing behind her eyes, and sits down beside Hitoka’s curled-up form. She’s been spending more and more time at the shop lately, both to help out—like Kiyoko wouldn’t notice—and borrow books for her research on curses. The one on Saeko has yet to spread, but who knows about the boy that Saeko tried to save…

She hears the wooden clatter of a broom in the hallway, followed by another flash of light. Yui is gone again, then. Kiyoko reaches out and brushes Hitoka’s bangs back from her forehead. “Hitoka. Hitoka, please, wake up. I need your help.” She shakes her gently, and the blonde stirs with a small (cute) sleepy sound.

Hitoka blinks up at her, cinnamon eyes hazy for a moment, until she seems to realize where she is. “O-Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I r-really _really_ just meant to finish the chapter, I swear, I didn’t mean to take your bed and now you probably have a stiff neck and I should’ve woken you so please forgive me!”

It’s sweet how she worries for others, but now isn’t the time to dwell. “Hitoka, it’s fine. Right now, I need your help with something else. There’s been an accident.”

 

\--

 

Kuro jumps off the broom early, landing in the mud by the bank, causing Kenma to wobble on his broom. He lands beside Kuro and the figure he’s crouched next to—Sugawara. It looks like he’s been dragged out of the pond, but Kenma doesn’t see anyone else nearby, even with the small fires to help light the clearing. Kenma had thought Yaku would be here, although in hindsight, that doesn’t make sense. _He wouldn’t know what’s going on yet_ , Kenma thinks and sets his broom down beside his demon.

“He’s not breathing,” Kuro says with an uncharacteristic shake in his voice. He pulls Suga halfway into his lap, pressing his ear against his chest, then the back of his hand against Suga’s mouth. “Kenma, h-he’s not breathing.”

“Move, please,” Kenma says as he drops to his knees beside them. _Who dragged him out? Where are the others?_ It’d make sense that the matagot isn’t here, but what about Tadashi and Tsukishima? Kenma puts his fingers against Suga’s neck, planning on explaining to Kuro how to actually check for a pulse, but there’s nothing. Quashing his alarm, Kenma grabs Suga’s hand and pushes up his sleeve, checking for a pulse in his wrist, too. Still nothing.

“He can’t be dead,” Kuro mumbles. He sounds confused.

 _Did he drown? Was it from the jump?_ Kenma barely knows the first thing about CPR, aside from seeing it performed in games and movies. His healing magic knowledge is limited to stopping bleeding and dulling pain. But Kenma can’t just sit there and watch as Kuro starts in on his five stages of grief. If Sugawara is dead, then he hasn’t been dead long, so he just needs his heart to be restarted, right? Kenma may not be a healer, but he knows how to create an electric charge.

Before Kenma can try to act as a magical defibrillator, two things interrupt him: Kuro jerks his head up with a mutter of “ _blood_ ” and an archangel appears on the scene.

Kuro jumps exactly like a startled cat, almost knocking into Kenma in the process, and the angel reels back with her own shriek of surprise. Kenma grabs Kuro by the collar of his shirt and hauls him backward, trying to get between them, his heart lodging itself square in his throat in the process. “Wh-What are you doing here?!” Yui exclaims with her hand pressed to her chest. She peers down at them, glow dimming, eyes dark with the contrast. “Wait, I know you. What are you doing to Koushi?!”

“He’s dead,” Kuro pipes up, peering over Kenma’s shoulder, “but can you help him?”

Yui fixes her gaze on the demon and Kenma is close enough he swears he can see her pupils dilate. Without time to write runes and with anxiety crawling up his throat, Kenma can’t even properly spell and instead just pulls magic into his hands. The draw on his magic is dizzying, but the way his palms crackle with raw magic makes even the archangel think twice.

“Why do you have a demon?” Yui asks. Her voice vibrates through them, rough and inhuman, and motes of light drip off of her hair and wings, sizzling on the grass below.

“We just need your help!” Kenma forces out. It comes out as a pitiable squeak. Kuro asked her for help, and she wants to eat him—Kenma doesn’t like their chances, but at least his broom is within reach. Even if that means leaving Sugawara.

“Suga’s dead, and we can’t fix dead, but maybe you can—” Kuro begins, but Kenma elbows him to shut him up, because the absolute last thing he needs is for him to keep drawing the archangel’s attention.

Yui’s eyes dip down to Suga and something softens in her expression again. Kenma still can’t catch his breath, and he feels on the verge of passing out, but at least she’s easy enough to focus on, what with being the only source of light in a black forest. Kuro presses against his back—no, Kenma practically _fell_ against him, but he keeps his arms raised, ready to use his magic.

“Koushi will be okay,” Yui says, voice thick but human-sounding, at least. (Kenma’s heart rate isn’t soothed.) “But wait! I need—hold on—” She vanishes with a sparkle but doesn’t go far, popping over to the other side of the clearing. She picks something up. Someone; Kenma can see it’s a body, but he can’t tell who. With a single flap of her wings, Yui bounds back over to them, cradling the person in her arms like they were made of glass.

When she lands, Kenma realizes that it’s Tadashi. He’s frighteningly ashy-faced and his pants—the parts which haven’t been burned away—are dyed with blood. Kuro stands up and reaches over Kenma, but Yui fixes him with another _look_ , and Kenma quickly intervenes. He helps her lower Tadashi to the ground. The teen’s chest is rising and falling, visibly but erratically, and there’s dried blood smeared across his face as well. Kenma can’t see from what.

“Help is on the way, but—he’s still alive. He won’t come back,” Yui says with a shrug of her shoulders and wings.

“Come back?” Kuro echoes as Kenma checks Tadashi over. A large wound on his thigh has been haphazardly seared shut, but from the look of it, he’s lost a _lot_ of blood, and Kenma can’t be certain of anything like internal bleeding or broken bones. Nothing’s sticking out of his skin, at least, but his clothes are all dark and wet with blood and melted snow, so it’s impossible to tell.

“Koushi’s deathless. I guess,” Yui says uncomfortably.

Kenma files that away for later. _It explains the necromancy_. But it raises so many more questions. Sugawara is dead—Kenma can’t help him. Maybe he _will_ come back, or maybe Yui can do something. But Tadashi is very human and very mortal and probably very close to death. This is something he can do, and he can’t afford indecision right now.

“I can take him to a hospital,” Kenma shakily tells her. “I-I have a broom, and I can carry a person back with me, and—” And he’s not dead yet. Yui’s eyes harden again but she doesn’t respond. Kenma doesn’t meet her eyes, but he frowns and adds, “Unless your help is going to get here very soon and can carry two people at once…”

She still doesn’t reply. Kuro helps Kenma orient Tadashi in front of him on the broom, Kenma’s arms wrapped firmly around him, which is difficult since the guy is gangly and noticeably bigger than Kenma. Honestly, if Kenma weren’t already dizzy from hyperventilating and magic overuse, he’d try to tie him down, too. God, he should _not_ be flying right now, not when his hands are shaking and he feels light-headed and half-blind with nerves.

“I can’t carry three people,” Kenma says with a pointed look at Kuro. The demon mistakes it, thinking he’s going to be left behind, and the wide-eyed terror he receives in return feels like a knife in Kenma’s heart. But just as quickly as it came, it’s gone again, replaced by steely understanding. Kenma shakes his head and weakly explains, “No, no, you’ll have to sit in my shadow, Kuro.” Even if Kenma trusted Yui—which he absolutely _does not_ —there’s no way in hell he’d leave Kuro outside the city with the corpse of someone he cared about.

There’s not a lot of shadow to utilize in the middle of the night while on a broom, however, and Kuro looks about as scared as before as he sinks into Kenma’s. The witch realizes that this is the first time Kuro has flown without clinging to him, and he hopes he gets the chance to apologize later. Right now, he hopes they just won’t fall out of the sky in a minute or two.

“Um,” Kenma says to Yui, because it’s obvious she _has_ helped to some degree, “th-thank you… I guess…” Kuro nudges his leg reproachfully. “I think the nearest hospital is Sacred Heart, so, uh, just tell Kiyoko that’s where I’m bringing him.”

Yui nods and sits beside Koushi again, carding her fingers through his hair. The broom wobbles beneath Kenma as they lift into the air and Kuro clamps down on whatever surface he can grip. Kenma grits his teeth, bears the pain, and tries to concentrate on not falling and dying.

Sugawara’s dead, Tadashi is dying, and Kenma can’t fly straight with his heart hammering in his ribs. He buries his face in Tadashi’s hood with a low whine, and he feels Kuro reach up his back to rub soothingly, but it doesn’t really help. They’re still missing Tsukishima, then, and that spells definite trouble.

 _Should I have left Sugawara there with her?_ Kenma wonders guiltily. _I never got to thank him for his help with Kuro_ … Kuro would be incredibly upset if Suga is actually dead. Kenma is also strangely sure he wouldn’t be alright with that. _But I can only carry one person_ , he reminds himself. He made his choice.

 

\--

 

In the early hours of the morning, Sawamura Daichi receives a call he’d hoped to never get.

 

\--

 

“I know you’re awake,” Yuu says, tilting his chair back further. Tadashi scrunches his eyes shut a little more, totally giving himself away. The beep-beep-beeping of the hospital room is making them both twitch, but oddly, that’s sort of reassuring, since Yuu hates hospitals and he’d only be here for a Very Good Reason. (Suga and Tadashi in said hospital definitely qualifies.) It’s nice to know that other people have baggage, too.

After a couple more futile moments, Tadashi cracks open an eye. Yuu drops the antler piece onto the table and lets his chair fall back to the floor with a _clack_. “What…?” Tadashi croaks. He swallows and tries again. “What happened…?”

“As far as we can tell, you are the luckiest kid on the planet. You survived a higher spirit grabbing you and jumping through the empty space, and then you got dropped onto a tree,” Yuu helpfully explains. Tadashi nods, slowly, eyes still a little squinty as he peers around the hospital room. Asahi sits perched in the other chair in the corner of the room, quiet but attentive. Tadashi’s eyes linger on him and Yuu isn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. “How many people are in the room?”

“Uhh… Three?” Tadashi mumbles, pointing to himself, Yuu, and then Asahi. He then stares at his fingers, as if counting them, too.

“When’s the last time you had that potion?” Yuu prompts.

Tadashi wrinkles his nose while trying to think, clearly still groggy, and Yuu can _see_ the moment when he realizes what’s happened. He looks back over at Asahi with a slightly more alert expression. Asahi gives him a tired, sad smile.

“Wh-Where’s Tsukki?”

“Uhh, maybe we should fill you in on those details later, kid. How about some water first? And maybe some food. You’ve been unconscious for, like, twelve hours and I dunno about you, but when I was a teenager I was basically starving if I went without food for five fuckin’ minutes!” Yuu even manages to grin at him.

Tadashi’s expression crumples. He looks exhausted, drawn, and is probably quite high on pain medication, but adding the big tears that spill out over his cheeks, and Yuu wants to shove his entire foot down his throat. Asahi floats over quickly, hands up in a placating gesture, and tells him, “He’s fine, he’s fine! Tsukishima is fine, I promise. He just said he doesn’t like hospitals, and he… hasn’t been to visit you yet.”

“He didn’t get eaten?” Tadashi asks wetly. Asahi nods, and his smile is a little stronger this time. Tadashi brings up an arm to cover his eyes as he lets out a weak little hiccup. “Th-Thank god…!”

Yuu’s bedside manner is shit, he knows that, but it’s still something to get upstaged by a ghost. Yuu doesn’t look at Asahi as he jumps out of the chair and mumbles, “Gonna go get him something to drink.” He can’t stand watching him cry, and he can’t stand how Asahi won’t talk about last night, either.

 _Something_ happened. Something that neither Asahi nor Tsukishima will talk about. They’re very vague on what happened with Ushijima, so that’s where Yuu’s money is; he’d seen the house. Some sort of bad shit went down.

But Asahi and Tsukishima are both fine, and Tadashi’s awake and will recover, and Suga is… Suga. He’ll come back again. It took a couple days the first time, so that’s probably it, but it feels _wrong_ to have him in a hospital room. And Yuu can’t stand to see Daichi slinking around like a lost kid. He’s in over his head, with magic and with Suga.

Yuu takes a detour to drag Daichi out of Suga’s room (again), just for that very reason. He needs fresh air and a not-dead boyfriend. Yuu’s sort of numbed to the shit they can all get into, but Daichi’s new to that, and it’s weird as hell viewing everything through a ‘normal’ lens again. He ducks into Suga’s room and finds Daichi curled up in the chair nearest the bed, snoring softly with his reading glasses halfway down his nose.

Nerd. Yuu won’t wake him, though. He leaves them in the eerily silent hospital room and aimlessly wanders. He shoots Kiyoko a text, ‘ _yama is awake & can see ghosts_’, and soon finds himself on the roof of the building. The weather is crisp and sunny, and the chill burns Yuu’s throat in a good way.

So they made it. Everyone’s alive, or _will_ be alive, or is alive as they can get, and they stopped the apocalypse. Good job, team.

None of it feels like it’s _over_. Asahi’s still going to pass on. Yuu has a feeling it’ll be sooner rather than later now, too, judging from the haunted look in his eyes. Tadashi will be okay, now with the added bonus of not needing any more of that potion, because he’s a lucky shit. Suga will come back, because he always comes back, and maybe he and Daichi will be able to make it. Surely it means something when a guy will wait beside your dead body for hours on end.

Yuu isn’t a smoker, but it’s times like this that he wishes he had a cigarette. Or something very, very alcoholic. Million percent proof.

He wonders what sort of tattoo idea Asahi will give him.

“Why am I not surprised,” a voice drawls and Yuu glances over his shoulder at one of the doctors Kiyoko had paid off. Yuu recognizes her, but he can’t place her name. Her brown hair is braided off to one side, and despite her cool look, she gives him a rather warm smile. “Nishinoya, right? Kiyoko mentioned that you didn’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think anyone in our crew _does_ like them. No offense,” Yuu replies and returns his attention to the city bustling below him. “You in her coven?”

“Nope, I’m unaffiliated. But I went to school with her.” The woman stands next to him, giving him space yet also a presence near enough to ground him. She pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her purse and offers one to him. Yuu chuckles at the timing and takes one. Maybe some of Tadashi’s luck rubbed off on him. “Ootaki Mako. And as a doctor I should tell you not to smoke,” she says with another smile.

“Look who’s talking,” Yuu shoots back and can’t help but grin back at her.

She lights her cigarette with a flame over her finger but lets it dangle from her lips without inhaling. “…How is Kiyoko? I don’t get to speak to her much these days, and she doesn’t really look all that great,” Mako says after a pause.

Oh boy, where to begin. “She’s been better,” Yuu replies vaguely. (In some part of his mind, he knows Asahi is going to scold him for smoking; he hasn’t had a cigarette since before their contract. He gave them up afterward. …But he supposes they aren’t contracted anymore, now are they?)

“That bad, huh?” Mako sighs and rubs at her forehead. She doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but tell her and her grey-haired friend to lay off the necromancy, alright? It’s not easy keeping stuff like this from other people.”

Yuu takes a long drag from his cigarette in lieu of answering. He’s not sure how much information to give—he’s never sure—but honestly, he himself hardly knows what’s going on with Kiyoko _or_ Suga these days. What a horrible realization.

“Yamaguchi has been awake on and off for about an hour, but I’m not sure how aware he’ll be,” Mako says with a sigh.

“Yeah, I saw him earlier. Pretending to sleep.”

“He seems rather skittish. Does he normally have glasses?”

The question catches him off guard. Yuu has never seen him with glasses, but who knows? “I don’t think so. Why?”

“I think he has some vision problems. Nothing major, but just wondering. And I think that other guy has some _staying alive_ problems. How long do you think he’ll be here…?” Mako gives him a sharp look out of the corner of her eye, and Yuu looks away, scratching his cheek. How long had the first time taken?

“No idea,” he replies. “I’ll ask Yamaguchi about the glasses thing, though.”

“Thanks.” She finishes her cigarette in silence and leaves him with a little wave. Yuu is left alone with half a cigarette and his thoughts.

 _No use putting it off_ , he thinks, finishes his smoke, and heads back inside.

 

\--

 

“Hey,” Keiji says quietly, sliding into the nest behind Koutarou. The screech owl tengu curls his shoulders, away from them, and Keiji tries not to feel hurt. But Koutarou doesn’t tell them to leave, so they take it as permission. Keiji wraps their wings around Koutarou’s waist, spooning him, and nuzzles into the back of his neck. “Talk to me?” they ask.

Koutarou makes a negative noise.

“Alright,” Keiji says and settles in. They’ve been more tired lately, trying to recuperate from too much time in the Inbetween, and now it feels like there is _time_ to relax, however briefly, so it’s easy to fall asleep next to him. Koutarou is warm and solid in their arms, a reassurance that he’s still here, no matter what his mood is like.

They’re not sure how long they’ve really slept, if at all, and they don’t wake up so much as slide gently back into consciousness by Koutarou rolling over. He’s careful to keep Keiji’s arms around him as he scoots downward until he can tuck his head in underneath Keiji’s chin. Koutarou sighs against his neck and Keiji rubs circles into his side with the blunt side of their claws. “I’m sorry,” Koutarou murmurs, barely audible.

“You don’t have to be,” Keiji replies instead of asking what for. (It’s not like they don’t have a suspicion.)

“You shouldn’t have had to have done everything,” Koutarou quietly maintains. He burrows in tighter against Keiji’s chest, seeking further comfort.

“I didn’t do everything. You kept Kuroo safe. And I kept _you_ safe. It can go both ways, Koutarou,” Keiji tells him.

“I’m older,” Koutarou mutters petulantly.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and you, should the need arise.”

“I _want_ to take care of you.” There’s a vulnerable undertone in his voice and Keiji stills their ministrations. There’s something strangely like hope in their chest. “Akaashi, I always want to take care of you. You’re awesome at magic, and I know you’re awesome at everything, but I still want to be the one to kick anyone’s ass if they look at you weird. Can I have that job?”

Keiji doesn’t bother telling him that he’s long since had that job, mostly having taken it by force quite a few years ago. “Alright, but don’t get excessive.”

Koutarou finally, _finally_ raises his head to meet their eyes. “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“The tongue thing?” Keiji asks back before they can stop themselves. Koutarou’s mouth drops open and he looks scandalized, and Keiji is caught between scrunching their nose in disgust and trying to restrain a chuckle. “You know that it means more than gratitude, right? Sugawara told me it generally expresses romantic affection.”

“I figured that out,” Koutarou says with a squint, as if it were obvious all along. That brings its own host of uncomfortable implications, however. “That’s why I’m asking if I can kiss you.”

“Oh.” Keiji isn’t quite sure what to make of the little seed of happiness that’s suddenly sprouted in their chest. This… isn’t at all how they’d imagined this going. Definitely not with human customs, but also not while Koutarou’s still so sad, and not after Keiji feels so strangely off-kilter with everything—

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Koutarou says and ducks his head again.

Keiji quickly takes his face in their claws, bringing him up to face them again, and presses their lips against his forehead in a quick peck.

“That’s not what I meant,” Koutarou deadpans. But a moment later, he’s grinning, showing all of his teeth and letting the smile crinkle the corners of his eyes. Keiji feels like their heart has stuttered out of time at the sight. “I’ll show you how it’s done later, ‘kay? Or maybe Kuroo can.”

Keiji isn’t sure _what_ to think of Kuroo right now—aside from a quiet sense of guilt at inadvertently upsetting him with their own irritation at the situation—but they’re also more certain than ever that Koutarou is very attached to the demon. They’re unsure of what to do with this information, however, and Keiji is unused to being unsure about things.

“I’m sure he’d be happy giving you more lessons,” Keiji mumbles as neutrally as they can manage. _I’m not jealous_ , they tell themselves. “But please, be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Kuroo would never hurt me.”

“Hurting can happen when no one intends to.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not a chick, Akaashi. I meant—well, look at how careful he is with Kenma!”

Kenma is a walking ball of nerves and trust issues and Keiji is certain quite a few of them are directly tied to Kuroo’s presence. But Kuroo is kind to him in a way that’s easy to overlook or mistake. Koutarou sighs against him, loud and heavy and maybe a little dramatic.

“You worry too much,” he adds as an afterthought.

“ _You_ were the one just so upset about being unable to do anything,” Keiji reminds him, tone gentle, but they’re still reassured when Koutarou’s head bobs up with another dramatic gasp.

“You’re supposed to be comforting me in my time of need!”

He’s definitely feeling better if he can already whine about it. Keiji pulls Koutarou back into their embrace and runs their claws through his hair; it works to placate him, as it always does. Koutarou melts against them with a pleased, purr-like hum. “Does this fit your criteria?” Keiji asks, amused.

“I could stand to have another hour or two of cuddling.”

“That could probably be arranged.” It’s nice to indulge from time to time, and they wouldn’t say no to another nap. It’s equally nice to be actually be able to sleep, and Keiji wonders if they’re able to now because of the fact that Koutarou is feeling better, or simply their proximity.

Before Keiji can drift off, however, Koutarou fidgets, a little too much. “Hey, Akaashi,” Koutarou whispers, like he’s totally unaware that Keij is trying to sleep with him. (Keiji tries very hard not to be annoyed.) “So you said I can be your protector—”

“You already were,” Keiji drowsily corrects.

“—and, like, I definitely want to keep you out of fighting in the future, because your feathers got totally ruined and I really liked them, y’know?” His increasingly rushed speech is punctuated with his claws running gently over Keiji’s magic-charred flight feathers, and ooh, Keiji could deal with that _forever_. They feel their cheeks warm from the intimacy of the gesture but they’d never dream of asking him to stop. “But can you promise me that you won’t do something like that again? Even if it worked?”

Keiji wants to go back to the warm, sleepy touching instead of back to this conversation. “I’ll try not to worry you in the future,” they mumble.

“If we’re going to be helping the humans—and Kuroo—then I don’t want you risking your life like that again. I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

 _If?_ Keiji is, unfortunately, pretty damn sure that they’ll be called upon for further aid with this apocalyptic mess in the other realm. They’re duty-bound to both Sugawara and Kuroo, and if Kenma still agrees to help them with their glamors, then Koutarou promised him the title, too. Keiji can’t dwell on the last statement, as much as they want to, and they raise their head to give the other tengu a solemn look. “Koutarou, I want you to promise me that you won’t risk your life with that human mess. Your duty is to your clan _first_ , tengu friends second.”

Koutarou’s gold eyes flick down to Keiji’s lips again, then he returns the look with his own serious expression. There is only one thing that comes before a tengu’s duty to their clan—their loved one or mate—and for a horrifying second, fear grips Keiji’s heart and _squeezes_. Koutarou could claim Kuroo as his mate, and then even if Keiji petitioned to drag him back to the realm in case of a human apocalypse, he’d have every right to stay there to fight and die.

Keiji is very unused to panic or panic responses. Why does Koutarou rouse such things in them? It’s unnerving and _terrifying_ and the thought of Koutarou sacrificing himself for Kuroo and those humans is suddenly a very real threat in Keiji’s mind. They _can’t_ let that happen. Would Koutarou really risk that for Kuroo and Kenma? It’s not that Keiji is particularly cold-hearted; Koutarou is simply too big-hearted in contrast.

Koutarou is not Keiji’s, but it’s difficult to imagine a life without him.

“Keiji,” Koutarou murmurs, cupping Keiji’s face and brushing his thumbs across their cheeks, “you worry too much. We can help the humans and come out alright. I just don’t want you doing anything like locking yourself in the Inbetween again—”

Right, because he’s still worried about _Keiji_. Keiji is not the trouble-magnet here. “Please, stay with me,” Keiji interrupts. They put their hands over Koutarou’s and lean into his touch, but they can’t bear to meet his surprised eyes.

“I wouldn’t leave you,” Koutarou says, too quickly, almost defensively. “Keiji, holy shit, I would _never_ leave you! You are my favorite person in every world ever! If anything, I’m worried about _you_ leaving _me_!”

“Then let’s stay together,” Keiji mumbles. This is happening all wrong—they’d wanted a proper gift, and to be motivated by the love in their heart rather than the fear, but it’s the only thing they can think of. Keiji nearly wishes it were jealousy motivating this. “Koutarou, would you be my mate?”

There’s only silence. Quiet long enough that Keiji begins to feel even guiltier, and they peek up at Koutarou to try to figure out how badly they’d messed up—but Koutarou’s face is scarlet and he looks ready to cry (or flee). He opens his mouth a couple times, mutely mouthing something Keiji can’t read, and instead of answering, he just leans forward and kisses Keiji full on the mouth. They’re startled, at first, because the gesture is foreign and warm and _wet_ , and oh good god Koutarou’s tongue is in their _mouth_ , how are they supposed to deal with something like this—

Koutarou pulls away again and Keiji is left feeling dazed and rather like they should have reciprocated, even if they’re not sure they ever want to repeat that. “How can I say yes? I haven’t even courted you properly!” Koutarou tells them, voice cracking in anguish.

And it’s incredibly rude and mean, but Keiji bursts out into silent laughter, shoulders shaking and fingers clamped over their mouth.

“Y-You don’t get to just propose to someone and then laugh at them!” Koutarou whines, voice going even higher, and he lets his head fall against Keiji’s shoulder. (Keiji pretends he can’t feel the wetness here.)

“I’m so sorry, but it’s j-just…!” Keiji has been fully aware of Koutarou _trying_ to court him for several years now. And Keiji has been completely open to these advances. Yet Koutarou never seemed to take anything further, always dancing around the issue and letting points completely fly over his head when Keiji tried to do the same. “I’m sorry, I-I’m very sorry, Koutarou,” Keiji snickers. As apology, they run their claws back through his hair again, trailing down to the back of his head, his neck, down his spine. Koutarou shivers and wriggles a little closer with another whine.

“I don’t know what you’re doing. Do you want to be together or not? I like you, Akaashi, I _really really_ like you, but you shouldn’t be laughing right now!” he insists.

“I _do_ want to be together with you!” Keiji quickly tells him. _I just wish it were for nobler reasons_. They card their fingers through his hair again, content to keep him in their arms, even if having his weight on the one beneath him is making the remains of Keiji’s flight feathers dig painfully into their arm. Oh well. “I’m sorry we haven’t done any of this traditionally. We can, if you’d like. I have something I can give you back at my place—”

“You gave me my First egg back,” Koutarou mumbles.

“Kuroo did that.”

“ _You_ hired him. This is what I was talking about! You do so much already, and I want you to want me to do some things sometimes, too, not just think you have to do it all. Does that make sense?”

“You’re one to talk,” Keiji informs him. Koutarou has the good grace not to argue. Keiji relents, guilt gnawing at them, “And you don’t have to give me any sort of answer now. I’m sorry to have sprung this on you—”

They’d take it all back, swallow down their ugly fear response, but Koutarou squeezes them tight and exclaims, “No! No, oh my god—I mean, _yes_! Akaashi, what part of _everything_ about what I just said makes you think I’d say no to your beautiful face?” To punctuate it, he cups Keiji’s face again—and ruins the tender-slash-guilt-ridden moment by smushing their cheeks.

Keiji still wants to take it all back, apologize for trying to tie Koutarou to them for such selfish reasons, to admit to their jealousy and fear and apprehension. But their resolve crumples with Koutarou’s happy grin, the happiest they’ve ever seen him, and Keiji feels a sickening mixture of their own joy and shame. _He would have said yes anyway_. The thought is bitter.

 

\--

 

“U-Um, Kiyoko, you need to—um, please go to sleep!” Hitoka forces out in little better than a firm squeak. But it’s enough to give Kiyoko pause, halfway to pulling on her coat. Hitoka unclenches her fists and makes sure she’s standing straight when she adds, “A-As your doctor. Uh, physician! No, I mean—healer, but I know what sort of state your body is in right now—w-well, not that I think about your body a lot! But! You need sleep!”

Kiyoko’s surprised expression relaxes and her eyes skate sideways in avoidance. “I will, Hitoka. But Nishinoya just told me that Suga has a heartbeat again, so I should—”

“He’s in a hospital this time!” Hitoka exclaims. Kiyoko starts again. “If he’s, ah, alive again… Well, he’ll be fine then, right? Mako is there, and I _know_ you’re worried about him, but please, take a break. You haven’t slept for two days.” Her strength peters off towards the end, and it comes out as sort of a sad plea. “Suga will be fine for a few more hours. I’ll go over and check on him myself.”

“…You shouldn’t have to be responsible for us,” Kiyoko murmurs, softly enough that Hitoka isn’t sure she was meant to hear it, and she shrugs off her coat. The fact that she’s not arguing further only concerns Hitoka further. “Please, text me when you get there and find out if there is anything new. And give Nishinoya the same speech you just gave me.”

“Roger!” Hitoka says with a salute. She hovers anxiously while Kiyoko slips off her shoes and heads back upstairs, fatigue heavy in her frame. Hitoka only releases the breath she’d been holding when she hears the bedroom door click closed.

She’d been so scared that Kiyoko would argue, but the fact that she had deferred almost immediately to Hitoka’s advice fills her with a warm sense of pride. She may not be through university yet, but she sure as hell knows a thing or two about healing already, and god, is _this_ what it feels like to have your part time patient actually _listen_ to you?

Hitoka grabs Kiyoko’s bag on her way out. She wishes she could have silenced Kiyoko’s phone, too, but she’s a grown woman who’s worried about her friend. …Not that Hitoka plans on sending that text when she gets there; at minimum, she wants her to have a couple hours sleep, but if she manages to sleep for longer, she won’t complain. (It’s still early, but to hell with sleep schedules.)

At the hospital, she’s glad to find that Mako is still on shift, although the witch gives her a _look_ as soon as she skitters off of the elevator. “Don’t tell me you’re here to exhaust yourself again,” she says lowly, then her gaze drops to Kiyoko’s worn duffel bag, held tight in her arms. “Kiyoko’s proxy? Even better, great.”

“I-I was told Sugawara, um, is…” Alive? Awake? Breathing?

“C’mon, this way,” Mako replies with a gesture. She sets the clipboard she’d been reading on the desk counter and leads Hitoka down the hallway to Sugawara’s room. Inside, the room is no longer coldly silent, and the beeping of his heart is finally present again, although noticeably slow. Yuu and Tadashi look up at their arrival, Tadashi in the chair and Yuu sprawled out across Suga’s legs, and the freckled boy gives a panicked squeak at the doctor’s presence.

“I-I was just—visiting!” he says quickly and grabs his crutch like a defense.

“None of them ever listen, do they?” Mako asks. Yuu gives her a toothy grin and Hitoka shakes her head. “Yamaguchi, back in your room after Yachi looks you over. Nishinoya, this isn’t your home, so stop living here. I’m going to stop covering for you if you break in after hours again.”

“That’s still a few hours away,” Yuu replies dismissively.

 _He’s been breaking in?_ Hitoka is worried but not actually surprised. Yuu seems to have taken Suga and Tadashi’s accident rather badly, and Hitoka knows he’s barely sleeping, too, if at all. _Why am I friends with a bunch of insomniac hunters?_ Oh, right, because she’s totally in love with their boss. “Alright,” Hitoka says and sets the duffel bag next to Suga and Yuu on the bed. “If you’re staying in this room, you’re getting a check-up!”

Tadashi moves to stand but Mako places a firm hand on his shoulder, pushing him back into the chair. “You heard the healer. Let me know if you need anything, Hitoka.”

Tadashi wait until she leaves to meekly ask, “Do you actually need me here…?”

“I’m not going to chase you out, and I’d like to look at your leg again, i-if that’s alright! But it’s up to you…” Wow, being a healer in a hospital came with a lot of power, who knew? The last time she’d been here, she’d been so preoccupied trying to keep him from reopening his wound as they moved him that she hadn’t thought about how people had _listened_ to her barked orders. Huh.

Yuu titters and declares “Whipped!” while Hitoka tries to move him off the bed so she can examine Sugawara first. He is, indeed, alive again: breathing slowly, but deeply, and his heart rate is even and strong. A little color has returned to his cheeks, but not much, but hey, it’s better than matching the crisp, white hospital sheets.

Hitoka half-wishes she had been here when he’d reanimated. She hopes Tadashi hadn’t been, but maybe if Yuu had, he’d tell her about it? She knows Kiyoko is keeping as much from her as possible about Suga’s condition, which is a little annoying when she’s trying to play doctor for him. The room smells more like antiseptic than magic, which she takes as a good sign. “Has he woken up at all?”

“No, not yet. Twitched a little when he first came back, but otherwise he’s out like a light. Figured we should let him sleep this off, huh?” Yuu replies casually, but Hitoka can hear the actual question in his voice.

From what Hitoka knows, the first time he’d come back from the dead, he’d woken up in the hospital morgue, alone. She has no way of knowing if he’d been unconscious like this beforehand, and if so, for how long. She doubts anyone knows. She sighs in frustration. If he’s sleeping but his renewed vitals are fine, then she doesn’t see why they should try to wake him early. His body is likely trying to repair itself, and she doesn’t want to ruin the process.

“Are you going to fix his arm?” Tadashi asks curiously.

Hitoka taps the cast with another frown. “Not until he wakes up. It will probably hurt a lot when he wakes up, but we can’t use too much healing magic until we’re sure his body will heal properly.”

“Let him sweat it out. He’s broken his arm before,” Yuu says with surprising heat.

“His shoulder, too,” Hitoka points out, but he waves that off, too.

“It’ll stop him from doing stupid shit!”

Hitoka chuckles nervously and doesn’t bother arguing with him. (Arguing with Nishinoya Yuu is never a good idea.) She’s sure Kiyoko would likely agree with him, but Hitoka can’t help but feel uneasy about the prospect of Sugawara laid up with an injury they’re not healing out of concern. True, he’s not supposed to be a hunter really, but Hitoka has to admit, he’s found himself in the middle of the action more often than not in the past couple months. They might need him in the future as well.

Not to mention that it’d just be _mean_.

“Is that why I’m still limping around?” Tadashi asks, likely only half a joke.

“You have to let your body heal at least part of your injury naturally,” Hitoka scolds in reply. “And it’s really hard work using healing magic!”

“If you were any good at it, you’d know,” Yuu deadpans.

Tadashi flushes and ducks his head. Hitoka takes one last look at the unconscious man in the bed before standing once more. “Come on, Tadashi, back to your room. I can at least look you over before I leave!” She helps him to his feet, supporting his weight despite his protests, and keeps a hand on his back while he adjusts his crutch.

Yuu doesn’t leave with them, and instead says something to who Hitoka assumes is the invisible Asahi in the room.

Tadashi’s limp isn’t that severe, thank god, but Hitoka still worries about his leg. She can read the discomfort on his face clear as day. His room isn’t far, but his breathing is uneven by the time she gently pushes him onto the bed. She has already pulled up his hospital gown to examine his thigh when his embarrassed whine and red face process with her.

“O-Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, oh gosh, I just wanted—” Hitoka takes a deep breath, hiding her own red face in the sheet beside Tadashi’s leg, and looks up at him with her firmest expression. “I’m a professional, Tadashi.”

“I know,” he replies meekly.

“Can I look at your leg?”

“Uh, yeah…”

Now the air is awkward between them, and Hitoka is uncomfortably aware of how high up on his thigh his injury is. He’s wearing blue and green plaid boxers, and she’s pretty sure she hadn’t wanted to know that. But his injury—that’s what she should be paying attention to! She gingerly peels back the bandages. _Some professional. Why did I even say I’m a professional?! I’m still in school!_ Is she breaking the law? Well, she’s a professional in the fact that she gets paid to fix people up, but she’s never taken any sort of oaths outside of the coven—

“Is it that bad?” Tadashi asks, breaking into her crashing and burning train of thought, and Hitoka becomes aware that she’s been staring at the stitches and half-dried blood on the inside of the bandages the entire time.

“No! It’s not, it’s fine, you’re going to be totally fine! You’re very fine!” Hitoka squeaks and immediately wants to facepalm. Embarrassed heat crawls up her neck and she tries to focus on actually examining it. It looks like his stitches are slightly strained by walking, but that’s to be expected (and why he should stay in bed), and otherwise, there’s no inflammation or infection.

Because she’s feeling well enough, Hitoka gathers magic into her fingertips and presses them softly against Tadashi’s skin. The healing magic is cool as it leaves her hand and flows into his thigh; Tadashi noticeably relaxes, loosening his grip on the sheets, and they share a relieved smile.

“You should still keep off that awhile longer, and make sure you rest plenty and drink lots. Otherwise, you should be good to go soon enough!” Hitoka says as she cuts off the magic. Her fingertips buzz, too warm, and she shakes out her hands behind her back while Tadashi quickly yanks his gown back down over his lap.

“The doctor mentioned maybe discharging me in a day or two,” he mumbles, glancing sideways at her.

Hitoka shrugs. “I’m not sure, Tadashi. You lost a lot of blood, and you nearly had frostbite. I’m mostly good with lacerations and easing pain and things like headaches or migraines…” Basically, everything she’s already practiced with Kiyoko and her other employees. Hitoka has had a _lot_ of practice with treating migraines lately with the psychic, but she’s had her fair share of other horrors: poisoning and gunshot wounds and too many cases of setting bones.

How is she only twenty-one?

She bids him goodbye with a strained smile. She ducks into Suga’s room again on her way out and tells Yuu to get home to get some sleep himself (and, like usual, she has no idea whether or not to address Asahi). The man waves her off with halfhearted agreements and Hitoka is too tired herself to stand there and argue with him for an hour.

“Could you help me move Suga really quick, please? I’d, u-um, like to check over his ribs before I leave,” Hitoka mumbles, the lie feeling heavy and awkward on her tongue, but Yuu comes over to help without noticing. Being so short, he literally has to get a leg up on the hospital bed to have enough leverage to help move Suga, and Hitoka reaches into Kiyoko’s bag once he’s on it.

“Where did you—” he begins and his eyes widen when he registers the torn paper packet in her hands.

“I’msosorrypleasedon’thateme!” Hitoka squeals and blows the sleep soot into his face. Yuu faceplants onto Suga’s chest, probably not the best for him. She wants to cry; she’s not a very good doctor, is she? But he needed the sleep, and Kiyoko told her to make sure he got it…

Hitoka arranges the two men as best she can, aware that Asahi is likely staring at her all the while and judging her so badly and what if he decides to haunt her and turns into a poltergeist and then they have to exorcise him—

But Yuu’s phone floats up into the air beside her (she may have given a little scream) and it says ‘ _thanks_ ’ on the screen.

“…I hope he gets some good sleep,” Hitoka says with an awkward fidget. At least both Yuu and Sugawara fit on the bed, Yuu tucked into Suga’s side and using his uninjured shoulder as a pillow, and Suga’s heart rate and breathing are still sleep-even. “U-Um, bye, Asahi. Watch over them, please.”

No answer. Of course.

On her way out, she gives Mako a sheepish grin and intends to avoid the woman entirely—but at the elevator, she pivots on her heel and marches straight back to the help desk. Hitoka’s specialties are lacerations and headaches, and she’s getting better with burns, but Mako is an _actual_ doctor. And Hitoka has more to deal with than checking up on Suga, Yuu, and Tadashi and making sure Kiyoko sleeps from time to time.

“What do you know about curses?” Hitoka asks.

 

\--

 

Kuro wants to visit Sugawara, Kenma knows. He’s asked a handful of times. Kenma himself wouldn’t mind visiting Tadashi and checking on him.

But.

“ _Koushi is deathless_ ,” the archangel had told them. The thought of that much active necromancy, hidden beneath his nose, makes Kenma’s skin crawl. He doesn’t want Kuro anywhere _near_ Sugawara when (if?) he reanimates. Kenma also doesn’t want Kuro anywhere near that archangel again. Yui had called Suga by his given name twice now; she knows him, and even if she’s laying low, who knows if they could run into her while near Sugawara in the future?

So no, until Kenma is absolutely certain that Sugawara is safe to be around, he’s not risking Kuro.

But that’s so, so difficult to articulate, especially to a worried demon.

Kenma hadn’t anticipated having to try to explain himself to worried tengu, too.

“What do you _mean_ he’s dead?!” Bokuto exclaims, clinging to Kuro with a concerning amount of claw. Kuro doesn’t seem to mind—in fact, he seems to be enjoying the proximity with his own arms wrapped tight around Bokuto’s waist—and he mimics Bokuto’s shocked and appalled expression.

“It was that matagot—” Kenma begins but is cut off by a _growl_ from Bokuto. (Even Kuro draws back to raise his eyebrow at him.) “He’ll get better, probably!” Kenma adds, voice raised and getting a little flustered by Bokuto’s admittedly strange reaction.

“Akaashi just went to see him!” Bokuto cries in dismay.

“Why is Akaashi seeing Sugawara?”

“Well, he’s in the hospital, at least—we could go visit together!” Kuro says, never one to miss an opportunity. Kenma shoots him an annoyed look, especially once Bokuto brightens again and nods along fervently.

“I don’t want you near him,” Kenma forces out. “He could be dangerous—”

Wrong thing to say. “ _Akaashi_ is there!”

Kenma backpedals, “No, no, for Kuro—” but Bokuto picks up Kuro with one arm, propped against his waist like a parent carrying a child, and reaches out for Kenma with the other. Kuro chirps in interested surprise, putting his hands on Bokuto’s shoulders for stability, and he looks at Kenma as if asking permission to be picked up and hauled off.

Kenma skitters back, both from getting manhandled and from the prospect of visiting that hospital, and for a brief moment, he wonders about mentioning the archangel to the tengu. They had to have heard of her by now, right? Surely not any of the specifics.

Bokuto gives Kenma a small, apologetic smile and wraps his other arm around Kuro’s legs. He shifts him until the demon is more or less sitting in his arms, one leg on either side of his waist, and Kenma feels a weird little pang of jealousy at the bright Holy Shit Are You Seeing This Great Thing grin that Kuro is sporting. “Which hospital are they at? Why is a dead person in a hospital, anyway?” Bokuto asks and starts carrying Kuro toward the door.

Kenma sighs, very heavily, and grabs their winter coats. “He’ll probably come back…”

Kuro’s head makes a _thonk_ sound when he knocks it against the top of the door frame. Bokuto looks up at him, blinking big, gold eyes, and says, “Oops.”

“Is this why you don’t like to be carried?” Kuro asks with a watery glare.

“You wouldn’t hit my head on a door frame,” Kenma replies and locks the door behind him. Bokuto takes Kuro’s coat and drapes it across the demon’s shoulders for him, smiling all the while, and Kenma watches them carefully. Bokuto certainly doesn’t seem to want to set him down.

“So why were you in such a hurry to talk to Sugawara?” Kuro asks, like he’s aware of Kenma’s desire for more information. Hell, he probably is.

“Akaashi wanted to talk with him—probably tell him the good news! Oh, wait, that’s why I dropped by—holy shit, you guys, I kissed Akaashi!”

“Bo, _we_ kiss all the time.”

Bokuto _twirls_ Kuro with an answering laugh. Kenma watches, sour-faced, and alright _he’s fucking jealous_ , he just hasn’t decided of who yet. He envies their openness. All Kenma can seem to do lately is dread—dread the future, dread what will happen to Kuro, dread Yui and Kiyoko and the matagot and the coming end of days. He hasn’t even enjoyed playing any of his games for weeks now; they’re just something to do to pass the time when his hands get too shaky to work with more angelic magic.

And here they are, so happy, so effortlessly. Together.

Bokuto accidentally hits Kuro’s head on the door out of the hotel, too, and that prompts Kuro to slither out of his grasp and rise back up out of Kenma’s shadow. Bokuto stares at him for a long moment, longer than it takes for Kuro to settle again and sling an arm around Kenma’s shoulders with a smirk, then the tengu makes a thoughtful sound.

“So Akaashi asked me to be their mate,” Bokuto says, without any of the cheer and excitement that Kenma would otherwise expect out of such a declaration from him.

Kenma peeks up at Kuro out of the corner of his eye. He catches the tail end of a beat of surprise, but Kenma isn’t sure if there was anything hurt in it before it disappears in favor of a delighted grin. (His teeth are still too sharp to be human. Kenma worries at how less and less settled he seems.) “Wow, congrats, Bo! I’m happy for you both! That’s… like marriage, right?”

“You were happy for him without knowing what it was?” Kenma asks archly.

“Can’t I be just happy for a guy?” Kuro returns.

“You’re fine with it?” Bokuto asks, and he sounds strangely surprised. He lets out a loud, relieved laugh and runs both hands back through his hair.

Kuro and Kenma cock their heads in unison. “Why wouldn’t we be?” Kenma asks, wary again.

“I thought Kuro liked me,” Bokuto replies. Both he and Kenma look up at the demon, expectant.

Kuro’s cheeks darken, but otherwise he remains with his head tilted and clueless expression firmly in place. “Of course I do?”

Oh, Kenma does not have the willpower to wait for this conversation between two nonhumans to take its natural course. He also doesn’t want to witness it, but he won’t just leave them there. “He means romantically, right?” Kenma asks, and Bokuto nods. Kenma does his best not to let the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach show on his face. “He thought you’d be jealous that he’s with Akaashi now.”

Bokuto gives him a look that Kenma reads (and wishes he didn’t) as ‘ _I was worried about you too_ ’. The witch pretends not to notice, because _nope_ , he does not have time for that right now. Or in the near future.

“Oh!” Kuro glances between them, chewing on his lip, then settles on a crooked smirk. He throws his arm back around Kenma’s shoulders and tugs him against his side. “I’m happy for you both! Besides, I have Kenma for all the romantic attraction I could ever want.”

Kenma _knows_ he’s showing off for Bokuto’s sake, but Kuro does _not_ need to lean down and nuzzle against Kenma’s hair. His face burns and he halfheartedly pushes Kuro’s face away. Bokuto breaks into another grin, then ushers them back into a more hurried pace toward the hospital.

Kenma wonders if either of them notice the looks they send each other when their backs are turned.

(Kenma also wonders why he cares.)

 

\--

 

“What do you mean he’s _dead_?” Akaashi asks flatly.

Tooru flaps his hand and looks back toward the bedroom with a cringe. “He… _does_ that sometimes. Although I guess he’s already got a pulse again, so he should be waking up soon. We think.”

“Humans don’t wake up from death. Do you mean he’s a spirit?”

“No, he’s human, and he’ll be up and walking again soon,” Tooru replies.

“Is he a zombie?”

Tooru’s expression hardens. “No, he’s not. And don’t call him that, either.”

Akaashi looks down at their claws, eyes narrowed, but mumbles, “I apologize. I was unaware there were extenuating circumstances to Sugawara’s… existence.”

 _That’s one way to phrase it_ , Tooru supposes. “I can tell you which hospital he’s staying at, but you’re going to have to get your glamor under control before you go out again,” he tells them, and Akaashi’s hands clamp down on their pointed ears while their face reddens. No one should look that pretty while looking guilty enough to have just murdered someone.

“I’m working on getting a new one,” Akaashi mutters with another telling fidget. They have admirable control over their mind, but their physical agitation would be obvious to the blind.

Tooru is a little skittish about the idea of trying to delve into that, however. The main reason being who is out of sight right now, but probably won’t be for long. “May want to invest in that sooner rather than later. I’ve never seen a tengu so anxious!” he says sunnily. Akaashi gives him a flat look.

“You’ve barely seen tengu at all,” they reply.

“I know, and I’m already a tengu friend. How about that. And from one friend to another, I just want to make sure you don’t cause some sort of incident with the human populace.”

“You’re doing it again,” Akaashi says with a flatter, narrower squint. Tooru tilts his head, keeping on his cheery, innocent smile, widening his eyes just a tad to give off the perfect air of polite curiosity. “You’re trying to piss me off to get rid of me. Why? Is that skinwalker still here with you?”

Tooru’s expression freezes, rigid for a beat too long, and Akaashi’s mouth curls into a smirk. “That’s none of your business. _You_ came here to _me_ ,” the psychic reminds them.

“I thought friends like to interfere with each other’s business,” Akaashi replies and now _they’re_ the ones with the too-cute, too-innocent batting of their eyes. Tooru hasn’t interacted with them quite enough to figure out what they’re like when they’re _not_ annoyed or distracted, so the snark comes as a bit of a surprise, and not a welcome one.

“Iwaizumi returned your egg,” Tooru says levelly.

“And he’s still a danger. I have no further quarrel with him, provided he continues to stay out of tengu space, but I am honor-bound to warn you against spending further time with him,” Akaashi tells him, just as serious. “Since you are, regrettably, a tengu friend, and I don’t want to see you get into more trouble.”

Before Tooru can address the surprisingly sincere-sounding comment, Iwaizumi wanders into the living room to investigate the guest.

Both he and Akaashi freeze at the sight of each other. Iwaizumi’s eyes dart off to the side, and his thought of _can I make it back to a skin_ comes across loud and clear with panic amplifying his thoughts. Tooru isn’t sure to give him away to tell him to stop; he can’t read Akaashi at all, and he is suddenly terrified that he’s about to have a fight on his hands.

“Thank you,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. (Tooru may jump at the sudden noise.) “For my pelt back. I know you could’ve burned it.”

“Thank you for returning the egg,” Akaashi replies in kind. The tension in their frame melts away and Iwaizumi pointedly watches as their claws fade back into proper human fingers. Akaashi’s ears are still a little pointed and there are some feathers stuck in their curly hair, but it’s a marked improvement, and Iwaizumi steps up beside Tooru only after Akaashi is more at ease.

Admittedly, this isn’t quite what Tooru had expected when he envisioned Tengu Reuniting With Thief. But that’s good.

“You really shouldn’t be consorting with the human psychic, however,” Akaashi adds.

Tooru facepalms. “Human psychic? I don’t even get a name? How—”

“Forgive me if I don’t take life advice from the half-rotted tengu,” Iwaizumi coldly interrupts.

Akaashi bristles, teeth bared, and Tooru hurriedly intervenes. “Iwa-chan, that’s rude, even for you!”

“They smell worse than Suga!” he protests.

“At least I cared enough to do something! You’re just using Oikawa because you’re too scared to face what you’ve done!” Akaashi snaps back. They lean back, posture stiff once more, nose wrinkled enough to still show a sliver of fang. “Oikawa, I’d like the address for that hospital now.”

Tooru gives it to them, because he’d like this situation to be over with as well, and Akaashi leaves with hardly another word. Iwaizumi glares at the closed door for one long moment, then his expression crumples. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I’m not using you, I swear.”

Tooru half wants to laugh at the very idea. But Iwaizumi looks uncharacteristically brittle, something distant in his deep green eyes, so Tooru instead cups his face and forces him to raise his head. “I know you’re not. Maybe my bathtub, but I’m used to people using me for that,” Tooru jokes, but it falls flat. He sighs, and amends, “Akaashi is just upset about Suga, I’m sure. And you _did_ steal their friend’s egg to try to summon an old god. But! You gave it back, and you’ve saved us time and time again from Ptar-Axtlan, and now it’s dead.”

“There’s still more to come,” Iwaizumi grumbles. He turns into Tooru’s palm, leaning his body forward, and ends up walking them backwards toward the couch. Iwaizumi covers the psychic’s hand with his own and presses his lips against his palm in a chaste, apologetic kiss. “I never wanted to destroy your realm. And I _never_ want to use you. I’m not using you, I swear it.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I _know_ that,” Tooru replies gently. “And if you really were using me, wouldn’t you have left after the Dreamlands episode? You don’t have to stick around and hold my hand while I navigate amnesia.”

“That one’s sort of your fault. I told you not to go into the Dreamlands.” And finally, Iwaizumi smiles, just a tiny quirk of a corner of his mouth, but it puts Tooru’s heart at ease. He hadn’t expected Akaashi’s accusation to shake him this badly, and Tooru wonders how long this has been weighing on him.

Tooru rests his forehead against Iwaizumi’s and closes his eyes, though he’s aware of Iwaizumi searching his face. “Fine, fine, next time, I won’t go rushing in to save you or anyone else in another realm. You brutes can handle all of the fighting!”

“Good,” Iwaizumi says and tips them both over the arm of the couch. He falls on top of Tooru, catching most of his weight on his arm, but Tooru pretends to grunt and swats at his shoulder.

“You’re so big, you’re going to squash me yet!”

“You’re taller than me, you ass.”

Tooru would be quite content to lazily make out on the couch until his next appointment (like Iwaizumi is clearly angling for), but he’s still concerned about him. “Say, Iwa-chan,” Tooru starts. He tilts his neck back as Iwaizumi begins to kiss his way down his jaw and the side of his throat, but he won’t be _that_ easily distracted. “Would you like to try to make up with the tengu?”

Iwaizumi stills, then raises his head enough to make sure Tooru can see his _really?_ expression.

“I’m serious! It’d be nice to have Akaashi not hate my guts, too, y’know,” Tooru adds.

“Let’s wait until after the apocalypse is stopped before we think about that, okay? I’m not holding my breath. Not having Akaashi try to flay me again is already great progress in my book.”

Ooh, that’s a mental image Tooru isn’t sure he wanted. The spotty memories that flit through Iwaizumi’s mind make it all that much worse. “Kiyoko said a couple of her people stole most of Ushijima’s stuff the other night. With the tengu clans on watch, and everyone else notified, I doubt he’ll get a second chance. Apocalypse probably averted!”

Iwaizumi, clearly losing interest in this conversation and returning to wanting to prove himself to Tooru (and Tooru would be _far_ happier with this situation if that weren’t so obviously hanging over his head, because he doesn’t have to _prove_ himself to him), toys with the top button of Tooru’s shirt, playing coy while nipping at his throat.

“Shouldn’t we be happier about stopping the apocalypse?” Tooru tries again.

“Alright,” Iwaizumi says, sighs, and relents. He sits up, shifting his legs so he can straddle Tooru’s thighs, and looks down at him with something unfairly disapproving. “Yes. I’m happy. I’m not convinced it’s over, but that sounds like a major step backwards for one of them. Maybe enough to take them out of the game—”

“ _One_ of them?” Tooru cuts in with a blink.

“Ushi-whatever. That’s the witch that Kiyoko’s team has been fighting on and off, right? I think he’s the one who stole the egg from the crows, but what about the other one? I’m not calling this _stopped_ for awhile, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi tells him.

“No, no, go back to the _other one_ bit,” Tooru says faintly.

Iwaizumi stares down at him, eyes slowly widening. “What the fuck. You’re _kidding me_. You’re joking, right, because you’re being a jackass right now?”

Tooru’s blank look must be answer enough.

“I told you this on Halloween! There’s me, this Ushi guy, and then _someone else_!”

“You said there were _traces of it_!” Tooru cries. He sits up, nearly headbutting Iwaizumi, and seizes him by the shoulders. “Are you saying there’s actually someone _else_ trying to summon something right now?!”

“How the hell should I know?! I’m not working for them anymore! _My_ boss is dead, remember?”

“Iwa-chan, this isn’t something we can dismiss!”

“ _You_ dismissed it for a month—”

“What are _traces_ of someone else summoning a Great Old One?” Tooru demands shakily. He squirms out from under him and throws himself at his bookcase, searching for any of Suga’s leftover books. “Should we be kissing Akaashi’s ass for more information?”

“I thought it was the crows who lost more eggs,” Iwaizumi replies. Tooru throws him an irritated look over his shoulder. “Look, if no one’s heard of anything in all this time, and if nothing else has happened, then we should be fine, right? Maybe it was Ushijima responsible for it. Maybe it was a hungry dragon.”

He has a point. Ushijima has been _very_ active lately gathering ingredients for his summoning circle, and the way Suga made it sound, a lot of the ingredients were easy to notice if they went missing. There would be evidence, right? Ushijima has been slowed down, if not stopped outright, and Iwaizumi and Ptar-Axtlan are definitely not threats anymore.

But this doesn’t sound like something they can ignore. Tooru can’t remember if Suga has already looked into this or not, but this needs to be on the radar again. Either it’s not a thing, or—

Or it’s someone who’s very, _very_ careful.

 

\--

 

Though his eyes feel like they’re weighed down with lead, Suga opens them, and finds himself staring at a white ceiling. There’s an annoying beeping somewhere off to his left, and everything smells very strongly of old blood and the antiseptic that can’t quite drown it out. Suga blinks a couple of times, letting his eyes focus, and figures _hospital_ when he glances down and spots a red cast on his right arm.

He doesn’t really feel any pain; he doesn’t feel much of anything, aside from an itch on his foot. It seems like too much effort to scratch it, though, so he contemplates the ceiling. Hospital means someone found him and dragged him back. Back to the city and back to life. Which means surely, _surely_ they found Tadashi as well? What about Tsukishima?

Suga’s mouth feels cotton-dry and his stomach is painfully empty. _How long was I gone?_ The last time it wasn’t like this; this is more like the first time. _Not waking up in a morgue…_ Everything is a fog, slow and thick and hazy.

Suga turns his head and finds a side table covered in flowers. A couple look familiar and annoy him for some reason, but mostly, he can’t quite grasp anything about them aside from the fact that some are white, some are purple, and another vase is filled with a rainbow of them.

On his other side, he finds Daichi curled up in the uncomfortable-seeming hospital chair. His head is propped up on his fist, elbow on one chair arm, book open on his lap. He’s wearing reading glasses, which are slipping dangerously low on his nose, and his head bobs and jerks with exhaustion even as Suga watches him. Warmth blooms through Suga’s chest, and he’s not certain why, but he’s very happy that Daichi is here.

“Are you a salamander?” Suga croaks. His voice comes out rough and thick, and he tries to swallow before speaking again. Daichi jumps and faces him with a comically surprised expression. “Because you’re hot,” Suga finishes firmly, proudly.

Daichi isn’t laughing, though. He looks a little like someone’s hit him.

Suga clears his throat and tries again. “I must be the luckiest man in the world to get to wake up next to you.”

Without addressing Suga’s _awesome_ lines, Daichi reaches over and hits the call button next to the bed. Suga wishes he could lift his arms enough to try to grab him, but thankfully, Daichi at least seems to be on the same wavelength with that much. He leans down and kisses Suga’s bangs, then his mole, then his mouth. “Thank god,” Daichi breathes, eyes shut tight, and Suga registers the pain in his expression. “Thank god, Suga. Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Do what?” Suga murmurs. He’s confused, but he’s also enjoying the attention, despite the haze in his mind. The smell of old blood in the room is starting to make his nose burn, however, so he turns to press his face into the crook of Daichi’s neck. _He_ doesn’t smell like magic or blood, instead a mixture of books and detergent and some sort of aftershave. Much, much better.

Suga is unaware he’s managed to wind his arms around Daichi’s neck until he accidentally knocks him in the head with his cast.

Suga blinks at the cast again. Daichi, rubbing his head, _finally_ laughs and he seems to lose some of the tension that’d been so obvious. Suga grins up at him, pleased.

Daichi moves so he’s sitting proper on the bed next to Suga’s chest, and reaches over to give his ear a surprisingly strong yank. “ _Ow_!”

“You don’t die on someone and then hit them in the head with a cast,” Daichi tells him, somehow managing to work his smile into a stern, grim line.

“I liked the kisses better,” Suga pouts. He’s beginning to gain enough awareness to prevent himself from asking Daichi any details, and the weak, fluttery feeling in his limbs is starting to coalesce into something heavy and dark in his chest. He’d _died_ again. He’d died _again_. And Daichi had been left here to wait.

His ruminations are cut off early by a doctor entering the room. Daichi gives a guilty start and hastily slides off of the bed. Suga blanches when he sees the mason jar of dark liquid held underneath her arm. “So, my dead man is finally alive again! How coherent is he?” she asks.

“Maybe a little out of it, but nothing terrible,” Daichi answers.

Suga scoots low in his bed and wonders if he could avoid the potion by hiding under the blankets. He doesn’t think he has it in him to try to run for it right now. Daichi raises an eyebrow at Suga’s undoubtedly horrified expression, and squints at the jar as the doctor comes over while unscrewing the lid. “Kiyoko told me that you needed to take this as soon as you woke up.”

 _Of course she did._ Suga really, _really_ regrets giving her any of his research. “She lied,” he says in a small voice. The potion steams and the room certainly doesn’t smell like antiseptic anymore.

“That doesn’t look like normal procedure,” Daichi says skeptically.

“And neither does he. Kiyoko wanted me to bring a dead man back to life, fine. It happened, so I’m going to follow her advice all the way through,” the woman replies, although she herself is looking rather suspicious of the liquid in the jar, too. “Drink it. I’m not sure this stuff should be put into a tube, but I will do it if need be. I don’t want you dying again, Sugawara.”

“I’ll be fine without it,” Suga says in a small voice. He pulls the blankets up as far as he can, fingers half-numb and very unwieldy on his right hand thanks to the cast. The blankets are less of a defense than the picture it creates; his last line of defense is making Daichi doubt the potion enough to talk the doctor out of making him take it.

“It’s to stabilize your body and magic again. I’m sure coming back from death isn’t exactly kind to either.”

Suga knows what it does; he’s the one who fucking made it. Oh, how he regrets it all. “I’m alive again, aren’t I?”

“Suga, take your medicine,” Daichi says in a tone approaching scolding. So much for Plan A.

“Shouldn’t I be getting a dose of healing magic instead?” Suga tries. He raises his broken arm, then hisses when his shoulder gives a twinge at that.

“Oh, believe me, you’re on just about every kind of anesthetic magic we have here,” the doctor says, perhaps a little smugly, and she sets the jar on the table by the bed. Suga covers his nose as best he can with the blanket. “In a couple hours, you’ll be feeling all that again. And I’m not going to check you out _or_ approve further painkillers until I know you’re safe enough to work with.”

“What happened to the Hippocratic Oath?” Daichi asks.

“ _Victus quoque rationem ad aegrotantium salutem pro facultate, judicioque meo adhibebo, noxamvero et maleficium propulsabo_ ,” she replies without missing a beat, “ ‘I will utterly reject harm and mischief’. Most of the staff here has no idea what necromancy is, and they’re unaware of what a potential threat a patient with enough to _reanimate himself_ could be. Please, be a good patient, Sugawara.”

Daichi opens his mouth to defend him, but Suga doesn’t want to hear that any more than he had to hear the anti-necromancy spiel, so he just reaches over to pick up the mason jar. He manages to slop out some over the lip of the jar; he’s surprised at how weak his limbs really feel. With one last distrustful look toward the doctor, Daichi reaches over and helps Suga lift it so he can drink the foul concoction.

 

\--

 

“Kei, Suga has woken up, so I’m going over to see him. Hitoka said she’ll stop by on her way there for something, and she has a key, but I’ll lock the door behind me,” Kiyoko calls as she stuffs things into her big coat’s pockets. Kei is fairly certain it’s not actually _hers_ , but she makes it work. She yanks a scarf out of the coat closet and he barely mumbles out a confirmation before she’s out the door.

The lock clicks and Morisuke cracks open an eye. “She’s in a hurry to see him,” he remarks and sits up with a stretch. The cat arches his back, then stretches out each of his legs, using Kei’s shoulders to hook his claws into to help. He doesn’t feel it through his own jacket.

Kei doesn’t respond, and flips to the next page in the book he’s borrowed from Kiyoko. Morisuke has been trying to get him to visit Tadashi ever since he showed up at the potion shop, and it sure as hell isn’t going to happen _now_ , when there’s more people there.

“I’m sure Tadashi would appreciate the visit, too,” Morisuke tries again.

“Not going to happen,” Kei deadpans. _Yamaguchi will understand_. The thought isn’t the happiest, but it keeps him going. He just can’t go back to a hospital, not even for Tadashi.

Morisuke jumps up onto Kiyoko’s desk and winds his way around the things on it: a covered basket, two jugs of witch water, and a rack full of dried spices. The cat squints like he’s trying to resist his feline instincts of batting everything to the floor. “I wonder what she’s going to do with this…” Morisuke murmurs thoughtfully and stands on his hind legs to paw the blanket on the basket off.

“I don’t know, make a really big omelette?” Kei grumbles.

Morisuke laughs and in a flash, changes back into his more human form. He taps on the hard shell of the egg in the basket. “You have no idea what this is, do you?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice, but nothing mean about it.

Kei sighs—loudly enough that hopefully the bakeneko realizes he’d just wanted to _read in silence_ —and closes his book. His demonic claws accidentally rip one of the pages as he does so. “It’s an egg. Probably to hatch a dragon or something.”

“It’s not going to _hatch_ anything,” Morisuke replies and carefully lifts the egg. He turns it over, examining the fine swirls on the shell, and holds it up to Kei like someone showing off their favorite food. “This is a tengu egg.”

“Hm,” Kei replies noncommittally. He’s heard a fair bit about them from Kiyoko and Suga, especially recently, but he really doesn’t understand what that has to do with _him_. Or Ushijima.

“And if I’ve overheard anything while working here, then I’d bet a whole bucket full of luck that this is a tengu _First_ egg. And you stole it right from under Ushijima’s nose!” Morisuke declares with equal parts delight and pride coloring his tone.

Kei feels his cheeks warm and he opens the book again to pretend to invest himself in it. He’d been wanting to sabotage that bastard, yes, but he hadn’t thought it’d be some key element of his plan or anything. He’d just grabbed the biggest item on the bed and ran, and he supposed luck guided his hand.

“I wonder if Kiyoko would let me buy this from her,” Morisuke says and places it carefully back in its basket. “They’re very valuable, you know. For magic and things. Actually, I bet you’d be able to eat one and keep it down.”

Kei has to admit, that sounds appealing. He’s not looking forward to some sort of diet of giant eggs for the rest of his new life, but it beats the tiny, cottony wisps that Morisuke has been bringing him from Lev. They taste like watery mushrooms, and honestly, the only things they have going for them is that they don’t make him puke or scream when he eats them.

(Morisuke also tried bringing him a lesser fairy to eat. In hindsight, it would have been better if he’d killed it beforehand, but now, Kei won’t trust anything from him that’s not a floating puff of magic and Kiyoko threatened to hit him with a broom if he brought any more half-dead spirits into her shop.)

“A normal tengu egg would probably be better for you. Who knows what all the magic in this would do to you,” the bakeneko says.

Kei scoots a little further from the desk with the basket on it. Nearly his entire arm is blackened from demonic magic. He’s not risking anything further. “Have you spoken with Kenma lately?” Kei asks him.

“Not since Lev told me they made up. And then with all of _this_ happening, I haven’t gotten the chance to ask again.”

Kei hopes Tadashi remembers Kenma’s number, because he doesn’t want to ask Lev directly for it. Of course, first Tadashi has to get home from the hospital, and not knowing when that may be sends a sharp spike of anxiety down his throat. He wishes he could swallow his pride long enough to ask for information about him.

“You know, even if it’s been causing some problems, I bet this hunger thing is a good step of progress,” Morisuke declares. It’s obvious he wants to try to lift the mood again, forcibly if need be, and Kei half-wishes he weren’t so free with his compliments sometimes. He’s pretty sure his ears are burning again. “You were exposed to who _knows_ what kind of rotten magic the other night, too, and you didn’t turn into some nasty thing!” Morisuke adds with a brilliant smile. It makes his eyes crinkle and his tan ears twitch.

Kei hides his face with his book again. If he didn’t know any better—such as knowing for fact that Sugawara is in the same hospital that Tadashi is and Morisuke hasn’t left Kei or Lev long enough to visit either of them—he’d say that the cat spirit has been spending too much time with Suga. He’s trying _far_ too hard to cheer up Kei when he doesn’t need it.

“You’re probably safe from everything except that arm,” Morisuke says with a note of finality. He turns back into a cat and lands lightly on Kei’s shoulders, plopping down and making himself comfortable. He bats at the big bell on Kei’s collar. “Maybe you won’t need this for very much longer.”

“How will we know when I can take it off?” _If at all?_

Morisuke gives him another thoughtful bat. “…I guess that’d be a good test of your luck, huh?” he replies, and not even he can keep his voice cheery for that.

The bell on the door jingles and Hitoka, breathless and red-cheeked from the weather, bursts in. She’s halfway to the kitchen before she registers their presence. “Oh—h-hi, you two! I was just stopping in for nettle and morning glories—I swear I’m not a burglar! I have a key and everything!”

“We were told you’d be coming by,” Morisuke says kindly. Her rigid frame deflates with relief.

Hitoka gives Kei a warm, if timid smile as she edges past him to reach another set of cabinets. She struggles on her tiptoes long enough that Kei is about to offer to help her, but then she freezes, and slowly eases back down onto her feet. He follows her gaze to see what’s spooked her now, and is a little surprised to find her gaping at the tengu egg in the basket. _Are they really that big of a deal?_ he wonders, not sure if he should be exasperated or impressed.

“Is that…” Hitoka starts weakly, trailing off.

“Tengu First egg,” Morisuke supplies and hops up onto the table next to it. He curls his overly long tail over it and shakes a little bit of luck onto its shell.

“Is it the crow egg?” Hitoka asks.

Morisuke cocks his head to the side, one ear laid back. “You’d have to ask Kiyoko, or a tengu. Aren’t a couple clans missing their eggs?”

Hitoka shakes her head, blonde hair flying, and she exclaims, “The owl egg got returned and that’s the one that earned Suga the tengu friend title! B-But Kiyoko said that Father Takeda said that the crows are still missing theirs, and Hinata came out to try to find it, and _that could be it!_ Oh my gosh—I need to text Tobio!”

She trips over her own shoes in her haste to get back to her bag on the table, and lays halfway across its surface to reach into her bag and message whoever she’s so excited about. Kei and Morisuke exchange a clueless look. Kei hadn’t pegged the tiny blonde as someone with tengu connections, but then again, he also had little idea tengu _existed_ until well after he died.

Hitoka sends her message, goes back to try to reach for the dried nettle on the top shelf of the cabinet, and Kei gets up to help her this time. He easily reaches over her and hands her the entire bundle of herbs. She looks up at him, surprised at first—how rude, he _can_ be nice when he wants—and then she cracks a pink-cheeked smile of gratitude.

When her phone rings, the moment is ruined and she nearly hits her head on his chin with how badly she jumps.

“H-Hello?” she shakily answers, and the voice on the other end is loud enough that even Kei and Morisuke can hear excited squawking on the other line.

…Kei wonders just how apt that term is, considering the subject at hand.

Hitoka, holding the phone well away from her ear with a pained wince, nods and nods despite the other person being unable to see her. “Y-Yes, I think I can… Let me just ask—I’m not sure, it’s not as if it’s mine—!” The voice on the other line quiets, and she puts it back to her ear proper. “I was going to ask to see if you were free later tonight, anyway, I mean if you were able—I got some more nettles, and I think I might’ve figured out another way of approaching it!”

Kei glances at the bundle of dried nettle. He has no idea what they’re good for—he has little idea of the value or use of anything in the shop. He doesn’t know what he grabbed, what’s being used to do anything, or what he can do in the coming days to ensure that Ushijima and Tendou stay down.

Maybe learning a bit more about the magical world wouldn’t be a terrible idea.

Hitoka ends her call and throws the blanket back over the egg in the basket. She stows the nettle and morning glories in her backpack, and picks up the basket, cradling it like a baby. Morisuke puts a paw on the basket, not gently, and stares at her. “Where do you think you’re going with this, exactly?” he asks in a low voice.

“Oh, um, I may actually know a tengu and he knows the tengu this belongs to? Or, at the very least, he can tell me if this is a crow egg or not!” Hitoka explains, unperturbed.

“And you think we’re going to let a young human wander around the city with a tengu First egg tucked under her arm? You’re not a witch.”

Hitoka grimaces and glances sideways, at Kei. He’s not sure why, since it’s not like _he’s_ a witch or anything. “I-I know that,” she says softly, shifting the egg in her arms, “but with everything that’s happened to Sugawara and Tadashi, I’m not sure Kiyoko will have time to take care of this herself anytime soon. I want to help her, and I don’t mind running errands for her if that’s what will help right now.”

“Errands are picking up more sugar or candles. Errands are _not_ running halfway across the city with something this valuable,” Morisuke scolds. “And what are the nettles for? That’s usually used for treating human curses. I thought the Tanaka woman was the cursed one.”

“There’s someone else with the same curse that I’m helping, too!” Hitoka exclaims.

Kei can’t fathom being so busy. (Or willing to help.) He sighs and carefully takes Morisuke’s paw off of the First egg. “I’ll escort her. If anything _absolutely terrible_ happens, I can take the egg and run, so we won’t be facing the end of the world again.”

Morisuke gives him a hard look, but Hitoka doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect of getting ditched. “See! Tsukishima will help!”

The bakeneko relents with a sigh and a fond quirk of his cat mouth. “And then you two can stop by the hospital on your way back. Say hi to Tadashi for me!”

Kei thinks about sinking through the floor and going back to sulk by his grave, but then Hitoka is tugging him out the door. The bell on the door jingles in time with the one on his collar.

 

\--

 

When Daichi comes back into the room, bearing tea and sandwiches from the hospital cafeteria, he finds a glaring match taking place over Suga. Tooru is curled up on the bed with him, one arm beneath Suga’s pillow and the other playing with his fingers, long legs sprawled to cover as much space as possible. Akaashi sits stiffly in the extra chair they’d dragged in.

The tengu had been there, but the psychic in bed with his boyfriend is certainly new.

Daichi double-checks the small room and hallway for Iwaizumi, but he seems to be missing. Tooru snickers against Suga’s hair. “Daichi,” Suga says warmly, untangling his fingers from Tooru’s, reaching out for his drink. “Please save me,” he adds in that same warm, friendly tone.

“So mean,” Tooru says affectionately. He makes eye contact with Daichi and snuggles in a little closer. Akaashi’s expression darkens further.

“Who’s being the mean one here?” Suga asks.

Daichi passes Akaashi the tea they’d requested, and Suga makes another whiney sound and reaches for his once more. Daichi relinquishes it and gives Tooru a _look_ , but the man certainly doesn’t seem to care. He’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and believe that he’s doing it to piss off Akaashi instead of Daichi, but Daichi still doesn’t like this.

Suga sips at his drink after a pleased sigh. Tooru leaves his side, just long enough to reach by the side of the bed and pull out a bottle, and happily offers him what looks to be pomegranate juice. Daichi is about two seconds from hauling him out of that bed himself, but Suga’s eyes light up and he gulps down more of the scalding tea to make room for the juice to be added.

“Does that even taste good?” Daichi asks dubiously.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Suga replies.

“And it’s best for him to be trying to get his body back into equilibrium,” Tooru adds with another dirty smirk.

“You hardly _remembered_ him last week,” Daichi snaps. Because this is turning into a _very_ stupid territorial thing and because Daichi is _falling for_ the very stupid territorial thing, he gently pushes Tooru down and out of the way as he leans over to kiss Suga on the mouth. He tastes exactly like he expected green tea and pomegranate juice to taste like together, but he also tastes like Suga, so that’s more than alright in his book.

Daichi jerks back when Tooru prods him, _hard_ , in the sternum and he wipes the dampness from the tea’s steam off his chin with a frown. Suga sips at his drink again, not at all bothered by the display. “Tooru is just trying to convince me of something,” he says evenly. _He is not a threat_ is the undertone.

Daichi feels a little silly, but Tooru sticks his tongue out at him and the feeling rapidly vanishes. “It’s very important and I wish I could have Koushi all to myself for it,” Tooru just about purrs, but there’s something hard beneath all the velvet in his voice.

“I was here first,” Akaashi deadpans.

And Daichi had left to get food so they could get a head start on whatever they wanted, not so another interloper could arrive. Alright, he understands a desire for privacy, but he and Suga have barely got it themselves since he woke back up, and he may still be feeling a little possessive of their time together. It’s not often he gets reminded about their mortality (or lack thereof) and how fragile Suga seems.

Or maybe it’s _too_ often he gets reminded of that.

“Grow some thicker skin, Sawamura,” Tooru tells him.

Daichi rubs his temples when he remembers the _psychic_ in the room. Fucking hell.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Akaashi begins in a tone that suggest that they very much want to be rude right now, “but I’d only like to ask a few more questions that concern tengu involvement in the human realm. Or the lack thereof.”

Suga looks up, sharply, at that. Tooru narrows his eyes. “ _I_ want to discuss something honestly pretty damn important to the whole apocalypse thing,” he declares.

“I just want to spend time with my returned boyfriend,” Daichi says, because he still doesn’t like this tug-of-war, but he’ll be damned if he stays quiet.

Suga gives him a look out of the corner of his eye and again, Daichi feels a niggling sense of shame for his behavior.

But then Tooru also gives him a sidelong look and he stops caring about how childish they’re all being.

And, of course, right then the door swings open to admit a harried-looking Kiyoko. “Oh, Suga, I’m so glad you’re—” she begins and freezes in the doorway when she notices the rest of the room’s occupants.

Akaashi’s eyes narrow again and Tooru stares at her like an alien has just walked into the room. After a beat of shocked silence all around, Tooru winces like something's stung him, and suddenly blood is dripping down from his nose. “Shit,” he hisses and quickly cups his hand beneath his chin to make sure he doesn’t get any on his clothes or Suga’s.

“I’m so sorry,” Kiyoko says, for some reason that Daichi doesn’t understand.

Tooru waves her off and swings his legs down from the bed. “I suppose we can wait a little bit, Koushi. Be back soon,” he tells them, and forgoes the room’s bathroom in favor of edging by Kiyoko and leaving entirely.

The woman sighs and rubs her hand over her face. “I wasn’t expecting Oikawa here before I made it here,” she admits, then gives Akaashi a cool look. “Or so many guests in general.”

Kiyoko carefully steps around Daichi to press a quick kiss against Suga’s bangs. “Do you have very urgent, very private news for me as well?” Suga asks with clear amusement.

“No, and if need be, I can step out again.”

“ _Please_ ,” Akaashi says with relief heavy in their voice.

Kiyoko gives Daichi a curious look and with a sigh, he gives up _again._ “I guess I’ll go see if Yamaguchi needs anything,” he says and follows her out of the room. He shuts the door behind him and Kiyoko pats his arm in sympathy. “Has he always been that popular, or am I no longer lucky?”

“He’s a people person,” she replies with a tiny shrug. “He’s a helper, and others naturally like him.”

“I thought you were his boss,” Daichi says.

Kiyoko chuckles behind her hand, eyes mirthful as she peers up at him. “I help him pay his rent, but in case you haven’t noticed, very few people rarely are in charge of Sugawara Koushi. And I must admit, right now, he has better connections than I do.”

“I just wish his connections would let him have a break once in awhile,” Daichi grumbles. Kiyoko makes a sound of agreement as they enter Tadashi’s room.

Nishinoya is perched on the end of Tadashi’s bed, Tadashi is sitting cross-legged at the head of it, and they have some sort of card game spread out between them. Neither of them really glance up at the two visitors, too absorbed in whatever they’re playing. So now Daichi’s getting snubbed by his employee, too. Great.

 

\--

 

“So what makes Oikawa so certain he’s just now found something important?” Akaashi asks once they’re left alone again.

Suga sighs into his mug. “He wants the attention, probably, but he isn’t doing it just out of spite. Why are you two still so prickly with one another?”

“His skinwalker lover called me rotted,” Akaashi primly replies. Suga winces. Tooru is _very_ lucky that didn’t come to blows.

Suga quickly changes the subject. “You mentioned that you’re concerned about tengu involvement? I thought you were… well, honor-bound? Kuroo, Oikawa, and I are all tengu friend and if we ask for help, don’t you sort of _have_ to give it?”

“To a certain degree,” Akaashi says. Suga had half-counted on some tengu help should things go to shit, but from the news he’s thus far gotten, maybe things are looking up for once. Ushijima won’t be able to get a replacement First egg, that’s for sure, unless he thinks he can brave half the tengu realm for one. Akaashi sets down their cup on the flower table and laces their fingers together in their lap. “I’ll admit I didn’t mean to make this sound so urgent, and I hope you realize that I didn’t mean to artificially inflate the importance of my—”

“It’s fine! Bokuto’s really important to you, right?” Suga asks brightly. He understands Akaashi’s emotional flailing around, even if it’s poorly-timed and Suga half-wishes they had someone else to talk to. But he’s happy to see that Akaashi is working through… whatever problems they’re having.

“I may have done something to sabotage that,” Akaashi admits in a low, guilt-ridden voice. Suga arches an eyebrow. “Well… Koutarou and I may be mates now…?”

“Congratulations!”

Akaashi doesn’t look at all gratified by the well wishes. They hunch over in their chair and bury their face in their hands. “It was a moment of selfishness, but I already feel absolutely terrible about it.”

Suga, too, sets down his mug and feels the room’s mood plummet again. He hadn’t anticipated the world’s saddest proposal right now—and he’s not even sure why it’s sad yet. “Akaashi,” Suga says, careful to make his voice as neutral and un-accusing as possible, “what did you do?”

“I was so worried about arguing with Koutarou about helping you,” they say miserably and sink lower into the chair. Suga swallows thickly; they can’t afford to get shut out of tengu politics right now, not when they have a First egg and are a step away from gaining the crow clan’s trust, too. “It’s not as if I dislike any of you. Even Oikawa. Kuroo is… Important, too, but I was so worried that Koutarou would consider him more important. Should the human realm fall to something, I don’t want him to fall with you. I’m sorry,” Akaashi finishes.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Suga replies weakly. Good god, first he has to deal with Kenma, and now _this_? Akaashi gives him a sad, kicked-dog look through their fingers and Suga can’t exactly be _mad_. He reminds himself that not everyone operates with the same For The Greater Good/Anything For Peace mentality that he and Kiyoko have grown up with.

“I wish I could undo it all, but time magic would just end up killing us, and he was _so happy _,__ ” Akaashi adds.

“It’s not as Bokuto hates you, but you need to tell him. You two should really talk this out,” Suga advises. “And _please_ don’t drag him away from us. Don’t try to make him choose between you or Kuroo. Bokuto’s a great guy, and I’m sure there’s enough love for both of you.”

Akaashi reddens at the word _love_ and Suga wonders if he’s overstepped his bounds.

 _Fuck that, they’re engaged._ What else is he supposed to say? He wants them both to be happy, but he also doesn’t want to get Akaashi pissed at him. Should the worst come to pass and a Great Old One gets summoned, then their best shot at saving who they can involves begging a lot of higher spirits to help try to banish it. And tengu are some of the most powerful.

Suga wonders if he can just lock Akaashi, Bokuto, and Kuroo in a room and tell them to sort out their differences. Kenma, too, perhaps? He’d have to ward the room pretty strongly, so he may need help—

“How did you first know you loved Sawamura?” Akaashi asks.

Suga stares blankly back at them.

Does he _love_ Daichi? That’s a tricky thing to be asked out of the blue when he’s arguably still a little doped up on painkillers. And he certainly can’t tell Akaashi how he first realized he liked Daichi, because that involves a lot of ass-staring and bad attempts at picking him up at his place of work. Not the best love advice. “Don’t you love Bokuto?” Suga finally settles on asking.

“I do. I’m not sure how human courtship differs.”

“You don’t have to do it our way. I’m sure he’s happy as you are.”

Akaashi turns to stare at one of the beeping machines with a contemplative look. “I was wondering about Kuroo and Kenma, actually.”

Alright, so if he just asks Kiyoko for help and wards the room he’ll lock them all in—

“I’m still not sure what Koutarou’s feelings toward Kuroo are, and I’d feel too ashamed to ask him _now_. He’d just accuse me of being jealous.”

 _You_ are _jealous_ , Suga wants to tell them, wants to tell them _so fucking badly._ Instead, he says, “I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“No, he wouldn’t. But it’d be gratifying to know how much of a risk Kuroo actually poses to him—”

“Akaashi,” Suga interrupts with a hard look, “Kuroo is not a risk to anyone he cares about, and that includes Bokuto, you, and me. I _know_ you’re worried about these human affairs, and it’s terrifying to think that someone you love will be risking their life. But you’re going to have to trust Bokuto. And trust _us_ to stop this before it happens. Which, you know, would be a lot easier if a certain owl tengu would stop running around their feelings like a chicken with its head cut off.”

Suga knows at once that Akaashi doesn’t get the simile; they mouth the word ‘chicken’ a couple times and Suga hopes he isn’t about to get decapitated or something in retaliation. After a beat, Akaashi smiles—Suga’s slow heart feels like it skips a beat though the heart monitor says otherwise—and admits, “I thought you were still scared of me. I’m glad to see that’s starting to wear off.”

“Just because I tend to get better after accidents like this doesn’t mean I want to invite trouble,” Suga says, sheepish and quick. “And that’s beside the point! _You_ need to talk to Bokuto. And have more faith in Team Humanity, alright?”

“I’ll try. Since most of your advice circles back to talking openly, maybe I’ll actually try that. And you can go humor your psychic,” Akaashi says, not unkindly, and gives Suga another small, gentle smile. They raise their hand, just a little, then stare down at their fingers. “…Er, how much touching do humans prefer for goodbyes? I’m sort of second-guessing every interaction now and I’m not sure how to get out of that mindset.”

Suga chuckles and reaches out with his castless hand. He takes Akaashi’s hand and moves it until they’re shaking hands. “Start with this, then work your way up. Don’t let Bokuto know, but you can also kiss someone goodbye,” Suga tells them with a wink.

Akaashi’s face flushes and they frown deeply, lip curled enough to show a little bit of tooth. “You can go back to being afraid of me now.”

“Nope!” Suga happily replies. (It’s only a little bit of a lie.) “You’ve ruined your scary tengu routine forever. Now I know you’re just as scared and caring as the rest of us, and I look forward to your help in the coming months.”

“Have fun with your psychic,” Akaashi tosses over their shoulder as they take their cup and depart.

Suga smiles and waves until they’re gone, then he drops his hand onto his lap with a groan. That had been a strange conversation, and he hopes Akaashi’s fears are unfounded. He also isn’t quite sure what to think about the concept of loving one Sawamura Daichi. Suga loves a lot of people, and hell, he probably loves Daichi, too, but he’s not sure he loves him in the same sense that Akaashi meant. _Do I love him enough to fuck over the world to protect him?_

He no sooner thinks the thought than Oikawa Tooru saunters into the room, grinning like the cat who got the canary.

“Not a word,” Suga tells him. He pulls his phone out from beneath his pillow and opens up his messages. _‘tlk to Akaash pls b4 i retire 2 bcom fulltim tengu shrin kk’_ he sends to Kuroo. Fuck, typing with one hand is difficult, and Suga cringes at the message as it sends. That’s even worse than the demon’s messaging. Hopefully he can understand it.

Tooru, the only one in the room with Suga and thus not performing, sits properly in the chair next to his bed and waits, albeit with a smirk, until he’s done. “I’m surprised Kiyoko hasn’t pulled enough strings to get you healed out of that cast already.”

“You clearly don’t remember Kiyoko. She’s going to keep this on me like a leash to try to get me to take a break,” Suga replies. “Now, what did you think was so important you had to try to piss off _both_ Akaashi and Daichi?”

“It _is_ important!” Tooru huffs.

“If it were important, you would have brought Iwaizumi with you,” Suga points out. “And _he_ apparently didn’t think it was important enough to get dragged out of the house.”

Tooru gives him a thoughtful hum, head tilted back and eyes narrowed a bit. Like he’s re-realizing just how well Suga knows him. “I suppose you’re right,” he says coolly. “But I think that finding out _someone else_ is trying to summon a rogue deity is cause for concern, Koushi.”

Suga’s heart jumps into his throat and the monitor beside the bed increases its beeping noticeably. _Why the fuck wouldn’t Iwaizumi think that was important?!_ “Wh-What do you mean? How do you know?” _Please don’t let either of them have gotten possessed again._

Tooru reaches over and flicks the cast. “Don’t be a jerk, Koushi. Iwa-chan’s fine, and I’m fine this time around, too. He just reminded me of Halloween. He _knew_ about that witch stealing eggs, too, and he said there was _someone else_! Someone he didn’t have as much information on.”

Suga lets out the world’s longest, most relieved breath. “You almost gave me a heart attack, you ass.” He halfheartedly swats at Tooru, despite his affronted squeal. Suga cuts across it and tells him, “Yeah, we’ve known about that, Oikawa. And it’s been investigated. And _nothing_ concrete has come up. I’m not saying it’s not a potential threat, but it’s not a _new_ threat, and it’s nothing we can do anything about.”

Brow furrowed, Tooru stares at Suga, eyes searching his. Suga defensively pulls up what mental shielding he can, as exhausted and as fatigued he is, and gives him a reproachful look in exchange.

Suga doesn’t want to argue about this, and he doesn’t want Tooru taking the opportunity to help himself to any of Suga’s thoughts, either. So he casts about for another conversation topic, and he remembers the flowers. “Also!” Suga exclaims, making the psychic jump. “You _asshole_! Daichi doesn’t know anything about flowers, and you told him to get me _hemlock_?! I just about ate one to hide my embarrassment when I realized what those were!”

“Who said _I_ was the one who tell him to get you that?” Tooru asks. He presses his hand to his chest and gives Suga a perfect scandalized expression.

Suga gives him a Disappointed Parent stare in return.

“I told him to add astragalus, too,” Tooru relents with a pout. “The purple and white look pretty together, don’t they?”

“It was childish and you know it.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Tooru gives him another sharp, searching look, and Suga almost wants to hide under his blanket to avoid it. Everything’s still too _this_ side of foggy for him to have the energy to deal with it properly. (Or as properly as anyone can ever deal with Tooru.) “To answer your earlier thought, Koushi, you don’t. I don’t think you’re capable of loving any one person that much.”

“I don’t want unsolicited love advice from someone fucking an extinct shapeshifter,” Suga tells him. He sincerely hopes that Tooru can’t tell how much his words _sting_.

“I mean it nicely, you know,” Tooru hums and takes Suga’s cast arm in his hands. He kisses it roughly where Suga’s palm should be. “You give an awful lot of yourself to everyone you meet. You risked your life for Tadashi—you died for him. You died for Iwaizumi and me. You’ll probably die for Daichi, too. And to me, that sounds incredibly selfish to ask one person to go through with you.”

“Well, then thank god you never had to deal with me during all of this death and stress,” Suga says with a thin smile. He hasn’t decided yet if Tooru is doing this specifically to hurt him or if he’s trying to justify him taking a break as well, but his words have moved far past stinging and are drilling into his heart to stay there for some time.

“I really hope you find someone who you _can_ stop dealing with that for. I hope it’s Daichi.” Tooru tilts his head and gives Suga a benign smile he doesn’t believe for a second. “I’m still getting used to this again, but I want to have your best interests at heart. Giving your life repeatedly in the name of service isn’t something that sounds all that fun.”

Suga yanks his cast away from him. “Are you saying this because I haven’t taken your re-found memories of some nebulous third party seriously? Because that’s really petty, even for you, Oikawa.”

“Me? That petty? Perish the thought,” the brunet scoffs. “Although I’d really, _really_ like whatever information you _have_ found. I can handle a bit of legwork myself on this case.”

“Ninety percent of what I’ve found is Iwaizumi’s word.”

“Then there’s still another ten percent!” Tooru chirps.

“Kiyoko mentioned that the crows may be missing several eggs, but that’s literally all we have unless we can ask them for more information. Which we can’t, since none of us are friendly with the crow tengu, until we buy their trust by returning their First egg or we happen to stumble upon a young, redheaded missing crow. So they _may_ tell us more about other thieves, or they could just thank us for the work and slam the door in our faces,” Suga points out. Tooru nods along, chin in hand, absorbing the information with inappropriate focus.

This looks like it’s going to turn into his next pet project, and honestly, Suga’s fine with that. Let him piss off _another_ clan of higher spirits. As Tooru so kindly put it, Suga _won’t_ be dying for him again.

Suga thinks of the hemlock in the vase next to his bed. _You will be my death._

How cruel.

How true.

 

\--

 

Kenma frowns at the message on his phone from Sugawara. ‘ _tlk to Akaash pls b4 i retire 2 bcom fulltim tengu shrin kk_ ’? Kuro had mentioned sending some messages to him, so the safe bet is that this is probably meant for him.

 _They’d been discussing Akaashi?_ Kenma thinks, uneasy. He can’t say it’s not their business, because Kuro is directly involved and Suga is friends with the owl clan as well, but it somehow seems too personal to be discussed by others. Then again, who else was Kuro supposed to ask for advice? Kenma supposes he’s been negligent on that front. At best.

Kenma peeks up at the two in front of him, chatting animatedly. Bokuto seems better now, though Kenma still catches him giving both he and Kuro strange looks when he doesn’t think either of them are watching. Kenma doesn’t like the attention; it makes his spine crawl and he wants to hide in Kuro’s shadow.

 _I wonder if I could write a spell like that._ There’s a character like that in _Sin Magician Tension_ and, even if he hasn’t played the game properly in what seems like forever, it’s a little amusing to think of taking yet _another_ idea from the game and applying it to magic.

A hand comes down on Kenma’s shoulder and he jumps a foot in the air.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi says, looking just as surprised as Kenma is as he whirls around. They hold up their hands, well away from Kenma, and add, “I saw you three and thought I’d catch up. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Akaashi!” Bokuto cries and jumps at them. Akaashi smiles, fond and warm, and graciously accepts the overenthusiastic embrace.

Kenma shies back toward Kuro, trying to regulate his heart again.

“You’re alright!” Bokuto exclaims, holding Akaashi at arm’s length and looking them up and down. The barn owl tengu raises an eyebrow, as if asking _why wouldn’t I be_. “Kenma said Sugawara could be dangerous, so we came to pick you up and make sure you were okay!”

Akaashi gives Kenma what can only be described as a dirty look. Kenma wonders what the hell he did to deserve that. “I’m fine, Bokuto. Sugawara wouldn’t hurt anyone, and I can take care of myself, remember?” Akaashi replies, quietly, although they’re still close enough that Kenma and Kuro can hear them.

“I still worry sometimes,” Bokuto admits and nuzzles his face into the crook of Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi’s face turns crimson and they send the other two a quick, panicked look. They don’t push Bokuto away, however, and he draws back after a moment with an overjoyed grin. Bokuto leans down and kisses Akaashi soundly on the mouth.

Akaashi goes rigid, but the kiss doesn’t last long, and when Bokuto pulls away once more, Akaashi’s face is the reddest shade Kenma has ever seen on anyone, human or tengu.

Kenma knows that feeling of embarrassment, but he doesn’t know what to say to help defuse the situation. Kuro probably doesn’t, either, but he still opens his mouth to say, “Ah, married life. Does this count as domestic bliss or is this still the honeymoon phase?”

“How do you even know those terms?” Kenma asks.

“We aren’t married, Kuroo,” Akaashi forces out.

“Not yet,” Bokuto adds with that same, toothy, half-crooked beam of unfiltered joy.

Kenma is _very_ aware of Kuro’s eyes on him. Either to make sure he’s not uncomfortable with their display or perhaps jealous of it himself; Kenma isn’t sure and he can’t bear to raise his eyes to check. Kenma certainly can’t give him that level of affection.

Maybe Bokuto _would_ be the better choice. Except he’s evidently engaged now.

Kenma and Akaashi share a wretched, knowing look.

 

\--

 

Whatever Kei expected out of his newfound, short term bodyguard job, it’s not to see a tiny glamored tengu in a dress burst into tears in the middle of Starbucks. And then have Hitoka join him.

Kei wishes he were just about _anywhere_ else in the world, and the grumpy witch with them may have been a kindred spirit in that feeling, had he not decided that apparently it’s a less awkward situation if he spends it glaring up at Kei with an equally angry crow perched on his shoulder.

Just when he’s about to declare it a job well done and sink through the floor to escape, the tengu stops his blubbering long enough to finally notice Kei. “Wh-Who’re you?” he asks, tone wary but voice thick. He cradles the large egg in his arms like it’s made of the thinnest glass. (Kei knows for a fact that it’s as strong as concrete. He may have fallen on it during the escape.)

“This is Tsukishima! He’s staying with Kiyoko for a few days, and Yaku thought it’d be a good idea to have someone help deliver the egg,” Hitoka helpfully introduces. She wipes her eyes with a wobbly little smile. “I’m sorry, Tsukishima, I hadn’t expected to get so emotional about reuniting family like this…”

“It’s not even his egg,” the witch grumbles.

“This is Kageyama,” Hitoka adds with a gesture toward the bitchface witch. She then waves to the tengu and says, “And this is Hinata! His cousin was the one missing their egg, and now—”

“And now I don’t have to eat anyone’s eyes!” Hinata says triumphantly and holds the egg aloft.

Kei wonders if he can still escape.

“I’m so glad it was yours after all! I-I don’t know how to tell tengu eggs apart—no offense, oh gosh!—and I don’t know any of the owl tengu like Suga does,” Hitoka says.

They _finally_ move to go sit down at one of the tables by the window, and Kei tries to excuse himself. Surely a witch and a tengu are enough protection for Hitoka and the egg. He doesn’t like Kageyama’s immediate distrust and he dislikes Hinata’s loud theatrics even less.

But Hitoka catches him by the sleeve and says, “Hold on, I’ll walk to the hospital with you! I’m sorry, Tobio, I can’t make it myself tonight, but I brought you the nettles and the morning glory.” She launches into a rushed explanation of some sort of potion and Kageyama nods along like he understands all of the gibberish perfectly.

Kei wants to go to the hospital even less than he wants to stay here. As the other two talk, Hinata, evidently as lost as Kei is, surveys him coolly from across the table. He flinches when he notices Kei return the look and quickly turns to stare out the window. Kei raises an eyebrow, and the tengu mumbles, “Y-You, uh, smell like a demon. I don’t want Yachi to be friends with any demons.”

Kei wonders if Hitoka and Kuroo count as friends. Probably not. “I’m not a demon,” he replies thinly.

“I _figured_ , but you still smell like one! But you’re not alive, either, so I’m just trying to figure out what kind of company a nice girl like Yachi has!” Hinata exclaims, a little too loudly (again), and both Hitoka and Kageyama turn to him. His cheeks darken and he hurriedly pretends to be invested in tracing patterns on the egg on his lap.

“Tsukishima isn’t a demon,” Hitoka says softly. She glances up at him, as if asking for permission, and he wrinkles his nose and looks away. He doesn’t want to get into his (second) life story with these two and he doesn’t want to know what she’d categorize him as, either. “W-Well, that’s not our business. Hinata, would it be okay if I borrowed some of your clan’s books next time you visit here? I’d love to learn more about tengu healing magic, and maybe you’ve done more research on curses like this!”

Kageyama and Hinata both blanch, then turn to exchange a weirdly horrified look.

“U-Um, you _are_ coming back, right?” Hitoka asks.

“Yeah! Of _course_ I will! I just don’t know what Kageyama’s going to do since I don’t have to pay him anymore!” Hinata exclaims with a very forced laugh. He pats the egg fondly and gives the witch beside him a sly, smug smirk. “The best hunter around and the human healer is the one who ends up with the egg. How embarrassing!”

Kageyama flushes an angry red, clenched fists shaking on the table, and Hitoka balks like they’re about to start a fistfight in a booth. And as entertaining as that would be, Kei would really rather get this over with. “ _I’m_ the one who ended up with the egg,” he interrupts.

Hinata looks down at the egg like it’s suddenly developed cooties. Then, back up at the blond, “I don’t want to have to pay _you_!”

“You can pay her, then! I wouldn’t know the first thing about tengu eggs. Just give it back to your family or whatever and keep it _away_ from Ushijima this time.”

“What about _my_ payment?! You bought me out from my last employer, that means you have to honor your end of the deal!” Kageyama bursts back in.

“You didn’t do _your_ end of the deal! Best hunter my ass.”

“I turned down your weight in gold for this!”

“Then you’re just stupid! No job done, no payment!”

“Boys, please!” Hitoka interrupts in a high-pitched squeal. She reaches across the table and puts her hands in between them, not exactly pushing them apart, but they seem to get the message and slump back down into their seats. The crow on Kageyama’s shoulder gives a little hum and nestles back down against the crook of his neck.

It’s too late, however; one of the baristas comes over and, with a fretful look at the crow and the matching scowl both Kageyama and Hinata are wearing, asks them if they’d please leave.

“We didn’t even get to order anything,” Hinata sulks, outside, and wraps the egg up in his overly large coat; judging from the way it’s hanging on him, Kei wonders if it’s actually Kageyama’s.

 _Isn’t he closer to Yachi’s size?_ Kei thinks and notes how unaffected Hinata acts about the cold weather. _At least I can feel the temperature again._ He pulls his own coat a little tighter and stares at the back of Hitoka’s head, wishing she’d let them depart already. “I’m sure Hinata can come back to discuss payment later,” Kei drawls, and she _finally_ gets the message.

“Be sure to visit again soon! And, o-oh, Tobio, I’ll be sure to figure out something in the meantime for that!” Hitoka says with a cheery wave. She follows half a step behind Kei until he slows down enough to let her fall into an easier pace. “I’ve managed to stop the progression of Tobio’s curse. He has the same one that Saeko has right now, i-if you’ve heard about her problem, I mean. It’s nothing bad! But it’s something to work on, and I’m _really_ glad that that egg turned out to be the crow clan’s. One less thing to worry about!”

“Hm,” Kei grunts noncommittally.

“Tobio is a little younger than I am, so he’s probably actually close to how old you and Tadashi are! E-Er, were? Um… Y-Y’know,” Hitoka says with a nervous little laugh. She laces her fingers together in front of her as she walks, fidgeting, and continues talking to fill the silence (the silence that Kei doesn’t really mind like she seems to). “The crow, Kasa, is Tobio’s familiar! She’s very sweet, and she’s been learning wind magic from Hinata. I think that might have been part of their deal, actually…”

“So now you get to learn it?” he asks, since she seems intent on holding a conversation.

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t be very good at that. I’m pretty happy just learning about body magic right now. I’ve been, well, getting a lot of practice lately…” Hitoka trails off.

He isn’t sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

Hitoka brightens again through what seems to be sheer force of will and says, “But that’s okay! I’m very good at treating migraines now, with how often Kiyoko has been getting them, and _wow_ , that’s going to come in handy for finals. Did you ever get migraines?”

“Not really,” Kei answers. He doesn’t really like all of the medical talk, but at least headaches are pretty far removed from his living memories. (He doesn’t like doctors, either, but Hitoka is very far removed from them. It may be unfair to think that, but he’s privately grateful.)

“I guess you were lucky even back then!” she exclaims.

Kei doesn’t think so, but he’s certainly not going to argue with her. He glances away, but accidentally ends up bumping into her, and hastily shies away again to give her space. She walks closer to him, anyway. Kei isn’t sure if she’s trying too hard to be friendly or if she’s secretly intrigued by him.

“I think Kiyoko is really happy to have you visit, too. I can tell she’s trying to get lots of extra luck lately, probably for all of the things that have happened. Do you actually think it’s over?” Hitoka asks.

Kei thinks back to that darkened room and the _wrong_ -feeling figure. “I wouldn’t put any money on it,” he replies. It still sends a shiver down his spine. Whatever that _thing_ they were working with was, Kei knows they did little to really stop it.

“I figured,” Hitoka confesses with a defeated sigh. She rubs her arms, brushing Kei’s arm with her elbow, and he gives her a little more space. “Kiyoko will help us through this. And Suga and Tadashi will be okay, too, so we can check in on them.”

Kei realizes then that he was being _herded_ to the hospital like some sort of ghostly sheep. He doesn’t really know this area of the city so he had been largely just trying to head back in the vague direction of the shop; all of those little nudges had been to keep him on the proper path. Kei looks down with a frown at Hitoka, who smiles back up at him.

She loops her arm in his and tugs him towards the looming building now visible in front of them. “You think I don’t know how to handle leading someone somewhere? I work with Noya and Tanaka. Come on, it would really cheer Tadashi up if you’d visit! Pretty please?”

“I can’t do hospitals,” Kei replies flatly. He digs in his heels but she still tugs on him.

“I understand if it’s difficult for you, but—!”

Kei turns intangible and invisible and phases out of her grasp. She’s surprised, then hurt, and he turns away from her before he can hear any sort of apology.

 

\--

 

Tadashi is woken by someone tapping on the window. He jerks up, bleary-eyed but conscious enough to be alarmed—they’re on the fourth floor. What the shit. He reaches under his pillow for his phone, but of course it’s not there. The curtains are drawn over the window, but he can see a maybe-human silhouette through it, and that doesn’t exactly reassure him.

He doesn’t think he can run, much less make it to Suga’s room or the desk down the hall before this thing gets in. If it wants in. The nice doctor had mentioned that the hospital was warded with a couple basic charms, but they’re not meant to withstand anything serious.

Physically, he’s not in the best shape, but he doesn’t have to rely just on his body anymore. Tadashi slips out of bed, carefully drawing the runes in the air beside him as he limps toward the window. The tapping comes again, sharp and loud.

Tadashi throws back the curtain just as a little ball of fire bursts forth over his palm. The drain on his magic is immediate and worse than he anticipated, but he stays upright. The figure crouching in front of the window like some sort of creepypasta monster is mostly a silhouette, darkened by the light behind it, but Tadashi makes out the ash-colored hair.

“ _Suga_?” he hisses in surprise. The figure nods happily and taps on the window again. Tadashi unlocks it and slides it open, repeating, “Suga? What are you doing out there? That’s—we’re on the fourth floor!”

Suga is balancing on what little ledge there is, one arm grabbing the top part of the window, but he doesn’t seem too worried considering how high up he is off the ground. “Fancy a breakout?” he asks.

Yuu pops his head into the window from above, hanging upside-down, and Tadashi nearly falls over in shock. “Shit, we gotta teach you how to use some light magic! You’re lucky you didn’t burn yourself.”

“Morisuke taught me this. It’s safe,” Tadashi mumbles and shakes out his hand. The tiny flame extinguishes.

“We’ll talk about your use of cat magic later,” Suga replies and leans away from the window. The cold air rushes in and Tadashi pulls his thin hospital gown tighter around himself.

Yuu, still upside-down and suspended through reasons unknown, holds out what looks to be a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. “Throw these on so you don’t freeze your ass off! They should fit, but you’re a little taller than Ryuu, so the pants might be a bit short.”

“Why are you breaking out of the hospital?” Tadashi asks, half-curious and half-suspicious. He’d gotten the sense that Yuu doesn’t like hospitals, so Suga probably doesn’t, either, but this seems a little extreme. “And shouldn’t you be resting?”

“You don’t have to come with us,” Suga says instead of directly answering, although he has a guilty note in his voice, “but we thought we’d offer you the option. You’ll likely be discharged in a day or two, anyway, after you get a couple more visits from the good witch doctor.”

Tadashi has already healed enough to be able to walk, so there’s definite progress there. And he doesn’t particularly like hospitals.

And he really, really misses Kei.

“How are you both up here?” he asks, because he’s not jumping out a window with them unless he knows a _couple_ more details, at least.

“Flight potion,” the pair respond in unison. Suga readjusts again, this time letting go of the window entirely, and Tadashi is certain his heart stops for a moment. He reclines in the air, bare feet still resting on the ledge, and digs through his messenger bag with his castless hand. His sling, which he has the grace to at least keep around his neck, hangs uselessly in front of his chest. He begins pulling out jars and bottles and passes them to Tadashi. “Here,” Suga says, “drink these. Rejuvenation potion, warmth potion, and flight potion. I’m really sorry to have to start you on a flight potion without any practice, so you’ll have to hold onto one of us, but maybe we can teach you how to use it properly some other time… Actually, no, give me that one back.”

Suga plucks a plastic water bottle half-full of something yellow and fizzy back out of Tadashi’s arms. He replaces it with another one, nearly full of something dark.

“We’ll give you a float potion and we can just carry you.”

“I-I’d rather be moving under my own power.”

“Flight potions aren’t something you jump out a window with without knowing how to use,” Yuu says sagely. “C’mon, though, go change! And chug those! It’ll be practice for parties down the line.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Suga scolds. “Tadashi, you’ll be fine. Please just drink those and change.”

“Is it really okay to just leave?” Tadashi asks with a nervous glance back at the hospital room. It’s not as if there’s anything of his in here; Kei had his phone, Tadashi’s clothes had been thrown out when he’d come in, and he supposes it’d be a bit much to ask to take the flowers and the cards with him.

“Neither of us have spent more than a day or two in a hospital in _years_ ,” Yuu boasts.

“Not really something to be proud of, Noya,” Suga hums in disapproval, but he’s smiling as he digs through his bag.

“Ehh,” he says with a shrug. The gesture is strange from this angle. He somersaults through the air and rights himself next to Suga, not even pretending to brace himself on the building. “Chug and change, Yama. Chug and change!”

Tadashi unscrews the top of the easiest to grab bottle. He wrinkles his nose at the sour smell, but it doesn’t taste too bad, at least. A little like pickles. Warmth floods through him, despite the fact that the drink itself is actually cool in his mouth, and it’s a strange feeling to say the least. He can’t even drink half of it without feeling like he’s about to break into a sweat.

“You don’t have to down all of them,” Suga tells him.

Someone needs to teach these people about portion sizing and dosage rules. Feeling like he’s running a bad fever, Tadashi tosses the warming potion back to Suga. Stripping and jumping out into the freezing night doesn’t sound like such a bad idea right now.

The two outside his window turn their backs to him and Tadashi is honestly thankful to be rid of the hospital gown. Gowns are strangely breezy, even with boxers on, though he almost doesn’t want to pull on the grey sweats Yuu had brought him. He pauses, shirtless, and drinks the next potion. He recognizes the thin, violet liquid as a rejuvenation potion. It probably won’t make him sweat like a fucking pig. He absently wonders about mixing this many magic potions in his stomach at one time, but this is presumably what they’ve taken, too, right?

Tadashi is at least self-aware enough to laugh at himself as he drinks the second potion. He probably shouldn’t be using Sugawara and Yuu as measuring sticks for good magical decisions.

He feels noticeably more awake after a few swallows of the rejuvenation potion. His leg isn’t so achey, either, and he can stand normally on it without any discomfort. Why haven’t they been dosing him full of this the entire time? Wait, _no_ , getting hooked on a second type of magic potion is the _shittiest_ idea in the world.

Maybe having magical knowledge and having good decision making skills are mutually exclusive.

Tadashi pulls the baggy hoodie on over his head and uncorks the last potion. _A float potion?_ Sounds fairly straightforward. By the second swallow, he feels strangely tingly, and after the third, he’s definitely light-headed. Just as he pauses to ask if he’s supposed to be feeling dizzy, Asahi floats through the wall and they all startle. Tadashi fumbles the bottle and Yuu yelps, “Cheese it, it’s the ghost cops!”

“Yuu? _Koushi_?” Asahi says, confused, then realization dawns over his face.

Both Yuu and Suga are beckoning to Tadashi, and he’s already taken all that shit, so he may as well see this ludicrous plan through to the end. Tadashi scrambles out the window, hits his head on the top of it, and flops outside into Suga’s arms. Everything seems light yet slow, like he’s underwater or in a dream.

“You two are leaving already? Koushi just woke up!” Asahi scolds and follows them to the open window with a surprisingly fierce scowl. “Tadashi, you don’t have to go along with their bad decisions!”

Yuu moves over to help hold Tadashi up, and he’s a little too out of it to worry about the fact that both of them _need_ to keep him up. Outside, he’s glad he took the warming potion, and even with the proper clothes he doesn’t feel so warm anymore. His bare feet are already uncomfortably chilled. Suga’s skin is cold against his, too, worryingly so.

“See you at home, Asahi!” Yuu chirps with a wink. Tadashi laughs at it.

Asahi reaches out for them and Suga shies away, tugging Tadashi with him, accidentally out of Yuu’s grasp. Before Tadashi and Suga sink in the air, however, Tadashi sees Asahi’s hand collide and connect with Yuu’s boot. Tadashi _knows_ that two-second beat of contact.

Asahi’s hand phases through Yuu’s foot and the short man looks like he’s just been gutted. Suga seems to have missed the entire exchange. “Noya, _Noya_! I’m slipping— _Yuu_!” Suga finally barks, and Yuu jumps to attention. He floats over and hauls Tadashi up so it’s not just Suga carrying him.

Asahi doesn’t say anything else to them as they leave the hospital. Tadashi isn’t sure he’s even looking at them.

The flight home is cold, and nerve-wracking once they get away from the buildings and over empty streets far, _far_ below them. Yuu halfheartedly offers to do tricks, but none of them are really feeling it, and halfway there, it looks like Suga’s falling asleep in mid air. With a jaw-cracking yawn, Suga admits that he _may_ be tired, and Tadashi can’t help but break into breathless giggles. It’s not even _funny_ , but he can’t stop. Panic? Thin air? Potion reaction? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore, and he’s not sure he cares, either. He laughs practically the rest of the way to his apartment.

He doesn’t have his keys on him, but Yuu hardly bats an eye and opens his door in less than a minute. “You’ll have to teach that to me sometime,” Tadashi says, holding onto Suga like an anchor.

Yuu flashes him a grin. “Sure thing, Yama. Maybe once you’re not drunk on magic.”

“And whose fault is that?” he replies.

Yuu shrugs and Suga yawns again. “Kiyoko said Tsukishima is staying at her shop, so I’ll swing by and tell him he can head home after I drop off Sleeping Beauty over here,” Yuu says, jerking his thumb over at the pale-haired man. Suga pretends to snore. “And we’ll take care of the rest of the hospital paperwork and shit, so don’t worry! G’night!”

“Oh, goodnight,” Tadashi says and the other two depart. He hadn’t thought about Kei _not_ being at home. He’d had his keys, so why hadn’t he stayed here? Had he gotten _lonely_?

Tadashi certainly feels lonely as he’s confronted, yet again, with his dark and empty apartment. His leg still feels fine, at least, but when trying to shuffle out of the living room and into the hallway, he misjudges how gravity works on him now and ends up bouncing off a wall and hitting his head on the ceiling. Grumbling and clinging to the wall as he skitters toward his bedroom, Tadashi doesn’t bother with anything except getting a glass of water before faceplanting onto his bed.

Even that seems too big to be in by himself anymore.

 _Holy shit, I have a problem_ , he thinks and falls back into a fitful sleep.

 

\--

 

Yuu cleans his guns and refreshes the wards on them until Asahi comes home. It doesn’t take long, since Yuu helped the other two get home first; just because he’s a ghost doesn’t mean that Asahi is _slow_.

Without looking up at him, instead focusing on the _aim_ ward etched into the bottom of the magazine, Yuu asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened in that house now?”

Asahi doesn’t respond. The silence stretches long enough that Yuu drops his cold front to look up at Asahi—Asahi isn’t looking at him, eyes instead on his trembling hands held inches from his face. He seems to sense Yuu’s gaze on him because he then speaks. “Aren’t you… Aren’t you going to talk about when I just touched you?”

“ _No_ ,” Yuu says with venom enough to surprise them both. Asahi’s now looking up at him, expression still wrecked and hands still shaking. But they’re looking at each other. In the eye. For what feels like the first time in ages. “I don’t care about that,” he adds, a hair gentler, but it only serves to make Asahi look worse.

“I _shouldn’t_ be able to touch you any more!” he exclaims.

“Then call it a fucking Christmas miracle and move on!”

“You _know_ that’s not what it was, Yuu!”

And he can’t argue that. Yes, _goddamn it_ , he knows what it means if Asahi can touch him _now_. But Yuu can’t face that right now, not so soon after the moment. Truthfully, he’s rapidly losing the ability to face most Asahi-related revelations, but he tells himself that at least knowing what happened in that stupid magic-charred house is pertinent to his job.

“What happened there,” Yuu says in a low voice.

Asahi looks away and seems to flicker a little. “There was a fox spirit and Ushijima and Tsukishima. We escaped, grabbed the spell ingredients we could, and ran.”

“And how did a ghost and whatever manage to run from them?” Yuu doesn’t doubt the story, since he personally knows half a dozen ways they could have escaped. They’ve gotten out of weirder, more dangerous situations. But Asahi was badly shaken by it, more than he’s trying to let on.

But really. _Really_. He should know by now that they can’t hide things from each other.

“Did Tsukishima do something to them?” Asahi _would_ protect him, even if it means Tsukishima is turning into something nasty.

Asahi shakes his head. Some of his hair falls into his eyes and he makes no move to tuck it back again.

“So _you_ did something to them,” Yuu says. Reluctantly, the ghost across from him nods, and his eyes drop back down to his hands. “Asahi, cool it with the touch! _I_ don’t care what it fuckin’ meant, not now and not in general. And you shouldn’t, either!”

Asahi doesn’t respond, not at first. Yuu is about to launch into the fact that they’re now playing teacher-slash-guardians to Tadashi and _whatever_ the hell Tsukishima is turning into, so they’re really not in a moral position to worry about stupid spiritual identities and so thus Yuu gives about zero shits about the potential for Asahi to be changing into something _else_ —

But then Asahi tells him, “It’s always been easier for _you_ not to care, hasn’t it, Yuu.”

Yuu _wishes_ he’d freeze in the same way Asahi does, looking like a startled rabbit even at his own words. But Yuu jumps to his feet, fingers digging into the empty gun, his other hand clawing into his pants so he doesn’t do something stupid. “That’s _not_ what I meant and you fucking know that, Asahi!”

Something stupid like that. Asahi flinches at his volume and Yuu drops the handgun onto the table. It clatters and Asahi jumps again.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me, okay! I’m _so sorry_ it wasn’t me and it was you instead,” Yuu blurts out like he can’t physically keep the words in him. “And I’m sorry I got the contract busted. And I’m sorry I didn’t know about Suga and Yui’s Door thing, or what happened in that house, or when you touched me again. I’m so, _so_ sorry that I can’t fix these things for you. But don’t stand there and try to fucking tell me that I _don’t care_.”

“Don’t. I-I’m sorry,” Asahi begins, weakly and thickly like he’s trying not to cry, and that only makes this situation worse.

“It’s not your fault!” It’s no one’s fault, and that makes it all worse, because when it’s someone’s fault at least Yuu can punch that someone. But he can’t punch the laws of ghostly physics. Yuu forces himself to sit back down, because blowing up is helping exactly no one, and to his chagrin, he finds a lump in his own throat, too. “It’s not your fault, Asahi. Don’t apologize for anything,” he adds, quiet and mercifully steady.

“I.” Asahi gulps down a deep breath he doesn’t need anymore. “I-I possessed Ushijima. That’s how we got out. But he was… There was something already in there, carving out a hollow in his mind, and it was—it was _terrible_. It was just nothing, e-except for this _thing_ , and I think it came out when Ushijima pushed me out. And I can’t stop thinking about it,” he says, dropping into a pained whisper, staring at his hands again. “What if it got _out_? Wh-What if I unleashed something…? What if it’s early o-or _worse_ and I didn’t stop anything at all?”

Yuu had suspected something to do with possession, but he hadn’t anticipated _this_ and it feels like the bottom drops out of his stomach. The feeling worsens when Asahi breaks down into panicked, guilty sobs, breathless and trembling.

Yuu goes around the table and approaches him. It may make him the most horrible person on the planet, but just for a moment, he wishes Asahi _were_ turning into something else, just so his arms didn’t phase through him when he raises them for comfort. Asahi turns from him as if he’s read his mind. “You’re okay,” Yuu firmly tells him. “You stopped them from starting the apocalypse that night. No matter what happens, you _saved us_.”

“You weren’t _there_ ,” Asahi cries, and it’s not an accusation but it stings like one, “you didn’t see it, Yuu. I-It was… It shouldn’t have been there, in Ushijima or out of him. It’s changing me into something—”

“No, you are a _static being_ now,” Yuu cuts in. “Even if we’re not bound anymore, you’re still safe from turning into a demon.”

“I touched you again,” Asahi miserably points out. Yuu presses his mouth into a thin line. “Ghosts can’t touch humans. I have a timer, Yuu. I need to go.”

“Not yet!”

“Then _when_?”

“You still… You owe me a tattoo idea, remember? A-And you promised Kiyoko you’d go to her party, and then there’s Yule and Christmas, and then there’s your birthday, and—”

“I already told you,” Asahi says, “I’m not staying that long. I _can’t_.”

Yuu doesn’t stop him when he turns and floats back through the door he came through. Why is this all they are, anymore?

 

\--

 

Suga wakes up with Yuu’s heel in his back and a rabbit in front of his face.

He _has_ woken up in far more uncomfortable—and weirder—circumstances, and with Yuu to boot, but the rabbit is a new one. Suga blearily blinks at the rabbit, and then he becomes conscious enough to realize that it has _antlers_. Alright, jackalope. The rabbit creature wiggles its nose at him, then shuffles forward enough to snuffle its wiggly little nose all over his nose. It’s the cutest wake-up Suga’s ever had, even with Yuu’s attempt at breaking his spine.

Sunshine jumps up onto the bed and meows, then eyes the jackalope reproachfully. The jackalope doesn’t seem to mind his presence. “Hey, Sunny,” Suga says with a yawn. He gingerly sits up, back cracking, and _wow_ that feels a lot better already.

“Fuck, I thought you’d sleep longer,” Yuu groans from behind Suga.

“If you’re _awake_ , why are you sprawled like that?” he demands, annoyed.

“I was nappin’ with you. What, you don’t want to cuddle with me anymore now that you got a _boooyfriend_?” Yuu asks, dragging the last word into a grade school coo. The foot leaves the small of Suga’s back, and Yuu instead replaces it with both of his knees as he nestles up. He’s _trying_ to get his limbs up that far at this point.

“No, I’m wondering why you didn’t go home to Asahi. Again. Care to explain yourself?”

Yuu makes a grumpy negative sound and curls up further. Careful not to jostle the jackalope or Sunshine, Suga rolls over and looks down at Yuu. His eyes are open, though he’s staring at Suga’s shrimp boxers instead of meeting his gaze, and he looks very much like he would _not_ want to explain himself. But it’s not as if Suga is without guesses. It’s not as if he’s been very cozy with Asahi lately, either; the ghost hadn’t even visited him in the hospital, at least not while he was awake.

Suga runs his fingers through Yuu’s two-toned hair. He still has no options for them, and ultimately, as much as it pains them, it’s Asahi’s sole decision.

“I’m gonna get a dog,” Yuu mumbles.

“A jackalope isn’t enough?” Suga asks in return. An animal companion may be a good idea for Yuu, and it’s not like he’s unused to animals, but starting a menagerie may be a bit extreme.

“That’s not mine,” Yuu says with a surprising laugh. Suga frowns, confused, and Yuu props himself up on one elbow with a strangely smug grin. “Well shit, Suga, you don’t even know who your _boyfriend’s_ pet is?”

Suga twists back around with fresh horror for the innocuous antlered bunny on the bed. Said jackalope is trying to curl up next to Sunshine (who is trying to curl up in Suga’s warm spot but doesn’t seem to want a cuddle buddy). “Why do you have Daichi’s jackalope?” Suga demands.

“Because Nishinoya told me you wanted a pet date. He neglected to tell me that you were still passed out,” comes the response from the doorway. Suga nearly falls over Yuu as he scrambles back away from Daichi and his pet. His boyfriend raises an eyebrow from the doorway, where he leans against it with his arms folded across his chest. “I was also surprised to hear that you got _discharged_ so soon.”

“S-So, that’s a cute jackalope,” Suga says and Yuu snickers into the pillow. Traitor.

“That’s Dinah.”

“ _That’s_ Dinah?” Suga repeats, half-relieved, half-amused. “Dinah. _Dinah_ , really, Daichi?”

“ _Sunshine_ ,” Daichi retorts with a point at the very black cat.

“He used to be yellow,” Suga and Yuu reply together. Suga shoves Yuu’s face back into the pillow and asks, “So what are you actually doing over here…?”

“Nishinoya told me you had been discharged and wanted some, and I quote, ‘sympathy and cuddles and lots of making out because you always get sad and snuggly after near death experiences’,” Daichi says with air quotes. Yuu’s shoulders shake as he silently laughs into the pillow. “Or… death experiences, as things were,” he quietly adds. Yuu stops laughing and sits up again.

“So you two clearly need some consolation time together,” he pipes up.

“So why are _you_ still here, then?” Suga asks flatly.

“I need some, too!” Yuu declares.

Suga knows better than to point out that he wasn’t there and thus hadn’t had any near death experiences lately, and he _does_ feel bad for him, but if Yuu had gone to all the trouble of lying out his ass to get Daichi and Dinah over here for a cuddle date, then Suga does not want a third wheel. …Fifth wheel. Pets on the bed were bad enough.

But hell, Suga is bad at saying no to sad Yuu.

Suga leaves the bed long enough to piss and rinse out his mouth with mouthwash, and by then, Yuu has somehow managed to coax Daichi onto the tiny bed and has put Dinah on his lap. Suga wishes he had his phone on him to take a picture of the sight; Dinah, while probably fairly average size for a rabbit, looks very _tiny_ curled up, resting against one of Daichi’s forearms, and the white parts of her fur stand out against the deep tan of his skin and his dark jeans. The contrast of this big, ex-military man and the fluffy jackalope is too much.

So Suga hates to interrupt, but he needs some of that for himself. “Noya, are we really doing this? We’re going to have to get pretty cozy,” Suga says, hoping that it’s a strong enough hint to get Yuu to leave.

He’s not really surprised when it’s not. “I want to be the big spoon!” Yuu declares.

Yuu may be… compact in size, but they’re still three adult men and Suga does not have the biggest bed. But the short man’s grin is infectious, and Suga wants to be in a playful mood, so he smiles and asks Daichi, “Want to be my little spoon, then? If this is all for my benefit, I think I get the right to call dibs on being in the middle of this sandwich.”

“Seriously?” Daichi asks with a dirty look over his shoulder at Yuu.

Yuu flops onto the bed and pats the space beside him, waggling his eyebrows. Suga laughs and worms his way between them. Sunshine huffs at the jostling and quickly vacates his spot near the pillows, and Daichi sets Dinah down with the cat on the floor. “Is she going to be okay?” Suga asks in concern. Sunshine will probably play nice, but he’s been known to be grumpy, and he’s a big tomcat.

“I’d be more worried about the cat. Dinah won’t leave him alone. And if you’re going to keep me trapped in here, I can’t be responsible if she chews through your couch,” Daichi warns. He forcibly scoots Suga back, who nearly ends up squishing Yuu into the wall, but no one wants to leave. With a defeated sigh, Daichi lays down with them, though one of his legs dangles over the edge of the mattress.

“Do you like being the little spoon?” Suga asks, tone conversational, although he’s mostly speaking to cover the noise of him untucking his shirt to get his hands underneath it. It’s difficult, especially because his good arm is trapped beneath the pillows and he’s still learning to navigate with a cast, but Daichi yanks up his shirt himself with another sigh after a little too much fumbling.

“Do you like being the big spoon?” Daichi asks in reply, in that tone that he uses when he’s trying to find out more Suga Things.

Suga hums, low in his throat, and doesn’t answer. (It depends on his mood, as a matter of fact.) Surprisingly, he’s already feeling warm, but he supposes two sources of heat will do that. Suga idly draws circles on the hard planes of Daichi’s stomach, simultaneously impressed and envious, and _really_ wishes he didn’t have a cast right now. Or, he supposes, a broken arm and shoulder, but he’s surely dealt with worse.

“I can see your arm moving, dude. Keep it above the belt,” Yuu mumbles against Suga’s shoulder. His breath tickles his ear and Suga fights a giggle.

“Yeah, because I’m gonna jack off my boyfriend while you are _right here_.”

“Do we still have that standing threesome agreement?”

“Noya, _no_.”

“Do I want to know?” Daichi breaks in, trying to sound exasperated, but Suga can hear the amusement beneath that. He turns his head, far enough to catch Suga’s eye, and Suga grins at him.

Well, he wanted to know more Suga Things. “So, in college, I was roommates with Asahi, right? And Asahi and Nishinoya are a package deal.” _Or they were_. Yuu snuggles a bit closer against Suga’s back.

“I remember the name.”

Suga outlines his university years: rooming with Asahi, staying up late writing papers, trying to scrounge enough for rent. It was his sophomore year when he started doing regular freelance magical work, recommended by Yui, and it worked for a time. Suspicious injuries aside. Suga had genuinely liked college, the learning and the environment both, even with the sleepless nights and constant stress. Banishing ghosts and helping Yui and Kiyoko track down monsters in his free time was just the weird part of it.

By the time he launches into a story about the time Asahi came home early and Suga and Yui had to explain why their bathroom was covered in blue water sprite blood (Kiyoko saved them by pulling the building’s fire alarm), Yuu is snoring against his shoulder blade, and Daichi has melted from Suga’s voice and him kneading his hands into his abs into a big, warm, teddy bear. His chuckles are quiet and low and a _little_ bit husky and the scene feels almost inappropriately intimate.

“I like it when you actually talk about yourself,” Daichi rumbles, threading his fingers with Suga’s as best he can, considering the cast.

“I like it when you come over,” Suga replies. Sunshine jumps up onto the bed, and a whining sound soon follows. Suga nearly sits up, looking for the source; the way Daichi sighs and leans over the edge of the bed tells Suga that it’s Dinah. He scoops up the jackalope and sets her next to Sunshine at the foot of the bed. “We should have pet dates more often.” _And regular dates._ “She seems to like Sunny well enough.”

“Maybe this weekend I can see about bringing her over again. Or—you haven’t been to _my_ place yet, you know,” Daichi says and lays back down. Suga nestles up behind him again and when he hooks his foot over Daichi’s leg, Sunshine pounces on it. Dinah hops in place like she’s copying him.

“Then this weekend?” Suga asks. _Hmm, Daichi’s apartment._ He’s never complained much about Suga’s lack of space or clutter, but this is also one of the few times he’s been over and someone hasn’t been drunk or horribly emotional. _I wonder what the nonmagical half lives like these days_. Suga already wonders which protective wards he can place on the premises without disturbing anything.

“Yeah, come over then. And until then, go back to that thing you were doing with your hand,” Daichi tells him. Yuu snickers against Suga’s back, apparently not _quite_ as unconscious as Suga had thought, and he can see that the tips of Daichi’s ears are red. How is this man allowed to be so fucking cute? “Nishinoya, go the fuck back to sleep.”

“Yessir,” Yuu mumbles.

“And Suga, tell me a story about your childhood.”

“Am I just telling you both bedtime stories, then?” Suga asks in amusement.

“If getting too hot in a bed with two grown-ass men gets you to open up a little, then yes, I’ll take all the bedtime stories you have,” Daichi replies.

 

\--

 

It’s been two days since Tooru (re?) found out about a potential third summoning attempt, and Iwaizumi knows for a fact he hasn’t slept. He’s only broken back into Spanish once, and it only lasted an hour, but it’s still as disconcerting as it had been the first time. Sleeplessness has only made his mood worse when it happens, too.

So, since Iwaizumi is working on being a Caring Boyfriend (who maybe needs to prove that to himself) to his favorite dumbass, on the second night, Iwaizumi grabs the potion Kiyoko had given them and smears it across Tooru’s forehead before he can resist. “Yuck!” Tooru squeals and tries to break away, but Iwaizumi keeps a firm hold on the back of his head. “What are you doing?! Gross, Iwa-chan!”

“You’re coming to bed with me tonight,” Iwaizumi tells him.

Tooru blinks down at him. “Can’t you just jack off on your own? I’m really busy right now—oww, mean!” He gives a whine when Iwaizumi pulls on his hair, pulling him down to his height. “A-Alright, maybe I’ll take a nap with you—but you didn’t have to try to use a sleep potion on me!”

“It’s midnight. You’re doing more than napping. _I’m_ tired, and I know _you’re_ exhausted, and no one’s going to get helped if you end up in the hospital, too,” Iwaizumi tells him and releases his hair. Tooru rubs the back of his head with an exaggerated pout, bottom lip pushed out.

“Suga isn’t taking me seriously, but I thought _you’d_ at least realize how bad this is.”

“How bad it _can_ be. No one’s heard anything about anyone else doing anything, Oikawa. It’s all just that Ushijima guy. Sugawara and Kiyoko have been practically _bathing_ in luck, so maybe we’re lucky enough to only have to deal with one right now,” Iwaizumi tells him. He tries to believe it himself. Seeing Tooru run around in his own brand of panic has got him paranoid now, too.

Iwaizumi sighs, relents, and changes tack.

He takes Tooru’s hand in both of his and brings it up to his cheek. He leans against Tooru’s palm and asks, “Can we just try sleeping for a little while?”

Never let it be said that Iwaizumi does not sometimes win against Oikawa Tooru.

Tooru tosses and turns for a little while in bed, but it isn’t long before he’s drooling on his pillow, Iwaizumi’s arm caught underneath him. Oh well. The skinwalker falls asleep with one arm beneath Tooru’s head and the other thrown over his waist.

It feels like no time at all when Iwaizumi wakes back up, Tooru’s head butted into his sternum and arm painfully asleep (still beneath him), and there’s someone else on the bed with them.

Iwaizumi blinks down at the black-haired woman sitting cross-legged on the foot of the bed between their feet. She has a finger in her mouth and she does not remove it, frozen in shock as she locks eyes with Iwaizumi.

After a long, _long_ silence, she says around her finger, “Um, you weren’t supposed to wake up yet.”

“What the _hell_?!” Iwaizumi snarls, loud enough to wake Tooru, and the pinkish haze Iwaizumi hadn’t noticed vanishes, clearing the room. The woman squeals and falls backwards off the bed as Tooru bolts up with a sleepy snort. Iwaizumi twists and hangs over the bed, searching underneath it. He tosses aside the clump of sagebrush and the broken dreamcatcher and grabs the silver knife.

By the time he comes up with weapon in hand, Tooru’s hanging off the foot of the bed, ass in the air, asking, “Are you alright?”

“Do you know her?” Iwaizumi asks and does not loosen his hold on the dagger. He warily leans over the edge of the bed, too, and doesn’t find a woman crouched there, but instead some sort of creature. She largely resembles a dark-colored tapir, save for the white belly and back, although her tusks are nearly as long as Iwaizumi’s knife. She flexes her claws in the carpet, looking up at Iwaizumi fearfully, and her long, tufted tail lashes behind her.

Oh.

“You’re a baku,” Iwaizumi says with a long, relieved sigh. He looks at the knife in his hand, then tosses it over his shoulder. He hears it clatter against the nightstand.

“He didn’t mean to scare you. He’s just a brutish asshole at times,” Tooru says gently.

“What sort of trouble were you expecting?” she asks, sounding close to pouting, and slowly unhooks her claws from the carpet.

“We’ve had a couple run-ins with some less than kind spirits recently,” Iwaizumi answers. The baku nods, and slowly changes back into a woman, although she pointedly keeps rather sharp nails on her hands. Iwaizumi reaches over and pulls the sheet up over Tooru’s lap, then asks again, “Do you know her?”

“No, but I still know what a baku is, silly,” he replies.

“You invited me here,” she says with a suspicious squint. She nervously runs her nails through one of her pigtails, looking away, then makes a vague gesture to her face. “With that nice-smelling stuff. No one uses talismans anymore, but the potion-makers in this city use that orange one to call baku. I’m not complaining, since it’s a meal either way!”

Tooru and Iwaizumi exchange a glance. Help them sleep more soundly, huh? Iwaizumi supposes Kiyoko hadn’t been _wrong_ , but dear god, would some warning have been remiss? Or hell, maybe Kiyoko used to tease Tooru like that. Iwaizumi doesn’t know the woman, but from what he knows of Tooru and Sugawara, teasing is definitely a possibility.

“We just weren’t expecting you, sorry. Iwa-chan is a light sleeper and a bit protective at times,” Tooru says gently. “Would you mind coming back later, or even tomorrow?”

“Hm, maybe,” the woman loftily replies. “His dreams taste gummy and yours taste a little burnt.”

 _Gummy?_ Iwaizumi thinks. What the hell is _gummy_ supposed to mean? Tooru looks similarly peeved about his descriptor, but at least that one makes sense. …But Iwaizumi had _slept_ , soundly, until woken up by her. He’s sure Tooru had as well, and if he has a guarantee of that, then surely it’ll be easier to get him into bed each night, too. “You’re welcome back if you’re willing.”

Her stomach rumbles, loudly, and she wraps her arms around her middle as blood rushes to her face. “Half the people in this city have been having such terrible dreams lately, they taste like chalk and ink. I guess I could come back for you two tomorrow. But if you jump me again, I’m out of here!” she threatens and both men nod seriously.

“It’s a deal,” Tooru replies.

Clearly unused to actually saying goodbye to her meals, the baku awkwardly slinks out through a wall, phasing through it after a struggle with the wards on it. She waves at them with one last self-conscious laugh and disappears.

 _How did she get in?_ Iwaizumi wonders with a cock of his head. He definitely would’ve smelled the magic earlier from something floating through the wall, regardless of whether the protection wards were left intact or broken. He hasn’t _completely_ lost his edge, has he? Maybe the human realm has softened him more than he’d anticipated.

“You’re still my big, inhumanly-gifted monster of a boyfriend, don’t worry,” Tooru replies with a quick kiss against Iwaizumi’s tattooed shoulder. Iwaizumi huffs a laugh. “Baku travel through dream spaces.”

“ _Dream_ spaces?” Iwaizumi repeats. He’s not sure if he should be alarmed by that or not.

“…Alright, I’m not actually sure if that means the Dreamlands or not. Shouldn’t _you_ know that?” Tooru asks and Iwaizumi shrugs. Just because he lived there for awhile doesn’t mean he’s an expert; far from it. _Very_ far from it. “Well, if she pops in on either of our dreams, we’ll just ask her. But don’t worry, baku are nice spirits. Psychics work with them a lot, and I’d bet that Kiyoko knows that one personally.”

“And she sent her to us without warning us,” Iwaizumi adds.

“Well, maybe that’s how she is. Maybe that’s how _we_ were,” Tooru says in that tone of voice that informs Iwaizumi that he’s annoyed with his lack of memories. Iwaizumi doesn’t want to let him dwell on that, especially this late at night when there’s still sleep to be had, so he tugs Tooru back down onto the mattress with him.

“If you trust her, that’s enough for me,” Iwaizumi says and kicks up the blankets around them until he can pull them up over them with his hand. It’s almost like he’s tucking them both in again, with too much care; it’s so horrifically, saccharinely _domestic_ , and Iwaizumi fucking adores it. He stops himself from grinning, but he does pull Tooru close again.

Tooru hums contemplatively and this time, it’s his arm that gets trapped beneath them. Iwaizumi couldn’t be happier. Though the baku has since left, they both drift off into a calm, dreamless sleep.

 

\--

 

Hitoka wakes up to the sound of her phone going off. A sheet of her neglected homework is stuck to her cheek, and she peels it off as she answers the call and shoves it between her shoulder and ear. “H’lo…?”

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko says. Hitoka is instantly more awake, both from the sound of her voice and the way it shook. “There’s been an incident. I-I need you to please come to the shop.”

“Yes! Of course!” She’s on her feet in a flash, pulling on snowboots and throwing on her coat as she grabs her emergency bag by the door.

“It’s Saeko,” Kiyoko continues, voice cracking on her name, and fear seizes Hitoka’s heart. “I’m not sure of all of the details yet, but she’s not in danger of dying. It seems as if she’s under something’s thrall and she’s… not herself.”

There’s the sound of something like glass breaking in the background and a wordless scream.

It’s a twenty minute bus ride to The Crow’s Cup and Hitoka spends it trying to fight off tired, anxious tears. It hasn’t even been a week yet since Suga and Tadashi’s incident. _Incident_. Hitoka hates the word. _Kiyoko said she’s not going to die_ , Hitoka tells herself, steeling herself, but it does little to help her.

The shop isn’t locked, despite it being nearly one in the morning, and Hitoka creeps inside. Only the lamp on the desk in the main room is on, though several candles are lit on the bookshelf in the hallway, and it sounds like water is running upstairs. Hitoka peers around in the main room, searching out the origin of the strong smell of blood.

“Oh, Hitoka, I didn’t hear you come in,” Kiyoko says and Hitoka jumps with a squeal. The black-haired woman blinks at her, apology written in her eyes, and Hitoka _stares_ —Kiyoko has the beginnings of a black eye, the puffy skin around her left eye beginning to darken, and she can’t be certain in the dim light, but it looks like there’s red in her eye, too.

Hitoka steps forward and reaches out to cup her jaw, to turn it better into the light, but Kiyoko flinches back.

Hitoka freezes.

“I’m—sorry,” Kiyoko forces out, visibly swallowing. “Don’t mind me, Hitoka. I need you to…” She swallows again and makes a vague, aborted gesture towards the main room. “To help close a wound.”

Saeko isn’t in sight, though the water continues running upstairs, and Hitoka notices a large lump on one of the tables. Kiyoko guides her carefully around a broken vase on the floor and with a flick of her wrist, the main lights turn on. Hitoka blinks in the sudden brightness, and finds the source of the stench of blood: Queenie is laying on her side, blood smeared all across the wooden surface, panting and barely conscious. One of her front legs is little more than a stump with a rag around it, blood seeping through that.

Hitoka gasps and tears prick at her eyes again. “Wh-What happened?!” she asks through her fingers, more shrilly than she meant.

Kiyoko carefully unties the cloth around the German Shepherd’s missing leg. The wound isn’t bleeding, and Hitoka can feeling the magic already applied to it, rudimentary and rushed. At least it’s not another sloppy cauterization. She’s so tired of seeing those lately.

“There was a fear spirit, and it got the jump on Saeko,” Kiyoko says lowly. She runs her hand over Queenie’s head and the dog’s tail gives the tiniest, weakest little thump against the table. “Saeko got stuck under its thrall, both of them were attacked, and from what I can tell, Queenie’s leg was bitten when she was defending Saeko.”

Hitoka sniffs, wipes her nose and cheeks on her sleeve, and starts writing runes against the dog’s shaggy fur. She doesn’t know much about animals, but she can tell that the missing front leg is by far the worst of Queenie’s injuries. Sewing a wound shut isn’t much of a drain on her magic, but she has to cut out the splintered remains of her leg up to the shoulder joint, and that part is difficult. She can barely see for all the tears that are dripping down her face, and she’s worried about how much of her reaction is a contact thrall, but she gets the job done. Hitoka layers on an extra sleep spell onto the end of her healing magic, and Queenie finally falls still, and will hopefully sleep through the night.

Kiyoko and Hitoka slump in unison, Kiyoko against the table and Hitoka into the nearest chair.

“Ryuunosuke is on his way here as well. The best I could do was to get Saeko into the shower to wash the blood off,” Kiyoko admits. She sounds exhausted. Thralls can’t be fixed by healing magic, short of knocking someone out, and that can lead to some terrible nightmares.

“Let me look at your eye?” Hitoka asks thickly. She sniffles again and scrubs at her eyes. Queenie’s going to live, and Saeko’s going to live, and they’re going to be _okay_. _Why am I all choked up over a dog?_ Hitoka thinks guiltily. She shouldn’t be this susceptible to leftover magic. Saeko’s probably in rough shape upstairs, Kiyoko has a black eye, and Hitoka has seen and patched up worse.

“I don’t need it. Saeko just punched me, and I probably deserved it,” Kiyoko says with a hollow smile. She gingerly wipes at her eyes and says, cutting off Hitoka’s protest, “I sent her out on this, and told her it was a poltergeist. A _poltergeist_.” Her voice breaks again and she takes off her glasses completely to press her palms against her eyes. “I could have gotten Saeko killed. Her and Queenie both. Because I didn’t do enough preparation for a job.”

Hitoka finds her heart in her throat and she carefully approaches Kiyoko as the woman begins to cry. She places a tentative hand on her shoulder, and Kiyoko leans into her touch, so Hitoka gains the courage to gently pry her hands away from her face. She tilts her chin up to look at her, and Hitoka’s fingertips ghost over the bruising side of her face, pushing soothing magic into her skin.

“You’re doing the best you can,” Hitoka tells her.

“I need to do better,” Kiyoko replies and looks away, at Queenie on the table.

Hitoka turns her face so they’re eye-to-eye again and she has the psychic’s full attention. “It was an accident! A-And those are terrible, but they happen, and we help each other move on from them. Please, Kiyoko, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault,” Hitoka tells her firmly.

“You always have so much faith in others,” Kiyoko admits with another wan smile. “And in me.”

“You deserve it all,” Hitoka replies. And she just _then_ realizes how close they are. Her stomach is still a mess of nerves and sorrow and guilt, her nose is running and her eyes are itchy from her crying, and Kiyoko’s eyes are watery and red-rimmed and they’re _so close_. Hitoka shouldn’t be thinking about this right now. She feels terrible for doing so.

“Thank you for coming over on such short notice,” Kiyoko says, slipping into something more businesslike, more distant. Like she always does. Hitoka feels like her heart’s been stepped on with that tone back in Kiyoko’s voice.

“I’ll always help you,” Hitoka tells her, desperately, heat rising in her face. Kiyoko blinks up at her and Hitoka doesn’t remove her hand from her cheek. She isn’t sure how to properly articulate her respect for the woman, her admiration and adoration, for how much she’s _done_ for the city and her friends and her loved ones. Hitoka sees it more than the others do, how Kiyoko shoulders so many burdens by herself and feels guilty for sharing even the lightest of loads. That sort of devotion to her work is admirable and _so damn stupid_ , because Hitoka is _right here_ and she’d help with anything if she’d just ask.

There’s the warning of boots clomping through the slush outside then Ryuunosuke barges through into the main room. Hitoka leaps away from Kiyoko and hates how warm her face feels. She’s disgusting. She should be focusing on Saeko and the situation, not her stupid crush.

“Where’s Sae?” Ryuu breathlessly demands. Kiyoko points up the stairs and he’s gone just as fast as he came in.

“She should be calmer now, but I hope Ryuunosuke can help,” Kiyoko says softly. She puts her glasses back on and stands, looking down at Queenie once more. “I’m not sure Saeko realized what happened to her…” At Hitoka’s confused expression, Kiyoko adds, “When she came here, she was convinced that Queenie was dead. Which she’s not, thank god, but she was hysterical. She… said she wanted to quit being a hunter.”

No _wonder_ this is such a difficult situation. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it,” Hitoka replies.

Kiyoko makes a noncommittal sound and smooths down the thick fur on Queenie’s ruff. “…When put under a terror thrall, her first reaction after getting away and being convinced her dog died is to come _here_ and blame me, tell me she’s retiring, and try to kick my ass. Not try to make it to her brother or Yuu.”

“She was angry and scared.”

“Yes, she was. Hopefully she isn’t for very much longer. I’m sorry, Hitoka, tonight’s just been a long night. You don’t have to indulge in my pity party.”

“It’s okay!” Hitoka says, too quickly. “I-I mean, I’m not indulging you or anything. H-How have you been sleeping yourself lately? Have you had any more luck with your premonitions?”

“No,” Kiyoko replies shortly. _Maybe if I had, this wouldn’t have happened_ hangs in the air and Hitoka wants to hit herself. Kiyoko circles around to the other side of the table and carefully puts her arms under Queenie. “Would you mind helping me move her, please? I’d like to make her more comfortable and clean up a bit.”

The blonde nearly trips over her feet to help her carry the dog into the back room. They lay her down on a pile of half-folded quilts, possibly a leftover nest from when Kenma worked there, and Hitoka checks over her leg once more. She should be fine. Saeko will be fine once the fear magic wears off.

Hitoka silently helps Kiyoko pick up broken pieces of glass, then wipes down the table while Kiyoko mops the floor. The water upstairs has shut off, and by the time Ryuunosuke comes back down, boots clomping down each stair with a dreadful sort of tiredness, the main room is almost back to its usual state. Ryuu scratches the back of his head, looking ten kinds of tired and solemn himself, and stares at the two women for a long moment before speaking.

“Where’s Queenie…?”

“In the back room, sleeping,” Kiyoko answers. His eyebrows shoot up and she adds, “No, she’s not dead. She lost a leg, but she should be fine. How’s Saeko?”

“Pretty shaken,” he replies, clearly relieved about her dog. Kiyoko inclines her head and sets the mop aside. “Is it alright if she crashes here tonight? She was about nodding off in the shower when I found her and I think she just wants to try to move on from tonight. And she said she’s sorry for hitting you. Did she actually—?!”

Kiyoko quickly turns so that side of her face isn’t in his view. “It’s fine, Ryuunosuke. Thank you for coming over—”

“You don’t gotta do that, Kiyoko. She’s my fucking _sister_ , for starters, and I’m too tired tonight to pretend like I’m okay with _you_ pretending that we’re all polite and distant from each other. Thanks for helping her. And Hitoka, thanks for Queenie, too. I know she’s gonna be really relieved to hear that the dog’s not dead,” he says and grins. Hitoka nods, smiling back at him. “Tomorrow, I’ll be back to drive them both home. I owe you a huge bouquet of flowers for kicking you out of your bed tonight!”

“I’ll just sleep over with Hitoka,” Kiyoko says simply. Hitoka blushes up to the roots of her hair, unsure if she’s joking, and if so, _where_ the joke had come from. Ryuu lets out a wolf-whistle and gives them both a thumbs-up. “I’ll leave the door unlocked for you, so just come over whenever tomorrow. I’ll try to speak with Saeko before she falls asleep about Queenie.”

“I can, if you want—?”

“It’s fine, Ryuu.” Kiyoko casts a thoughtful, sidelong look at Hitoka, then says, “In fact, why don’t you and Saeko both stay here tonight? If you don’t mind sharing a bed. Then I can lock the shop up—”

“Woah, I’m fine with you wanting to keep the place secure, but I’m _not_ going to let you completely ruin your own sleep tonight!” Ryuu hastily protests.

“I’ll stay with Hitoka,” Kiyoko repeats. She waves off his continued protests and doesn’t bother grabbing anything other than her phone and her coat. Hitoka shuffles from foot to foot and avoids looking at her.

Hitoka gives Ryuu a couple last instructions in case Queenie wakes up or seems like she’s in pain, but he’s a smart guy in a well-stocked potion shop. It wouldn’t be that hard for him to take care of his sister and her dog for one night. Kiyoko wordlessly follows Hitoka back out into the night, and they walk in silence towards the bus stop.

When had her night become this? She still had homework to do—she wasn’t supposed to sleep yet, and it’d be rude to do work while Kiyoko was over, and— _and Shimizu Kiyoko is coming back to her tiny little dorm room with her_. Ooooh boy. Hitoka’s pretty sure she’s not going to get any more sleep tonight.

It’s not like Kiyoko hasn’t seen her room before, she reasons. Alright, maybe it’s a little messier right now because finals are next week and Hitoka hasn’t had a lot of spare time to clean, but it’s not _bad_ , right? Campus is empty and as silent as they are as they cross it, and soon enough, Hitoka is flipping on the light in her room and murmuring apologies for the clutter.

But Kiyoko just gives her a warm, if small smile, and says, “Sorry for inviting myself over. I think I can admit I need a break from the shop every so often, and we haven’t seen each other properly in a long time.”

Seen each other _properly_? What’s properly? It’s not like they’ve been on any _dates_ or anything ever, and they get to see each other every few days as it is between Hitoka studying at the shop or helping out by patching up injuries—okay, she sees now what she must mean. Hitoka giggles, high-pitched and nervous, and skitters inside after her.

So. She has the most gorgeous, talented, and smart woman in the city alone with her in her dorm room. Maybe she’s still dreaming. Maybe the part with Queenie and all that blood and Saeko had been the nightmare portion and now she’s in the happy, soothing portion.

Hitoka stares at her tiny dorm room bed. Surely Kiyoko doesn’t think they’ll _share_ that.

“Hm,” Kiyoko hums as she checks her phone for the time, and even that small sound nearly makes Hitoka jump out of her skin. “A lot of places would be closed, but if you were up for it, I could stand to order some pizza. My treat.”

In her pre-finals haze, Hitoka wonders when the last time she ate anything other than energy bars was. Come to think of it, it might’ve been leftover pizza from the other day that morning.

Kiyoko glances up at her, then returns her gaze to her phone, scrolling. The pale glow from the screen softens her face, nearly erasing her growing bruise and casting shadows from her glasses into her bangs. “…Do you still like onions and green peppers on pizza? Or, ah, we don’t have to order anything. I’m sure you’re very tired.”

It occurs to Hitoka that in her exhausted, numbed state, she’s merely standing there and gaping, not at all adding anything, and she’s forcing Kiyoko to fill the awkward silence. “I still like those!” she blurts out, overly loud for the time of night. She winces, tugs on the hem of her t-shirt (oh god she’s still in her study sweats and she looks gross when was the last time she showered?!), and adds in a quieter voice, “I-I’m fine with pizza…”

Kiyoko gives Hitoka a smile that makes her heart trip over itself in her chest.

 _Is it wrong to think we both need a break?_ Hitoka wonders. Guilt pools in her empty stomach once more. _But what’s wrong with wanting this right now?_ It’s more than stress relief, _so much_ more than that, but she’s very tired of putting things off. She _knows_ Kiyoko is, too.

Kiyoko orders a pizza and Hitoka tries to stealthily clean the room a little; she tidies the papers strewn across her desk, kicks a pair of jeans and a bra under her bed, and is glad she at least washed her sheets this past weekend. Being a college student hostess _sucks_. She pulls up some old sitcom she knows Kiyoko enjoys on her laptop and sets it on her desk, and only after Kiyoko beckons to her does she sit down on the bed beside her.

Of course, Hitoka is hyperaware of Kiyoko’s presence next to her. Their thighs are touching. She huffs out tiny little laughs every so often at the show. And as the episode wears on, her weight starts sinking to one side, the side _closer to Hitoka_ , and the blonde internally screams when Kiyoko slides down just enough to rest her head against Hitoka’s shoulder.

 _Is she tired or is this_ —she doesn’t know what This could be but it seems like a step in the right direction. Hitoka has gone further with Kiyoko, outright _cuddled_ with her before, and there’s been so many near-kisses that she would die if this were anything lesser than her current level of devotion. (It seems to be spiking lately.) But Kiyoko seems so unguarded tonight. Tired. Again. Still. Yet there’s this undercurrent of genuine gratitude and need for comfort—Hitoka doesn’t want her to pull away again. By everything holy, Hitoka wants her to _stop pulling away_.

“H-Hey, Kiyoko…” Hitoka breathes, voice shaking ever so slightly, and Kiyoko tilts her head back just enough to meet her eye. Her weight is very solidly leaning against Hitoka now, and she _still_ isn’t sure if it’s fatigue or seeking warmth or comfort or _what_. Hitoka swallows, and, though her voice is little more than a squeaky rush, she manages to get out, “I’m, um, really glad you came over tonight.”

Oh god, that sounds thirsty and terrible and super inconsiderate of everything that had happened.

“And you should come over more often! As, um, a break!” Hitoka barrels on, getting progressively more and more flustered as Kiyoko seems to _lean in_. Why is she leaning in?! “L-Like, you need to take care of yourself, too, and—and I’m good at relieving stress? I mean! I know some m-meditation things, and yoga, and some nice charms, of course you do too, but i-it’s nice to, um, do stress relief things with other people, and I really _really_ want to do them with you, and—”

And Kiyoko is definitely leaning in.

Hitoka swallows the rest of her babble and closes the distance herself. Kiyoko makes a tiny, surprised sound, a soft gasp that instantly has Hitoka imagining _other_ situations where she could hear the noise again, and she is _way_ too distracted by the thought of kissing Kiyoko that she can’t actually enjoy kissing Kiyoko.

Wait, she’s _kissing Kiyoko_.

 _Finally_ is her first, terrible, semi-rational thought and Hitoka brings up a hand to gently cradle Kiyoko’s cheek, the bruising one. The dark-haired woman’s eyes are closed, but Hitoka can’t help but keep hers open a sliver, just to look at her face and tell herself _this is real this is finally happening oh my god I don’t deserve this wait no we both deserve this so much_.

For all her talk of supposed stress relief, Hitoka’s nerves seem to be winding up tighter and tighter. She’s certain she’s nearly vibrating when Kiyoko tilts her head in order to find a better angle for her to open her mouth. She licks, gently, tentatively at Hitoka’s bottom lip and Hitoka’s brain shuts down with a whine and a blue screen.

Hitoka opens her mouth, more to gasp to try to remember to breathe or _something_ because she can’t actually process the actual, physical logistics of swapping spit with someone like Shimizu Kiyoko, and Kiyoko draws away instead of deepening the kiss. Her brow is furrowed in concern.

And then, all at once, she’s sitting stiffly upright, away from the blonde, hands clasped tightly in her lap. _That’s_ what Hitoka is used to—that distance and that self-denial. It’s hilariously familiar enough to get her to realize what she had just fucked up.

Kiyoko opens her mouth again, eyes on Hitoka’s closet off to the side, probably to apologize or bring up the age gap or their busy schedules or Hitoka’s upcoming tests or the apocalypse but all Hitoka can think is _fuck the apocalypse_ as she reaches forward, cups Kiyoko’s face, and brings their mouths together once more.

Their second kiss is less tentative, less worried, less guilty.

The pizza arrives before Hitoka can talk herself into doing more than playing with the hem of Kiyoko’s sweater. But for once, she’s not worried about not having another chance at this; she’s sure they’ll finally have _time_. Together.

 

\--

 

Kenma circles Kei and doesn’t remark upon the fact that he has to duck under Tadashi and Kei’s raised, clasped hands. Tadashi refuses to let go, and Kei isn’t arguing, and who cares if Kuroo makes kissy faces whenever Kei looks away? Tadashi doesn’t care. Tadashi only cares about the fact that he’s so very, _very_ tired of getting separated from Kei.

And if holding hands as constantly as they can manage takes that a little more literally than he means, oh well.

Kei isn’t protesting, and that’s the important part.

“Well, you’re definitely part demon…” Kenma says at last and Kei’s eye roll is nearly audible.

“Yeah. _Thanks_ ,” he snaps back.

“Tsukki, be nice,” Tadashi admonishes with a tug on their connected hands. Kei compromises by glaring daggers into the far wall instead of Kenma’s half-dyed hair.

“Shouyou mentioned getting his egg back,” Kenma says, ignoring Kei’s mood, and he plucks at Kei’s sleeve until he rolls it up as far as it’ll go. His arm is solid black and it’s spreading down across his shoulder blade and spine, hidden right now beneath his shirt. “Which means someone stole it back from Ushijima. This is a _lot_ of progression…”

“Uh, yeah, Tsukki and Asahi took a bunch of stuff from him when that, uh, thing happened…” Tadashi answers vaguely. He’d been told that Kenma had helped him, although no one seemed very concrete about the details of _how_.

“Did he use blood magic on you?” Kenma asks politely, like they’re discussing the weather.

“No,” Kei replies.

“Did he use any sort of magic directly on you?”

Kei huffs and Tadashi tugs on his hand again. “He threw me in a confinement circle. Everything went to shit shortly thereafter, so not much else happened specifically to me, no.”

Kenma peeks up at him from beneath his hair, but doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches up and puts the back of his hand directly in front of Kei’s face. The blonde reels back, but Kuroo, across the room in a flash, keeps him stationary with a hand on the back of his head. Kei squeezes Tadashi’s hand to the point of painful.

“You’re breathing again. It’s not just for effect,” Kenma announces.

Kei looks like someone’s just knocked the air out of his lungs and Kuroo releases him with a grin. “Congrats, Tsukki! Looks like there are perks to coming over to the demon side, huh?”

Tadashi isn’t sure how happy he should be, considering Kei’s shell-shocked expression. Kei hasn’t shared what happened while they were separated, other than the fact that he took a bunch of shit from Ushijima and ran, and _something_ caused the demonic parts to spread. “Tsukki, did something get summoned?” Tadashi asks, thinking back to the giant hand and Ushijima’s black eyes in the warehouse.

Kei flinches and presses his mouth into a thin, angry line. Kenma quickly backs away from him. “Is that something still out?” the witch asks warily and with a gesture, Kuroo slinks away from Kei, too. (Tadashi notices that Kuroo has been a lot more shadowy lately, too. He can’t help but wonder if Kei could begin to act the same way.)

“I don’t know what it was, and I don’t know what happened to it. Only the redhead chased us out, though, and when Nishinoya and Tanaka went to the house, there was nothing there.”

“What did it look like?” Kenma presses.

“Like…” Kei’s hand tightens on Tadashi’s again, and Tadashi isn’t sure he’s aware of it. “I don’t know. It was just wrong. It was this _thing_ that stood over the witch and I think it came from him, too. I don’t understand half of this magic shit or what Asahi could have pulled from him but it was something bad.” Kei sighs again, then blinks at himself, and glances over at Tadashi. “I hadn’t even noticed that the demonic magic spread until Yamaguchi pointed it out.”

“It wasn’t a hand?” Kenma asks, eyes widening further, and he accidentally steps on Kuroo as he backs up again. Kuroo catches him by the shoulders to steady him.

“It was dark and I couldn’t see very well,” Kei admits.

“You can usually tell if something’s a hand or a person,” Kuroo says.

“Does Sugawara or Kiyoko know about this?” Kenma asks with an urgent undertone that makes Tadashi uneasy.

“If Asahi told them, then yes. I haven’t mentioned anything because it’s no one’s fucking business,” Kei says sourly. Tadashi wonders how close Kei is to breaking his fingers. “We got out and messed up his and the fox’s plans. The rest of it was a nightmare. Am I infected with something worse than _demon_ because of this?”

“…No,” Kenma says after a beat. He shrugs Kuroo’s hands off of him and approaches Kei and Tadashi once more. “But that kind of ancient magic would explain why you’re changing so quickly. I’d advise avoiding Ushijima—”

“Because I _want_ to run into him.”

“—since one or two more visits and you’ll likely become a full demon,” Kenma finishes with his own irritated frown. Kei falls silent.

“We’ll try to avoid him as best we can from now on,” Tadashi breaks in and gives Kei’s hand a tiny squeeze. He relaxes his grip and Tadashi can’t say he’s not glad. He doesn’t want any more broken bones. “But we need to get Tsukki better before this gets any worse. Do you know what you can do for him yet?”

Kenma looks Kei up and down and his eyes come to rest pointedly on the bell collar around his neck. “…Purification spell,” he says with surprising confidence. Kenma turns, gestures Kuroo aside, and begins rifling through the papers and notebooks on the hotel desk.

“Uh, to purify _what_?” Kuroo asks. His legs melt into shadow as he raises himself to loom over Kenma to read. “The demon bits?”

“Yes.”

“The demon bits are a big chunk of him right now, Kenma.”

“But it’s still the invading part. And as long as it’s not the biggest part of what he is, then we can purge it,” he answers and pulls out a leather-bound book from the bottom of one of the stacks. Kenma offers it to Tadashi and Kei with an impassive expression. “It won’t be a permanent solution, but it would reset it for you. The main problem would be what _else_ may be purified.”

“…The luck spirit part,” Kei surmises and Kenma nods.

“Is there some way to make a demon-only purification spell?” Tadashi asks. Kuroo makes a grumpy noise.

“I can try, but there’s no guarantee. I can only bias it.”

“So, worst case scenario, I turn back into a ghost,” Kei deadpans. Tadashi feels his heart sink; that’d be half a year’s setback, and he isn’t sure if it’s even repeatable. This is almost worse than the contract dilemma.

“No,” Kenma says, surprising them both, and he corrects, “worst case scenario is that you turn into an angel on the spot and we die.”

Kei scrubs his free hand over his face with a groan. “Is there _anything_ I’m _not_ in danger of turning into?”

“Do a dragon next,” Kuroo replies with a laugh.

 

\--

 

“ _What the fuck_ ,” the matagot snarls. It looks like he has a split lip— _good_ —but Kenjirou isn’t satisfied with that. The matagot squints, trying to spot him, and despite the way his knuckles sting already, Kenjirou brings his fist back for another punch. He’s going to break this asshole’s face face for chopping off one of his antlers, stealing his food, and distracting him further. And _then_ he’s going to question him.

A blade at his chest halts him. Kenjirou looks down at it, more curious than concerned, and then turns to look at the tall witch beside them. He certainly reacted quickly considering they can’t really see him. “Stop that,” the witch says flatly.

“You _really_ don’t want to piss him off right now,” the matagot adds with almost believable sincerity.

It doesn’t look to be any sort of metal, and is solid red all the way through to the hilt, and Kenjirou isn’t certain if it’s meant to be a large hunting knife or some sort of machete. But it’s too low on his chest; the witch can’t see where his neck is, either.

Kenjirou drops the matagot with a snort. “He stole my food and cut off something very important,” he replies. The matagot snickers, then spits out a mouthful of blood. “I want my antler back.”

“Sorry, but I don’t have it,” he replies with a rather red grin.

“Antler?”

Kenjirou unclenches his fists and tries not to throw himself at the stupid fox again. Whatever. He can find it later.

When it becomes obvious that he’s not going to answer, the witch adjusts his grip on his weird knife and raises it, just a little. His guess is getting better, and Kenjirou doesn’t fancy it at his throat proper. “How did you find us?” the witch demands.

Kenjirou lets out a bark of a laugh. They have no idea what he is. Fine, that works in his favor, then. “Trade secret.” The blade rises again, now just below the hollow of his throat. Kenjirou swallows nervously. “I’m good at tracking,” he amends. “And I can only assume you two are on the run, so that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

“What kind of spirit are you?” the witch demands again in a harder voice.

“I’m not any kind of spirit.”

“I saw you touching the ghost last week,” the matagot pipes up, bright eyes and enthusiasm at odds with the stone-faced witch. “When you were trying to eat him. And if it’s any consolation, he got away so no one got to eat him.”

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

“I overheard you two talking about tengu eggs,” Kenjirou says, steering the conversation back his way, and the blade finally centers in on his neck proper. He’s going to have to get his answers quickly, then. “Tengu First eggs, right?”

“Maybe,” the matagot fields. He finally gets back to his feet, dusting off his pants, tail wagging half-limply behind him. “Why do you care? You don’t look particularly feathered to me, from what little I can see.” He squints and tilts his head a couple different ways, ending up looking rather birdlike himself.

The witch’s mouth might just twitch into a smile.

“I need help with a problem related to the tengu, too. I think we could help each other out,” Kenjirou suggests.

“Why would we need your help? You just punched my associate in the face,” the witch deadpans.

The matagot, on the other hand, sniffs and swipes his tail up over his waist. “ _Connard._ As someone who has _regularly_ dragged your ass out of the proverbial ancient magic fire, I think I deserve to be called a little more than an _associate_.”  [2]

“You punched my friend in the face,” the witch amends, still straight-faced. The matagot’s smug expression slides off his face, replaced by something honest and startled; apparently he’d been expecting something else. Kenjirou feels his lip curl. How are these two any sort of actual threat?

“And he stole my food,” he points out in rebuttal, “and you’re threatening me right now. We either come to an agreement or we fight.” He definitely doesn’t see them simply releasing him and letting him go on his merry way. But he’d _heard_ them—they were worried about the tengu, and this is far too good of an opportunity to pass up. For any of them.

“What exactly are you thinking?” the matagot asks after clearing his throat.

“You get me safely and quietly into the tengu realm, and I’ll get you a First egg. But it has to be crow clan territory.”

“Ooh, a heist! I haven’t gotten to properly steal anything in awhile,” he cheers, tail giving another weak wag. The witch, however, only frowns at him.

“Why crows?” he asks.

Kenjirou swallows and wonders how to answer that. “That’s my deal,” he settles on, fielding badly. “It just has to be with the crows, or else no deal.”

“Is this personal?”

“…Yes,” Kenjirou answers, because it’s useless to lie about this now.

And, miraculously, the man leaves it at that with a firm nod. “Alright. We will get you in and out of crow territory and you’ll give us the First egg.”

“He never said anything about getting him back out! C’moooon,” the matagot groans and Kenjirou glares at him. Bastard. “Shit’s going to hit the fan when you steal the same egg from them twice. Why would we want to deal with a flock of pissed crows?”

“That’s why I want the _quiet_ part.” His rough idea is to sneak in and let those two act as the distractions, but Kenjirou doesn’t want to admit it out loud, even if he feels that it should be a little more than obvious. Because hello, mostly-invisible person here. “If you have a map, then I’ll use that, but otherwise I just need to be dropped off there and left alone. You two can go off and… do whatever,” he settles on.

“I’m not taking him. A resurrecting, possessed witch is the wrong kind of distraction,” the matagot says pointedly. Kenjirou eyes the witch beside him uneasily. He’s a _what_ now? Maybe this isn’t worth it. Surely he can go with his first plan and try to sneak in by himself…

“Neither of you are going yet,” the witch corrects. They both stare at him with identical expressions of half-offended confusion. “We’re waiting until next month.”

“ _Excuse_ me?!”

“Unless your personal reasons are very, very urgent and you can make a case for them, we’re staying put. Since we’ll be spending the next few weeks together, what should we call you?” the witch asks, tone cold but polite as ever. And of course he doesn’t see the way Kenjirou is bristling. “I’m Ushijima,” he adds.

“…Shirabu,” Kenjirou grits out. “Why do we have to wait a whole fucking _month_?!”

“Tendou!” the matagot happily adds. “And honestly, I’m with Lopsided over here. Is your boss going to be okay with waiting another month?”

“The tengu are going to be on watch, and we still have to get back a lot of our other ingredients.”

 _Ingredients for what?_ Kenjirou wonders but keeps his questions to himself. Eavesdropping is the easiest thing in the world for someone who can’t be seen, after all. He’ll evidently have the time for it now.

“And on the fifth we’ll be able to get our last, big ingredients,” Ushijima finishes. Kenjirou isn’t sure _what_ he finishes, since they seem to be missing _most of their goddamned plan_ , but he’s waited this long. Maybe a month wouldn’t be that much longer…? Guilt churns in his stomach and he shifts from foot to foot.

“Okay, but what’s on the fifth?” Tendou presses with an unamused sneer.

“The Old Moon Ball,” the witch replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Kenjirou is pretty sure he’s just gotten saddled with a pair of loons.

 

\--

 

Suga and Saeko sit side-by-side on the roof of Kiyoko’s building, watching Queenie limp along, getting used to her new amount of legs. Princess sits at attention on Saeko’s other side. Queenie hobbles awkwardly around, snapping at falling snowflakes, happy to be outside for the first time in days.

Saeko looks terrible, but Suga doesn’t comment on that. She’s missing her makeup and her piercings and is wearing a mixture of Kiyoko and her brother’s clothes. As far as he knows, she hasn’t been back to her apartment since the incident with the fear spirit; Ryuu and Yuu have been alternating getting things for her and the blonde has been staying at Kiyoko’s. Not that that’s helping Saeko’s relationship with her, but she’s trying.

Suga knows that there’s nothing to repair. Kiyoko doesn’t hold grudges. And he certainly _hopes_ that Saeko isn’t still angry with her. It was an accident.

Queenie trips and catches herself at the last moment with a yelp. Princess stands, ears pricked. “Good girl,” Saeko mumbles and pats her side. “Queenie, be careful.” Neither dog is in their winter gear, and they’ll have to go back inside soon. But Princess seems to realize that she’s needed to step up as alpha guard dog… or whatever she thinks she is. Saeko has a particular relationship with her dogs and Suga is a natural cat person, so he doesn’t intrude too far.

As the sun begins to set in earnest, the snow turns thicker and wetter. “…Were you serious about retiring?” Suga asks as Saeko whistles to beckon both dogs back in. The doberman is already beside her, never having gone far, and Saeko idly brushes some slush off of her back.

“Maybe. Can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it,” Saeko murmurs as Queenie limps inside, tail still wagging.

“You’re so _good_ , though. You’ve saved our asses more times than I can count, and we’ve had bad accidents before,” Suga points out. He doesn’t want to _argue_ with her, god no, but he’s worried about hidden reasons for this. And he’s even more worried for Kiyoko and how she’s taken this news.

“Suga, _shit_ , I’m on the wrong side of thirty for this job,” Saeko replies with a snort. She rubs at her reddened nose and sniffs. “You will be too before you know it. And good fucking luck with _that_.”

“I have a couple more years,” Suga petulantly replies.

“This isn’t a _career_ ,” Saeko maintains. “A career you have for forty years, then you retire, then you become one of the Golden Girls and shit’s good until you die. As a hunter, you do this shit until you die. Neither of us really meant to stumble into this, y’know? I’d like to have the _option_ of retiring.”

Suga can sympathize. Holy hell, he can _definitely_ sympathize. He looks at Daichi’s life and… It’s not envy, it’s not sadness, it’s not anger. It’s like he’s on the outside looking in. Daichi has a _salary_. A _schedule_. Alright, Suga isn’t complaining about the taxes or the early-ass mornings, but it’d be nice to have something a little more normal as his own. And unlike Saeko, Suga has never had a normal job outside of babysitting and tutoring in high school. “Do you miss it?” Suga asks her.

“Not in the way you’d think,” she replies, and he nods, “I miss having clothes that last more than a month or two. I miss going out on _normal_ dates. I miss visiting Ryuu on base. I miss not fucking lying to my vet about how Princess and Queenie get hurt…” Saeko’s voice catches on the end and Suga looks away while she rubs at her eyes with her not-cursed hand. “I’m gonna see this apocalypse shit through to the end,” Saeko continues, voice rough but steady, and Suga glances back over to her to find her staring down at her dogs. “I’m going to make sure Ryuu and Yuu and you and Kiyoko and everyone makes it through in one piece. But after that? I think I’m done, Suga. I’m just so fucking tired.”

Saeko takes her dogs upstairs to grab towels for them, and Suga leaves her to find Kiyoko. He does, in the back room, kneeling on the floor with tarot cards spread out on a box in front of her.

She doesn’t seem to notice him at first. Suga edges into the room, closing the door quietly behind him, and Kiyoko finally looks up at the click of the door. Her glasses are off, folded on the box next to the Tower card, and her eyes are dark with exhaustion and sorrow. Suga sits down next to her and she leans against him with a small, soft sigh.

Neither speak for a long, peaceful moment.

“Madoka scried again today,” Kiyoko murmurs. She takes Suga’s hand in hers and runs her thumb across his knuckles. “No one can see anything past January. And what they do see has changed again.”

So nothing new. Suga sighs and asks, “What are they seeing now?”

“The fire’s gone.” That can only be a good sign, right? But Kiyoko doesn’t sound happy and she adds, “Now it’s more abstract. I’m sure they’ll narrow it down within a few days, but all I heard was that it involves death, silver, and things unseen. Which isn’t news at all.”

There’s something in her tone that gives Suga pause. He turns his hand over he can thread their fingers together and he gives her hand a comforting squeeze. She’s nearly as cold as he is. “And have you seen anything different?”

Kiyoko smiles humorlessly. “Still the same, Suga. Nothing but migraines.”

“We’ll get through this. Saeko’s still with us, and we’re lucky now, too.” At least, they’re _supposed_ to be. Suga still doubts how well it functions in practice. But he still works up a sunny smile for her and tells her, “And we have two angel-powered people on our side, too! If all else fails, I’m sure we can figure out _some_ sort of necromancy to hook up to that.”

Suga has been thinking about the potential of that on and off ever since finding out—angels _are_ still technically dead, and Suga has exploited weirder loopholes in the past—but his train of thought crashes and burns when he registers Kiyoko’s expression. Shock and guilt and _hurt_ are obvious on her face, clear as day, and seeing her so upset is like a knife to his heart.

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean it like that!” Suga exclaims, backpedaling as best he can, but he’s not sure whether the reminder of their mangled identities or the casual offer of necromancy is what upset her.

Kiyoko quickly turns from him and massages the bridge of her nose. “Sorry,” she says, nearly under her breath. “Sorry, Suga. That’s not on you—sorry. It’s been a long few days.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up like that.”

“I’m glad you can refer to it like this already,” she admits with a small smile, though her eyes are still hidden by her hand. “But we try _my_ plans first. The last thing anyone needs is more necromancy.”

“Oh, plans, plural?” Suga teases, voice light, still scared of another landmine. Honestly, the angel thing still bothers _him_ , too. But Suga is also more used to dirty, last-ditch attempts at horrible magic than Kiyoko is.

“The primary one is to keep Ushijima away from any more of his replacement ingredients. So we’re still on the lookout for missing First eggs and spirits.”

“Have anything more concrete?”

Kiyoko removes her hand, puts her glasses back on, and gives Suga a surprisingly confident grin. “Yes. But we’ll need guaranteed higher spirit support, so I need you to keep courting those tengu in case the crows are still prickly.”

Suga fakes a long, pained groan and rests his head on her shoulder. “Don’t I get any better jobs?”

“Not with that cast you don’t.”

“For how nice you are, this is very mean. This is my dominant hand, Kiyoko,” Suga whines.

“You’re going to give me premature grey hairs if you have any more deaths, Koushi,” Kiyoko replies sternly. “And don’t get me started on what you’re doing to Yuu and Asahi. I know this is going to be tough on everyone, but the last thing we need is any more… accidents. No more jobs outside of emergencies and nothing worse than _confirmed_ poltergeists until after Asahi passes on and you all have a vacation.”

“You don’t have to enforce recuperation time,” he tells her.

“And I don’t have to employ you all, either,” she replies. Before Suga can protest further, because that’s just _unfair_ to use that against him, she adds, “And I’d like everyone to have some time off while we prepare for the solstice party. I haven’t been able to gather everything yet, and I’d appreciate the extra help.”

Kiyoko has been hosting winter solstice parties for as long as Suga has known her. Yui used to help her do all of the preparations, and truthfully, Kiyoko hasn’t quite re-balanced the prep process since her death. Suga tries to help when he can, though he knows that Yuu tends to step up more than he does. But this year… “Whatever you need, let me know,” Suga says. “About anything.”

“For starters, is Daichi coming?” Kiyoko asks with a sly smile.

Suga hasn’t asked him. Does he want to invite Daichi to a semi-magical party? Well, hell _yes_ he does, but he’s not sure if Daichi has the time off or existing plans. “I’ll ask him.”

“Could you ask Oikawa and his, er, boyfriend as well? Friend? I’m not sure either of them are that fond of me lately, and I probably didn’t win any favor with the baku juice I gave them.”

Suga gapes at her. “…You _didn’t_.” Kiyoko and Yui had been trying to properly catch someone with the baku juice prank since high school. Kiyoko would never do it to a customer, Yui had tried to pull it on Suga but it woke her up first instead, and Ryuunosuke almost killed a kikimora who woke him up so they never tried him.

“I did,” Kiyoko confesses.

Suga is ecstatic that she can still find little pockets of joy right now, but god, he wishes he’d known about this ahead of time. Tooru probably screamed. Iwaizumi… probably killed the baku. His grin is gone as fast as it came and he tells her, “Iwaizumi might have attacked the baku that appeared.”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He’s a _skinwalker_ , Kiyoko. Who was locked in the Dreamlands for a couple centuries. I’m pretty sure his fight or flight instincts run heavily on the _fight_.”

“I only met him briefly,” Kiyoko acknowledges, “but he seemed pretty soft to me. He willingly gave up one of his skins to save Oikawa. And he gave you the list of summoning ingredients. I’m sure he’s a good guy.”

“Ryuu’s a good guy, but he still shoots first and asks questions later,” Suga points out.

Kiyoko shrugs, straightens, and pats Suga’s hand. “You worry too much. Please, just invite them both, and Daichi if you’d like. I’ll talk to Yuu and Asahi about what they’re doing.”

Suga swallows. He hasn’t worked up the courage to ask _when_ Asahi wants to pass on. He’s been selfishly hoping that Yuu would warn him ahead of time. He really needs to talk to them, but surely Asahi would stay for one last solstice party? But then after that is Christmas, and then the new year, and then Asahi’s birthday, and then Kiyoko’s birthday, and then they’re into Apocalypse Time. They can’t ask him to stay for that long.

“And do you think you could ask Akaashi for a couple tengu eggs?” Kiyoko asks and returns to her tarot reading. It’s a dismissal, and Suga stands with a sigh. Mood ruined again. Kiyoko flips over the Devil card and matches his sigh.

 

\--

 

Tadashi pulls his hood up over his head and shakes out his magnetic bracelet. It doesn’t seem to like the growing rain, which is a problem, since they’re sort of lost in the forest without it.

Kei doesn’t have a hood on his borrowed jacket. He glares up at the overcast sky, hunches his shoulders, and shies a little closer to Tadashi. He’s not even walking, instead floating along half a step behind him, hands shoved into his pockets. He’s not even wearing anything of his own anymore. Aside from his glasses, he hasn’t been able to will anything onto himself in a few days.

That morning, it had taken him twenty minutes to create his glasses after they’d disappeared during the night. Tadashi isn’t sure why he keeps bothering. He’s figured out that Kei doesn’t actually _need_ them. _Maybe he does now that he’s sort of alive again?_ Tadashi wonders. He isn’t sure why else he’d be so attached to the image of himself with glasses, considering he doesn’t seem to put much effort otherwise into his appearance. He’s certainly fine borrowing Tadashi’s clothes without remorse, even if the pants are noticeably short and he keeps tugging at his sleeves.

“How much longer?” Kei asks sourly.

“Well… I’m not sure,” Tadashi confesses. Kei makes another grumpy sound. “But it’s just moss, right? So we probably just need to find a cave or something, and the hills are over that way, so…” God, he wishes he sounded more confident than he feels.

“We could just buy some off the internet probably.”

“It wouldn’t get here for weeks. Do you want to wait that long for Kenma’s spell?” Tadashi asks, too quickly, and Kei gives him a _look_. “Sorry, Tsukki. I just… hope this one works out.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” Kei mutters.

Luckily for them, by the time the rain picks up and turns into sleet, they’re close enough to sprint into a rocky hole half-hidden by a copse of trees. Tadashi’s bracelet tingles on his wrist and his chest burns with cold air, but he catches his breath inside and out of the terrible weather.

Kei, glowing faintly, walks further into the maybe-cave. It’s not very large. Kei can’t even stand up properly, and Tadashi only barely can. He’s always imagined caves to be wide, open, yawning things with lots of stalactites and stalagmites and maybe some bats. He quickly checks the ceiling, but it’s just dark, wet rock. No bats. Can bats carry rabies? He’s sure he remembers some sort of disease his mother told him they carry when he wanted one in the first grade.

“Is this the right place for this stupid moss?” Kei grumbles and leans over where the cave floor begins to drop off. It’s nothing treacherous, but Tadashi isn’t sure how deep they want to go. It’s not like he brought any equipment other than some rope, a flashlight, and some jars to put the moss in.

Tadashi rubs at his bracelet and the magic makes his fingertips tingle. “I think so. We won’t go too far, but we can at least look around a little, wait out the rain,” he replies and pulls out the flashlight. He shines it down the cave path, illuminating a couple of small stalactites and a continued lack of bats.

With his magnetic bracelet on one wrist and the other bell collar on his other, Tadashi leads them both deeper into the cave. Both he and Kei _ding_ every so often and the maybe (half?) luck spirit is a soft, continuous glow behind him. They’re not too far into it when they’re low and far enough to not see the opening anymore, and the sound of the downpour outside is all but gone.

…Does moss grow on the ground, or the walls, or should they be looking at the ceiling? Well, shit. Tadashi isn’t too familiar with it, least of all potentially magical moss, and all he can think of is that stupid and untrue myth of moss growing on the north side of trees. There are certainly no trees in here. Tadashi doesn’t see _any_ sort of greenery.

The cave opens up not too far in, after another little drop that Tadashi has to hop down, and Kei floats a bit off the ground again with a small but satisfied sigh. Tadashi hides his smile and can’t help but wonder why he’s been so fixated on floating instead of walking recently. _Is it because demons can’t fly?_

It isn’t very long before the path branches. There’s a hole up near the ceiling that Tadashi would have to climb into, and it barely looks large enough to crawl through. That’s a claustrophobic fucking nightmare waiting to happen. The actual ‘path’ of the cave seems to curve off sharply to the left, after a similarly tight squeeze of a turn, and then there’s a circular, small hole that seems to leave downward on the right.

Tadashi shines his light into the hole, curious and not wanting to get stuck somewhere, but jumps back with a shriek of “ _Fuck_!” when he sees three pairs of eyes reflecting the light back up at him. Kei catches him as he scrambles back, and an angry chattering comes from the hole.

“What the hell is down there?” Kei asks, not sounding too brave himself.

“I-I don’t know! Something!” Something that isn’t coming up out of the hole to chase and eat them, at least. After more than a little not-gentle prodding from Kei, Tadashi leans far enough over the hole again to point his flashlight down into it.

He catches the striped tail of a raccoon skittering down deeper into the cave, done with him and his nap-ruining.

Tadashi lets out a shaky laugh. “You were scared of a couple of raccoons, Tsukki,” he teases, grinning, and Kei fixes him with a vaguely annoyed look in response.

“ _I_ was scared?”

“Of course I’d be jumpy! I’m still tangible, so I have an excuse. You were just as spooked as I was!”

Kei scoffs and rolls his eyes and of course pretends like he wasn’t just as scared. But Tadashi knows the truth, and that’s enough to keep him going through the cave. “We’re going to get stuck and die somewhere. Or get lost,” Kei tells him as Tadashi stands on the tips of his toes to look up into the hole near the ceiling. No eyes peer back out at him, at least. But it’s really _tiny_ , like You Will Definitely Get Stuck And Die In Here tiny. Maybe someone closer to Hitoka’s size could wiggle through, but there’s no guarantee this would ever open back up into something bigger.

“I guess you won’t go through the wall and check it out for me?” Tadashi jokes.

The pinched expression on Kei’s face is answer enough. Tadashi isn’t certain if it’s because he’s feeling claustrophobic, too, or if he’s scared of caves in general for some reason, or if it’s because he doesn’t trust his own intangibility right now. Tadashi sort of hopes it’s the last one, just because he doesn’t want to feel too guilty for dragging the blond down here with him.

“Okay then.” Tadashi points at the crack in the wall; it’s their last option, unless they managed to miss some moss somewhere earlier. “…Do you happen to know where moss grows in caves?”

Kei groans, loud enough for it to echo a little off the stone around them. “…Probably somewhere dryer?” he answers, after a moment, and shrugs at their surroundings. “Everything here looks too damp. But I’m not the moss expert, and I’m not the one who should have been googling this before we came all the way out here.”

“I guess we’ll just go a little further, and if we don’t find anything, we can double back,” Tadashi mumbles. It’s been a straight shot thus far, so they can’t get too lost, but he’d rather wait out the weather in the cave.

He takes a deep, steeling breath and slides into the narrow crack in the wall. It scrapes against his chest and stomach, but he can get through without too much difficulty, and he’s _immensely_ relieved to see that it opens up a little after the initial squeeze. It’s still not wide enough for Tadashi to turn sideways, but he can shimmy down it without any further scrapes, and he can see an expanse of wider darkness caught in the beam of his flashlight just ahead. He feels more than hears Kei follow him with his own grumbling; he can’t turn his head around to check on him.

Tadashi reaches back blindly, and manages to snag Kei’s hand with his own. He gives him a reassuring squeeze and hears Kei huff fondly behind him.

Then Tadashi steps down onto nothing but air and his hand is yanked out of Kei’s grasp.

He doesn’t even shout until he falls completely out of the crack from above, surrounded by nothing but air and blackness and _space_ and only then does he realize _oh shit I’m falling. I’m going to die_. This wasn’t some safe cave mapped out for tourists; this had been a dumb adventure from start to finish. And now he’s going to go splat and die here and maybe join Kei for ghost adventures—

Tadashi lands on something hard but smoother than rock. He coughs and wheezes, weakly, struggling to suck air back into his lungs. His flashlight clatters to the ground somewhere behind him. Whatever he’s on seems rounded, and there’s something jutting out of it to his immediate right.

He’s lucky he hadn’t gotten impaled on that. Tadashi shivers at the thought and tries to roll onto his back, but there’s something else on his other side, down a little ways. It’s definitely too smooth to be stone beneath his palms, but it’s not like glass or anything, either. Tadashi slips a little as he rights himself, but, propping himself up against one of the weird stalagmites, he manages to straddle the thing he fell on.

Tadashi senses something’s not right just as Kei hisses down from above, “ _Yamaguchi_?! Are you okay?!”

“Y-Yeah…” he calls back. The thing beneath him isn’t warm, but it’s warmer than the stone, closer to the temperature of the air inside the cave. And it’s _moving_.

Tadashi looks up and sees a gold and worried Kei leaning down out of the hole he fell from. It doesn’t look too far up, maybe ten or fifteen feet, but he’s not getting back up any time soon. Which is a problem, because the thing beneath him shifts, something like _muscles_ bunching and coiling beneath his hands, and then he realizes that it’s scales. The surface he’s on—scales. And the things he’d nearly fallen on, he can see now in the dim light as his eyes adjust, are _spikes_.

Tadashi’s breath catches in his throat. He makes the complete realization just as the thing beneath him raises its head.

He’s fallen onto a dragon.

Tadashi throws himself off of the beast, towards his flashlight, as it looks around with bleary, groggy blinking. Kei swears from up above them. He’s thankful he hadn’t dropped his bag in the fall, and he manages to scoop up his flashlight and turn it on the red and orange dragon just as it gets up to its feet. It has four legs and no wings, and is a little on the longer side, like the biggest and scariest daschund in the world. The dragon stretches, its long, spiked tail nearly able to reach the cave ceiling, and looks over at Tadashi.

It licks its scaly lips.

“T-Tsu- _Tsukki_!” Tadashi squeaks. His back is already pressed against the rock and he clutches the flashlight in front of him. He shines it straight into the dragon’s eyes and it blinks back, pupils noticeably constricting, and Tadashi lets out a high-pitched laugh at the unintentional _Jurassic Park_ reenactment. Oh god, he’s going to get eaten. This is going to be the shittiest reenactment ever. Or maybe the most realistic?

The dragon snorts and steps towards him. Its movements are still sluggish and sleepy, but it’s the size of a bus and one step is still nearly as long as Tadashi is tall.

Kei drops down from the ceiling and lands neatly on the dragon’s snout.

His weight forces the dragon’s face onto the ground and it growls, bucking him off at once. Tadashi catches Kei as he falls forward, and both boys bolt when the dragon roars at them. Tadashi isn’t sure where they’re going, exactly, and he can’t keep the flashlight straight, and more than once one of them trips from the uneven ground. The cave room is large, and somewhat shaped like an oval, and Tadashi _can’t find the fucking exit_.

“There!” Kei shouts and yanks hard on Tadashi’s arm. He doesn’t question him and turns as sharply as he can, shoes skidding on the ground beneath them, and the dragon’s close enough that it can shake the stone around them.

Tadashi doesn’t see where Kei means to go—it’s all fucking rock as far as he can see—until they’re up against another, gently sloping wall. The rock here is dryer, easier to climb, which is good since Kei grabs Tadashi around the middle and starts shoving him into a crack in the wall halfway up. Tadashi scrambles for purchase, but there’s no real handholds, and he can’t use his legs to climb with how tight Kei is holding him.

But somehow, he manages to get his hands on the lip of it, and he hauls himself up. Kei shifts his grip and puts his hands beneath his shoes, giving him a proper step, and Tadashi manages to get his upper half into the little tunnel. It’s small in here, big enough for him to maybe get on his hands and knees, but at least it’s wide enough for him to probably be able to turn around. But he can’t see if it leads out anywhere, and that worries him when they have a dragon on their asses.

His would-be stepping stool falls away and Tadashi flails at the edge of the hole, legs kicking fruitlessly against the smooth stone wall.

Tadashi turns back over his shoulder to find Kei being dragged back by the dragon’s teeth around him. “Tsukki—!” Tadashi drops down from the wall and searches for _anything_ to use. The dragon snaps at Kei again, managing to get a better grip around his middle, and Tadashi can _see_ the fangs dig into his chest.

Tadashi chucks his flashlight at the dragon and hits it in the temple.

It does not, unfortunately, drop Kei.

It does, even more unfortunately, reach over and smack Tadashi to the floor with its powerful tail. He barely catches himself on one arm but he still falls against a stalagmite and tastes blood. The dragon turns around, raising its claws, and Tadashi rolls out of the way. The rather large stalagmite he’d just been up against cracks like it was a toothpick.

The dragon snorts around the luck spirit in its mouth and Kei scrabbles in vain against its tough hide with his own claws. He can’t quite reach its eye.

The beast’s front legs both down again and Tadashi can’t dodge both of them. As it turns out, it’s pretty fucking painful to have a dragon _step_ on you, but he’s still more worried about Kei in its teeth. Blood is dripping down its bottom jaw and onto the rock below. Tadashi, terror and adrenaline letting him wiggle against the claws pinning him, looks up and locks eyes with Kei.

They could really die here.

Kei’s face scrunches up and he tries hard to dig his claws into the dragon’s scales. Tadashi tries to keep breathing and looks at the foot on top of his chest. One of the nearly foot-long claws is digging into his shoulder, but for the most part, none of them are _in_ him, so that’s a good thing, right? A lucky thing, probably.

 _Think, think! What can I do to get us out of this?_ He’s lost his flashlight—it’s shining up against the tunnel they’d tried to escape into from before, bathing the rest of the area in a soft half-glow—and he can’t get to his bag right now. He’s pretty sure his ribs are breaking, if they’re not already broken, and he won’t be able to breathe for much longer. The dragon could probably just squish him if it transferred all of its weight to this one leg.

Tadashi shoves his free hand against the dragon’s scales and starts drawing the _cut_ rune. He can feel magic pouring into it, but the dragon doesn’t seem to notice; it’s dark, yes, but he should be able to see where he’s cutting, right?

 _It’s not working_. Now he’s dizzy and breathless. _Dragon scales repel magic?_ he wonders and looks around again. He can’t really reach anything else and he isn’t sure what else he could use. A gun would probably come in handy right about now, but he’s not Ryuunosuke or Yuu, and who knows if dragonhide can deflect bullets, too.

In a last-ditch attempt at getting himself free, Tadashi writes the same _cut_ runes against the dragon’s claw. He feels the same drain on his magic and his vision starts to blur, but he _swears_ he can see little nicks appear in the ivory claw.

The dragon abruptly steps off of him with a snarl. Tadashi sucks in a breath, rolls onto his stomach, and looks up to find Kei crouched on the ground and the dragon shaking its head above him. It scrapes at its eyes and Tadashi can see lingering gold dust clinging to the reddish scales.

Without a word, the two sprint toward the hole in the wall again. This time, ignoring Kei’s irate look, Tadashi shoves him up into the tunnel first. He scoops up his flashlight and thrusts it at Kei before hauling himself up after him.

The boys go as deep into the tunnel as they can manage, but it’s a tight squeeze and they’re both too big. Tadashi wishes they weren’t both so gangly right now, because _fuck_. The dragon snarls from outside and scratches at the mouth of the hole; they’re maybe two feet back from it, and while it can’t reach in, it’s slowly chipping at the stone.

Tadashi finds Kei’s hand and grabs it tight. In other circumstances he’d be worried about breaking his fingers, honestly, but right now? The dragon continues pawing at the entrance and Tadashi tries to feel back behind him with his feet, but there’s not much room to move. They’re going to be stuck here. “What do we do?” Tadashi whispers, barely audible over the scratching sounds, and Kei grimaces.

“I don’t know. Anything in your bag?”

It takes some maneuvering, but they bring the bag up in front of them, partially blocking their view of the giant reptile way too close to them. Tadashi’s bag isn’t magical like Suga’s, however, and it’s still woefully empty. Tadashi begins to shove it back down by his stomach (it had been padding him from a particularly sharpy bit of rock on the side of the tunnel) when the dragon stops clawing at the wall.

Tadashi and Kei peer out, anxious and trembling, and the dragon squints at them.

It then sticks its mouth as close as it can manage against the entrance to their little hell tunnel. Tadashi hopes he can’t see Kei’s blood on its teeth, but even that concern is wiped out when flames begin to lick their way up the back of the dragon’s throat.

Both boys yelp, shrilly, and Tadashi throws his flashlight at it again on reflex. It bounces off of the stone and then into the dragon’s mouth. The dragon draws back, chewing in confusion, crunching on it but not quite breaking it. It spits the flickering flashlight to the floor and the boys are dunked in darkness.

They know when the dragon opens its mouth again by the fire, and this time Tadashi has half an idea more than Throw Something At It. He writes his own _fire_ rune against the cave wall, creates a flame over his palm, and holds it against the cloth of his backpack. He forces enough magic into it to get it really going, then he and Kei both shove it down at the dragon’s mouth.

The dragon rears back again with an even more indignant snort. Kei clutches at Tadashi; they’re all out of Things To Throw and are likely royally fucked.

But the dragon spits out the still-burning bag and curiously sniffs at the magic fire, leaving them alone for a moment. They have time now, but for what?

“Any more magic? Long-range?” Kei hisses urgently.

“Fire probably won’t work on it!” They both glance out to where the dragon is quite happily trying to _lick_ the flames. Fire is definitely out.

“We need something to throw or shoot at it with more force—” Kei’s eyes widen behind his glasses, gold glowing faintly in the dim light, and he gasps. “Kenma’s arrows. Yamaguchi, you need to shoot one of those at its eye or into its mouth.”

“I don’t know how to do that spell!” Oh god, Tadashi is going to _beg_ Kenma to teach him magic after this. He needs something better than cat fire and a lot of luck to defend himself with.

“Copy it! It’s magic, how hard can it be?!”

Ooh, that’s going to be an argument for later, because magic is _very_ hard, and Tadashi isn’t sure he has enough left in him to try anything like Kenma’s arrows. …But he _has_ seen the spell a few times now. It was four marks, he’s sure, _light_ and _sharp_ and… Is there an _arrow_ mark? “I don’t know what runes to use!” Tadashi exclaims in dismay. He’s only seen Kenma use them in the middle of fights, and Tadashi usually has other things on his mind during those.

Outside the tunnel, the dragon chews on the smoldering, ragged remains of his bag. They’re about out of time.

“Tadashi, I can’t do anything from in here. We either have to get out there and try to run for it again, or you need to figure out some sort of magic trick,” Kei tells him.

“M-Maybe we should start crawling out,” Tadashi replies and he can’t meet Kei’s eyes. _What else goes into that sort of spell?!_ Tadashi can’t just _make up_ magic, but there’s a certain sort of logic to it, and he hopes he can figure it out. _It has to be made out of something. Magic?_ That seems right. Kenma had called them magic arrows once. So that’s three marks down.

Tadashi struggles to remember the marks he’d seen written on Kenma’s arm. He’d helped him get rid of them. Definitely _light_ and _sharp_ and… He can’t think. He can practically  _see_ them in his mind, but he can’t think straight.

They jostle momentarily at the opening of the hole, trying to force the other out first, and Tadashi wins out. Kei drops down silently onto the floor, crouched, and reaches up to help Tadashi down. The dragon turns on them, eyes bright in the gloom, and they both freeze.

Tadashi squeezes his eyes shut and concentrates on his memory of Kenma’s arm back in that warehouse. He draws runes down his pant leg, pushes magic into them, and draws back his arm.

And, miracle of miracles, he has a glowing arrow pointed at the dragon. He feels woozy and sick, his hands are shaking, and Kei’s staring up at him like he’s grown a second head, but _he did it_.

The dragon snorts out a plume of smoke and turns fully to face them once more. Tadashi, sitting in the mouth of the tunnel, tries to aim as best he can. There’s no fucking way he’s hitting a dragon’s eye from this far away. But once it opens its mouth—

The dragon steps forward, claws clicking on the stone, and when it puts its weight on its front leg, the half-cut claw from before snaps off with a _crack_. The dragon wobbles, then stumbles, and its weight hitting the floor of the cave is enough to almost make Tadashi lose his balance.

He catches himself before falling onto Kei, but lets go of the arrow in the process.

The arrow strikes a stalactite hanging from the ceiling and ricochets off, down at the dragon, which had just opened its mouth to try to roast them again. The arrow goes straight through its bottom jaw, cutting off a couple teeth and striking the floor below it.

The dragon howls in pain and stumbles back, flicking blood everywhere, and Tadashi _does_ lose his balance with the unexpected toll on his body. He slumps and Kei catches him, helping him down onto the ground, and Tadashi has absolutely no clue how he’s supposed to outrun a dragon like this. He can barely see straight and he’s certainly not doing a repeat of _that_.

Kei helps him sit down behind a pair of larger stalagmites while the dragon thrashes and growls. Tadashi reaches up for him, concern worming into his exhaustion, but Kei detaches his hands. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, where are you…?” Tadashi forces out, but Kei leaves him.

Panic slices across his fatigue and he unsteadily gets back to his feet. He has to lean against the stone spike for support as he watches Kei stroll right on up to the pissed, bleeding dragon. Keeping his eyes on the creature, he stoops and picks up its broken claw.

The dragon lunges at Kei and Tadashi is certain his heart stops. He stumbles out into the open area and the dragon manages to pin Kei beneath it with both front paws. It snaps at him and Tadashi may have screamed.

After a few wet sounds, during which Tadashi can’t see Kei anymore for all of the dragon on top of him, the dragon stills with a growl. And then it falls over, onto its side, revealing a bloody but otherwise whole Kei sitting near its ribcage.

The dragon doesn’t move, and Tadashi nearly falls onto Kei with how fast he runs over to him. “Wh-What the hell was that?!” Tadashi demands, then sees the way Kei’s arm is stuck in the dragon’s chest. “Don’t you _ever_ do that stupid fucking heroic sacrifice bullshit ever again!”

“Like you tried to do with Kuroo and I?” Kei flatly replies. Tadashi flops to the ground next to him, utterly exhausted, but he still finds enough strength to reach other and smack Kei’s leg. Asshole. “I’m going to need your help getting my hand out…”

“Let me catch my breath.”

“You’re going to pass out.”

“Then free your own damn hand,” Tadashi mumbles. Kei gives a pointed pull and doesn’t budge. “What did you even _do_ , Tsukki…?”

“I meant to just shove its claw into its heart or something. Things didn’t quite work out that way, as you can see.”

“That’s really, _really_ stupid.”

“I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“Wh-What if you had died again…?” Tadashi asks, raising his head enough to glare at him through his bangs. Kei, to his credit, doesn’t try to meet his gaze. “God, Tsukki, don’t scare me like that. No more heroics.”

“Yeah, but I had to save you,” the blond petulantly replies. It’s hard to tell with the flickering flashlight as their only source of light, but Tadashi thinks his face may be a little red.

“Next time, we’re both walking through a wall and leaving the dragon. I don’t need you killing a dragon to protect me,” Tadashi sighs. He leans against the smooth, scaled belly, then blinks over at Kei. “…Holy _shit_. You just killed a dragon.”

“You helped.”

“You just—you shoved your hand into a dragon’s _chest_. I can’t fucking believe you, Tsukki. You were going to rip a dragon’s still-beating heart out!” Tadashi starts off with a breathless chuckle, but soon he’s cackling, voice echoing off of the stone around them. “F-For _me_! You killed a dragon _for me_! That’s t-too awesome!”

“Don’t romanticize almost dying,” Kei grumbles and tugs on his arm again. “…Now get something to help cut me free. This is starting to burn.”

“But you _killed a dragon_ for me!” Tadashi exclaims in delight. He sags against the dead dragon again, muffling his laughter against its hide as best he can.

“You’re the one who gave me the idea. And the claw.”

“But you—you _did_ it! Oh my god, no one’s going to ever fucking believe this.” All at once, Tadashi falls frightfully silent, his hand clapped to his mouth. Kei raises an eyebrow. “…Suga is going to believe this and Suga is going to _kill_ us for killing a dragon.”

“…Why does Sugawara have to know?”

“So this is our awesome dirty little secret?”

They stare at each other for a long, quiet moment. Most of Kei’s luck is gone now, so he’s not glowing at all, save for the tiniest shine of his eyes. The cave has stopped spinning, for the most part, and Tadashi finds himself leaning toward Kei. Kei’s eyes drop, just for a moment, then raise back up to meet Tadashi’s.

They’re a breath apart when Kei huffs out his own quiet chuckle and says, “You’re bleeding, Yamaguchi.”

“So’re you,” Tadashi returns.

“Are you going to kiss me or are you going to help me cut out my hand?”

“Why can’t I do both?”

“You’re two seconds from exhaustion and—”

“And neither of us are going to die right now, and I’m very impressed with my dragon-killing roommate,” Tadashi interrupts and presses their mouths together. Kei is warmer than Tadashi ever remembers him being, and he feels a momentary pang of guilt for how he must still taste of blood, but Kei leans into the kiss with a soft little noise. Kei’s presence grounds him and he doesn’t feel quite so light-headed when he’s slowly sliding forward, their knees knocking together, and Tadashi lets his eyes fall closed.

Tadashi laces their fingers together on Kei’s free hand, and his other hand comes up to cup Kei’s jaw. His thumb brushes his cheek and Kei leans into the touch; Tadashi tilts his head the other way to compensate and deepen the kiss.

There’s a wet, sliding sound, and Kei’s other hand is suddenly winding its way around Tadashi’s neck. He shivers at the feel of something hot and wet, however, and draws back with a frown. He shouldn’t be surprised, but Kei’s arm is _covered_ in blood, and he makes a face. Kei quickly mirrors it and pulls away. “Don’t look at me like that, it was just _in a dragon_. Of course there will be more of a mess,” Kei says, quick and defensive.

“Then why didn’t you just pull it free to begin with?” Tadashi asks and rubs the back of his now-bloody neck. Gross.

“It’s getting harder to phase through things,” Kei admits.

“So we just had to get you to relax, huh?”

“Maybe you just surprised me,” he retorts. He crosses his arms, thinks better of it, and begins trying to wipe away the blood on his jeans. “It’ll be easy for me again after we do Kenma’s purification spell. … _If_ this one pans out.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Tsukki.” Well, there goes that moment. Kei is too defensive and Tadashi feels a little too gross, even if he’d liked the New and Warmer/Improved Kei. “I guess we get to tell Kenma we didn’t find moss, but… We found a dragon.” Those are valuable, right? There are other caves in the area, but Tadashi’s understandably tired of spelunking.

And they probably should go home and get patched up. Tadashi wonders if he’ll be able to get Kei to give him a piggy back ride, and then he realizes that they really don’t have any way to get _out_ of this godforsaken cave, anyway. He groans and slumps against the dragon corpse again.

As it turns out, after some proper and patient exploration of the cave, they find a dragon-sized hole behind a couple of slabs of rock. Kei phases through them and Tadashi manages to squeeze in between them. Whoever comes back to claim the dragon carcass is going to have to figure out some way to get around that, but it’s not their problem anymore.

Better yet: after a few turns in the cave path, there’s _light_ up ahead. Tadashi nearly wants to cry in relief, but despite his prodding, Kei won’t hurry up his pace, and Tadashi isn’t sure he can walk for too much further without his help. The storm has broken since they were down below, and they find themselves looking out of a rather large cave mouth about halfway up the mountain. It’s not horrifically steep to get down, but Tadashi doesn’t look forward to _that_.

“So… Somehow, we survived that nightmarish trip,” Kei says, looking up at the overcast sky. “Now we just have to go home and lick our wounds. I’m sure Kenma will appreciate the dragon, at least. Maybe Kuroo can eat it or something…”

Tadashi hardly hears him. Revealed by the actual light, he sees what a mess they’re both in: Kei is half-covered in dragon’s blood and they both have tooth and claw marks ripping them and their clothes. But Tadashi’s eyes are drawn toward the _black_ seeping out of the injuries on Kei’s chest, contrasting starkly with the crimson blood of the dragon.

Kei hasn’t seemed to notice it yet. Tadashi swallows and wonders what he should do. It’s not like they can _do_ anything about it right now, and Kei will only worry and withdraw into himself again. Tadashi wishes they were back in the gross, dark cave making out instead. That was a simpler way to deal with Kei.

Thankfully, a suitable distraction presents itself. Tadashi cranes his neck, looking around Kei, and points excitedly at the rocky wall just outside of the cave entrance. “Tsukki, look! _Moss_!”

 

\--

 

“You found a what,” Kenma says faintly. He stares up at the two teenagers in front of him with round eyes.

“You _killed_ a _what_?!” Kuro shouts from further in. A moment later, and he flops over Kenma’s shoulders, using him as a perch to grin up at Tsukishima. Kenma is honestly too shocked to brush him off, though he does bow a little beneath his weight.

“You’ll have to dig it out of the cave, but if you want it, it’s yours,” Tadashi replies. He digs around in his pocket for a moment and then pulls out a damp and dirty handful of moss, too. He reaches over, pulls Kenma’s hands up, and puts it in his palm with a proud beam.

“Wait wait—did I hear _dragon-killer_?!” And then there’s another weight on top of Kuro, and Kenma has to brace himself against the door frame to keep them both up. He feels Tadashi’s hands on his shoulders to steady him, and Kenma appreciates the gesture, but he’d appreciate it more if Bokuto would get off. Both of them, actually.

“I thought I’d asked you to leave,” Kenma grumbles.

Kuro, probably able to _feel_ his irritation at that point, gets off of him, bringing Bokuto’s weight with him. Kenma ducks out from under them both, out into the hallway with Tadashi and Tsukishima, and Bokuto blinks at him over Kuro’s messy hair. He gives Kenma a faintly perplexed look, then the pair return to grinning at the boys in the hallway. “You two killed a dragon?!” Bokuto asks again.

“It was mostly Tsukki,” Tadashi replies.

“It was both of us, and it’s never going to happen again,” Tsukishima flatly corrects. “It was a _lot_ of luck, believe me. And I never want to see a dragon again.”

“It’s in the cave where I found this moss. I think it was hibernating or something? Or maybe just napping…”

“I know where that is,” Kenma replies and looks down at the moss in his hand. He had meant to send them on a fetch quest, not endanger their lives. “I’m sorry you two had to deal with that…”

“Well, you’re doing us a favor! You’ve done us several, b-but, yeah, y’know,” Tadashi replies with an endearingly nervous little chuckle as he rubs his arm. “It’s not like _we_ could use a dead dragon, but you’re a witch and do witchy stuff, so I figured you could have it. In return for the purification spell?”

“Are you _aware_ of how much an entire dragon corpse is worth?” Kuro pointedly asks. Tadashi and Tsukishima shake their heads in unison.

“Kenma should be doing a _ton_ of spells for you! Hell, _I’ll_ volunteer some magic if you want,” Bokuto says. He nods, chin bumping the top of Kuro’s head, and the demon straightens with a frown. Bokuto hangs off of him, the tips of his toes brushing the carpet beneath his feet, and after a moment and a sigh, Kuro leans back over for him to half-lay comfortably on him.

“We can discuss payment later. The body needs to be recovered and preserved,” Kenma tells them and ducks beneath Kuro’s arm to get back into the room. He grabs his coat, pulls over a backpack with a wave of his hand, and starts filling it with ingredients. Preservation spells will work best, but ideally, he’ll be able to move the body itself, too. He doesn’t trust it out in the forest, especially with Ushijima and that archangel on the loose.

Kenma pauses in his packing to regard Bokuto and Kuro. They’re chatting animatedly with a less-than-enthused Tsukishima, but at least Tadashi returns their attention with equal excitement. Bokuto is still hanging off of Kuro. Kenma feels that shameful pang of envy once again, and he turns from them as he ties his hair back. Henbane for his ponytail today.

“Bokuto, could you come with me?” Kenma asks, still not looking at them, and he finishes grabbing what he thinks he’ll need.

“Huh? Sure, but… why?”

“I’ll give you some of the dragon parts.”

“You don’t gotta bribe me to come with you.”

“Why do you need Bo?” Kuro asks.

“Heavy lifting,” Kenma replies shortly and tugs on his coat. “Kuro, you walk those two home and then come back here to guard my stuff. …Please.”

“Why do _I_ have to stay?!” the demon whines, sounding close to offended, but when Kenma glances back at him, he only sees curiosity in his expression. Kuro quickly looks away when he sees Kenma’s eyes on him. “I think the two dragon-killers can get home again on their own,” he adds but Kenma can hear the uneasiness in his tone clear as day. Yet it’s not a lie.

“We really don’t need an escort,” Tadashi tries, but Kuro quickly waves him off.

“A luck spirit and magic kid? _Nah_ , there’s no reason why you two couldn’t handle yourselves.” That’s a quick change of heart, and Kuro sniffs, rubbing his nose and trying hard to look like he isn’t waffling.

“I think they proved that they can handle themselves alright. If you ignore all the blood on them,” Bokuto says, eyes twinkling as he tries to fight a grin.

Kuro breaks into his own smile to compensate. “Fine, I’ll walk you two home. Wouldn’t want anything concerning matagots to happen again.” Kenma and Tadashi both flinch at the mention of the fox spirit. Bokuto hands Kuro his jacket and then shoos all three of them out and down the hallway.

Kenma catches Kuro telling Bokuto something in a low voice, and he has his guesses as to what it is. Likely something about keeping Kenma safe or looking after him or some other pointless, protective tripe. But now the witch and the tengu are left alone, and Kenma swallows as he finishes grabbing his things. Bokuto leans against the door frame, running his hand over it as he waits.

“Your spells are breaking down on this place. And honestly it smells so strongly of angel and demon that I don’t see how your nose isn’t burned right off,” Bokuto remarks idly, like that’s a normal thing to say out of the blue, and Kenma stiffens. With how casually the tengu have inserted themselves into Kenma’s life and private spaces, he’s nearly forgotten that he’s actually trying to keep some of this mess an actual goddamned _secret_. Angelic matters being the top of the classified list.

“My nose isn’t as sharp as yours,” Kenma replies in a mumble, instead of admitting that he’s used to it all. He grabs his things, zips up his coat, and hurries out the door. Bokuto kindly locks it for him.

The pair head up to the roof, Kenma completely hyperaware of Bokuto’s presence behind him the entire time. Whereas Kuro’s constant presence has faded into a sense of comfort and familiarity for Kenma, Bokuto just reminds Kenma of everything that’s going wrong right now. Which is weird and unfair considering how otherwise cheerful the tengu usually is.

“Have you thought about moving?” Bokuto asks as Kenma unlocks the door to the roof.

“Yes.”

“…Are you going to? I’ve never really moved homes, but I bet using magic makes things easy, huh?”

 _You talk like you can’t perform it yourself_ , Kenma thinks, nose scrunched. He doesn’t think of the hotel as _home_ , that’s for sure. “I guess.” He tightens his backpack’s straps and mounts his broom, and only then looks over to Bokuto. He doesn’t want to ask if he’ll drop his glamor and fly, and he doesn’t want to offer a seat on his broom, either. He has the faint sense that offering that would be rude to a tengu, anyway.

Bokuto just cocks his head to the side in a quick, jerky movement. Too birdlike. “Akaashi and I can help you move your stuff. I bet Kuroo can’t touch half your things anymore with how saturated that room feels.”

“I’d rather think about that later. I have more important things to think about.”

“Oh,” Bokuto says, and despite how upfront he seems about _everything_ about himself, Kenma, for the life of him, _cannot_ place that tone of voice. It fills him with a vague sense of apprehension.

With an actual shrug of his shoulders, Bokuto drops his glamor and shakes out his long, striped flight feathers. Kenma floats on his broom beside him, zipping his coat up to the collar, and wonders if he should waste the magic to warm himself back up. He just got out here. _Why is it so stupidly cold out?_

Kenma feels the weight of Bokuto’s gaze on him as he stretches, try as he might to ignore it. He shifts anxiously on his broom and eventually forces out, “U-Um, are you ready yet?”

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto says sincerely.

Kenma looks up at him with a blink. He’s definitely not talking about making him wait. “For what?”

“Kuroo and I make you uncomfortable, don’t we?”

 _Damn perceptive owl_. Kenma could get a head start on his broom or maybe he could just go hop off the edge of the building. Kenma turns completely on his broom, back to the tengu, shoulders hunched as he curls inward. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“Sorry! We don’t have to! Plus, there’s a dragon to carry off!” With that, Bokuto changes speeds, and Kenma hears a _whoosh_ of air from the flap of his wings. Kenma doesn’t look back to see if he’s following him and instead starts heading toward where he’d sent Tadashi.

Kenma is going to vomit if he thinks too much about how guilty he feels over feeling threatened by Bokuto. It’s too much emotion for him to handle in one sitting, and he can’t parse out his own thoughts, much less how he should react to the others’. He feels a sad sort of kinship with Akaashi over their transparent feelings, and he knows Kuro is playing oblivious to it all for the sake of trying not to step on any toes. And somehow, Kenma hadn’t expected Bokuto to come out and say that.

Bokuto tries to start a conversation again halfway there, but Kenma shakes his head, pretending that he can’t hear him over the rushing wind. It’s getting darker out, the streetlights and cars twinkle below them on the wet city, and the clouds overhead churn threateningly. Kenma had hoped it was done raining for the day, but he’s starting to fear that that may not be the case.

Not that his companion seems bothered.

By the time Kenma lands on the slick stone, it’s sleeting hard enough that it feels like hail. The mark that Tadashi had left—a large X in dragon blood, and Kenma can’t help but smile a bit at it because it’s just so much like a quest marker—is running with the precipitation. He and Bokuto run inside to the shelter of the cave, Bokuto’s claws clacking loudly against the stone, and when the tengu wobbles on the uneven, wet rock, Kenma catches him by the arm and pulls him back upright.

Kenma releases him quickly and pushes past him without a word.

The path is black as pitch hardly into the cave, and Kenma digs around in his backpack while he and Bokuto drip onto the floor. “Why don’t you just make a witch-light?” Bokuto asks, then sneezes. On Kenma. “…Sorry.”

Kenma lets out a long sigh and pulls out two glow sticks. “I don’t want to use more magic in this place than I have to. If there’s a dragon corpse in here, then that’s just going to be trouble…”

Bokuto’s eyes are _huge_ in the gloom as Kenma cracks the first glow stick and it lights up. Kenma doesn’t really process his expression and just passes the stick to him, but by the time he cracks the second one and shakes it into a bright orange glow, he’s caught onto Bokuto’s staring.

Between Bokuto’s green glowstick reflecting off of the gold in his eyes and realizing how different the man looks with his hair wet and down, it takes Kenma a moment to gather his words. He swallows and wonders why his mouth suddenly feels dry.

“…You _do_ know what a glow stick is, right?” Kenma asks and Bokuto’s eyes snap up to his.

Of course Bokuto doesn’t. No one looks that excited unless it’s their first time seeing one; Bokuto’s wide-eyed wonder perfectly mirrors Kuro’s the first time he had seen them. Bokuto has been around a lot longer, but Kenma supposes he doesn’t get out into the human realm often. Kenma hadn’t been emotionally prepared for Kuro and Bokuto’s interaction today, and he certainly hadn’t been prepared for _this_.

“Humans make such great stuff to get around magic rules,” Bokuto says with an overly fond sigh. He nibbles on the end of the glow stick until Kenma yanks it out of his mouth—there are already marks on it and Bokuto is lucky he didn’t accidentally bite into it with his sharp teeth.

 _He’d probably like having a glowing mouth even if it did make him sick_ , Kenma thinks as he trades with Bokuto. He runs his thumb over the marks on the end of it.

He leads the way down the winding path, his own light held aloft, careful with the uneven ground and shadowed cracks in the wall. It isn’t very far in when the path opens up into a large room-like cavern, and the smell of magic hangs beneath the stench of blood, both of them fading but strong enough for Kenma to push his sleeve against his nose.

“Hey!” Kenma growls, seeing movement by the large lump that can only be the dragon corpse, and he stumbles forward while holding his glowstick like a knife. “Get out—that’s mine, alright.”

A pair of gnomes dive into the rock floor like it’s water with matching alarmed squeals. A third, stubby fingers trying in vain to pry scales off the hide, stays behind and bares its teeth at Kenma. Annoyed, and irritation only growing when he sees several patches of missing scales near the dragon’s flank, Kenma draws back his arm and silently summons an arrow.

A burst of fire from the tengu behind him scares off the gnome.

And it also illuminates the manticore behind the dragon’s tail.

The fire fades after its initial spark and Kenma and Bokuto, stunned, stare at the equally surprised manticore. It slowly raises its mouth from the dragon’s tail, rows of teeth dripping with blood, and its tail curls around to point at them.

 _How did a manticore get here so fast? Was it already in the cave?_ Kenma wonders as he turns to point his magic arrow at the beast. Probably a stupid decision in hindsight.

The manticore’s ears pin flat against its skull and it snarls at them both before leaping. Kenma’s arrow catches it in the ruff of thick fur around its chest, and as far as he can tell, there’s little effect. Bokuto yanks him out of the way and the manticore lands where he’d just been.

Both of them fumble their glow sticks as they dodge backwards again from the manticore’s lashing tail, and Kenma drops his entirely. After a beat, Bokuto chucks his at the manticore’s head and manages to hit it in the snout. It rears back, affronted, standing on its hind legs with its wings spread for balance. It’s twice as tall as Kenma now—all snapping, blood-soaked jaws and claws as long as his hand and sharpness and rage and poison.

And it’s now a bigger target.

Kenma cleaves the stalactite overhead from the stone ceiling with a combination _pull-cut_ spell. Bokuto takes a more direct route and decapitates the monster with a wind spell thin enough to be a razor. The manticore’s head drops down to the floor before the stalactite completely separates from above, and for a moment, they’re just left staring at a headless body.

Bokuto jumps at the crashing sound of the rock. Kenma sneezes from the dust it creates. “Th-That was a lot for just a manticore, wasn’t it?” Bokuto asks, eyeing the rubble like it’ll get up and bite him, and Kenma stoops to pick up his fallen glow stick.

Kenma isn’t about to admit that he panicked—who would have expected a manticore here _already?_ —but he’s more concerned about his sudden headache. He hadn’t used _that_ much magic.

“That was so _cool_ , Kenma!” Without further warning, Kenma is scooped up in the wings of one overly excited screech owl tengu. He stiffens, trying to process the feathers digging into him and strong arms wrapped around his waist, and Bokuto beams up at him and exclaims, “Akaashi always complains when I try to kill things all flashy-like! But sometimes you just gotta end things with a bang, right, right?!”

“Put me down,” Kenma wheezes, unsure of where to put his hands.

“But you just _squished_ a manticore! Why isn’t that exciting?”

“ _Please_ put me down right now.”

Like he’s handling glass, Bokuto sets Kenma atop one of the broken rocks by the dead manticore. Kenma pulls a couple of feathers out of his jacket and wishes he could ignore the twin pains of his hot face and pounding headache. “Have you ever killed anything that big before?” Bokuto asks, rocking up onto his toes, talons making little scratching sounds in the quiet cave.

“I don’t know. Probably.” Kenma can’t look at him, still too worried about his flushed face, and turns from him as he hops down from the rocks to approach the dragon again. There are no other surprises waiting in store, just a dead dragon and now a dead manticore. _Tadashi needs to get part of this_.

“How did you kill stuff before Kuroo?” Bokuto asks, leaning over his shoulder. Kenma tries not to shy away or snort at him.

“I don’t _need_ Kuro for protection or anything…”

“Oh, that’s neat.” There’s absolutely nothing in Bokuto’s voice to hint at anything other than acceptance of Kenma’s words. Nor is there any of the _ooh scary witch_ tone that Kenma has received in the past. “I think I get it now.”

“…Get _what_?” Kenma has to ask. He turns from taking stock of the dragon—it’s missing large patches of scales, it’s already been bitten into by the manticore, and somehow those gnomes managed to cut off three of its claws—and instead squints up at Bokuto.

“Why Kuroo’s so worried about you,” Bokuto answers easily. Kenma’s expression darkens and Bokuto backpedals with an uneasy chuckle, lacing his fingers together as he avoids eye contact. “Not that I’m trying to pry or _anything_ … But you’re all Kuroo talks about! He’s worried and _I’m_ worried and I was just wondering about a couple things and I’ll shut up now.”

Kenma hmphs, turns from him once more, and pokes at the open wound on the dragon’s tail with his glow stick. _Kuro talks about me with Bokuto?_ Well, whatever, that’s hardly his concern.

Bokuto silently helps him inspect the dragon carcass for perhaps ten minutes before he shatters the silence once more. “Did I ever tell you that _I_ killed a dragon?!” he nearly shouts.

Kenma, slowly, looks up at him again because _wow_ , that’s not what he was expecting. “You… have?” That’s actually very impressive.

Bokuto rubs his nose, already preening with Kenma’s tiny amount of attention, and replies, “Yeah! Well, I _helped_ , but there were only three of us and it was a full grown dragon, so that’s still really something! I’m the youngest dragon killer in the clan right now. They let me have a few of its ribs as my trophies!” Bokuto pats the dragon in front of him, grinning bright and sharp, and slyly adds, “Well, mine was bigger than this, but this is still a good-sized dragon! D’you know how old those two kids are? For a human and a spirit to kill a dragon by themselves…”

“I’m still wondering how they did it,” Kenma admits and shrugs. “Tadashi’s in high school, and Tsukishima is probably close to his age. So they’re barely adults by human standards.”

“What even _is_ that blond kid? Kuroo never sounded sure when I ask and even seeing him, I’m not sure, either.”

“I’m going to turn him back into a luck spirit.” _Hopefully_.

Bokuto makes an impressed sound, then pats the dragon’s hide again. “Humans sound like they get into fun magic. But—hey! Do you want to hear about how I killed the dragon? It’s a really good story!” he insists, loudly, and Kenma nods just in hopes that he’ll lower his voice again and spare his headache.

It turns out that it’s not a really good story; Bokuto tagged along with two older tengu after a dragon broke into the tengu realm in search of one of its young. The dragon killed a couple of tengu, the tengu killed the dragon, and Kenma supposes it’s only impressive when you factor into the dragon’s size and the fact that tengu, while fearsome, killed it without the use of their magic. But at least Bokuto used more of an Indoor Voice to tell the story.

Well, not like _he’s_ killed any dragons outside of video games, so Kenma ought to give him more credit. Probably. (He tells himself he and Kuro probably _could_ kill a dragon alone together.)

“…And Akaashi was really mad at me for going off to fight the dragon,” Bokuto says with a long sigh, like this happened yesterday instead of years ago. “But they kept all the bones I gave them. And that’s when we started hanging out more! It was like—all of a sudden, we were paired together for more tasks, I started seeing them around more, and it was _so nice_!”

Kenma is about ninety-seven percent certain that they started seeing more of each other because Akaashi was actively trying to spend more time with him.

“You should give these dragon bones to Kuroo, and then he can make a bed out of them, and then you two can spend more time together,” Bokuto suggests.

Kenma isn’t sure whether to focus on the fact that Akaashi has a _bed_ made of _dragon bones_ or the fact that Bokuto is _trying to set him up with Kuro_. While inadvertently being the biggest and most frustratingly nice obstacle in the entire thing.

“I’m sure Kuro doesn’t want to spend any more time with me than he has to,” Kenma mumbles, and instantly regrets it. He’s not sure if it was meant to be a halfhearted joke or stay a private thought, but it only comes out bitterly.

“Kuroo’s _nuts_ about you, Kenma,” Bokuto says, frowning at him from over the scales between them. “I wasn’t joking when I said you’re all he ever talks about. There’s no way _you_ can’t see how in love with you he is.”

Kenma’s breath catches and he wants to throw up. Dread crawls up his spine and settles in his throat and he has to work to swallow around the lump it forms. “No he doesn’t,” Kenma says, faintly, because that sort of remark from Bokuto requires a response.

“He totally does.”

“No, he—” _He can’t, not this late, and he’s never said that to_ me _, and then why does he spend so much time with_ you— These thoughts are ugly and selfish, even by Kenma’s standards, and Bokuto is literally the last person he’d ever want to have this conversation with. But he refuses to let this panic overcome him right now; he’s literally elbow-deep in dead dragon and magic and trying not to burn his fingers on the ruptured fire sac. “Kuro could be happier,” Kenma settles on, forcing it out through grit teeth.

“Everyone could be happier. I just think you and Kuroo would make a really good match!”

_Of course you do._

“Pretty sure Akaashi’s on my side, too,” Bokuto thoughtfully adds.

 _Of course they are_. Kenma finally finds the dragon’s heart, but to his dismay, it’s burnt beyond any real use. Of course. He doesn’t really care about the rest of the organs, so he pulls his arms free with a groan and flops down onto the ground with a second, more defeated groan. “Bokuto, could we skip talking about this? Go back to talking about your dragon-killing.”

“I don’t have a lot of that story left that’s all that entertaining, though. And I was sort of invested in you two,” Bokuto says, peering over the dragon’s ribs, glow stick poking out of his mouth again. “I have Kuroo figured out—he’s just worried about you, but it’s not founded on anything. I’m still trying to figure you out, though. You and Akaashi both—you’re so hard to read!”

Kenma huffs and puts his back to him. He wipes his hands off on the dragon’s belly and wonders how much he should bother preserving if half the organs are cooked.

“I wish you’d just _talk_ ,” Bokuto laments. There’s a scuffling sound and then a talon gently tilts Kenma’s chin back until he’s looking up at him again. “Why don’t you like it when Kuroo and I hang out?”

Kenma refuses to answer but the claw beneath his chin won’t let him look away. He settles for frowning, nose scrunched, eyes averted.

“I mean, I don’t want to take away time you two spend together, but you’re jealous, right?” Bokuto asks. Kenma freezes—and realizes that there is a tengu pointing his claw directly at Kenma’s throat. There’s absolutely nothing threatening about Bokuto’s frame or tone, but Kenma feels his heart rate spike all the same.

And Bokuto wants an _answer_? Kenma, for all of the attachment the tengu have to him, is not a friend of the owl clan. He’s pretty sure it’ll be too much if he just shoves Bokuto away and flees. And it’s not like he can order him off like he can if Kuro gets too pushy. …Kenma realizes he may need to work on his social skills again. But _later_.

Everything can be done later.

“I don’t mean to make you jealous! I thought since you wanted to hang out that you were happy spending this much time with me!” Bokuto exclaims, fretfully, chewing on the claws on his hand.

Kenma stares blankly up at him. Jealous… of _Kuro_? For getting to spend more time with _Bokuto_?

It’s ridiculous, so charmingly ridiculous. Before Kenma can help himself, he lets out a laugh. Just a small little chuckle, nearly a huff, but Bokuto’s eyes widen further when he catches it and his claws drop from his mouth. Kenma quickly shuts his own mouth and tries not to smile, but he’s failing, and badly; Bokuto looks starry-eyed and breaks into his own wider grin. “You _can_ laugh! Kuroo owes me dinner now.”

“Of course I can laugh,” Kenma mutters, cheeks warming, and Bokuto finally drops the talon under his chin, too. The witch hunches his shoulders and turns from Bokuto in order to preserve what’s left of his dignity. But there’s still a warm little bubble of happiness in his chest from this ridiculous misunderstanding. It’s… cute.

“Let me see that smile,” Bokuto croons, voice dipping sly as he hangs over the dragon to try to chase Kenma.

“I-I’m not.”

“You’ve been so down lately, though! You can laugh at me all you like if that gets you to cheer up.”

“I wasn’t laughing _at_ you…” Kenma mumbles and Bokuto finally catches his chin to face him once more. Kenma doesn’t meet his eyes, instead looking at a pair of stalagmites out of the corner of his eye, but he’s still smiling.

“Most of the times I make Akaashi laugh it’s at me. Not like I mind at this point. But c’mon, don’t be shy! You’re even cuter when you’re smiling, Kenma,” Bokuto tells him, with nothing but sincerity, but Kenma’s smile instantly drops off his face. Bokuto’s own does the same, replaced by a pout.

“Is this how you are with Kuro?” Kenma asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Could you stop touching me, please?” Kenma asks instead of clarifying. That was a pleasant accident, so he’d rather avoid any further talk of depressing topics. “We need to get this dragon sorted out…”

“Alright,” Bokuto says, releasing him, face falling further. Kenma doesn’t mean to be difficult, and none of this is Bokuto’s fault, but he isn’t sure what else he can do right now.

They settle back into hacking up the dragon carcass. Kenma fills a couple jars of scales and blood for himself, and he catches Bokuto eating one of the eyes. Neither of them really discuss how to divide it up, and Kenma’s fine with that; he’s still mentally sorting out what to sell, what to keep, and how much to give to Tadashi. After trying (and failing) to separate the spikes from the dragon’s spine, Bokuto gives up with an irritated huff and circles around to the crushed manticore.

He rips its hind leg off with a single jerk, then the tail. He sets them both aside and frowns at the rest of the mangled corpse. “Do you want anything from this? There’s not much to scavenge as far as parts go…”

Kenma makes a negative sound and continues trying to pull the dragon’s teeth out. He’s got most of the good teeth out of the bottom jaw, and he’s debating leaving some of the cracked or broken ones behind, just because of how much of a pain this is. He’s unaware of Bokuto watching his growing frustration until the tengu plops down beside him, legs tucked beneath himself, and Kenma raises an eyebrow at him.

Without asking, Bokuto leans over and starts pulling teeth for him. He has a little difficulty, too, but he doesn’t have to use a prying spell with every one, and Kenma watches him work.

How helpful and sweet Bokuto is makes Kenma’s teeth hurt. It’s impossible to be upset with him for long, and his optimism makes Kenma think of Shouyou. …He can see why Kuro is probably attracted to him. Even if Bokuto’s energy is sometimes too much, there are also the moments like this—quiet, comfortable. How can Kenma compare?

Lost in thought as he is, Kenma jumps when Bokuto grabs his hand. Bokuto sets something in his palm and closes Kenma’s fingers over it. It’s obviously a tooth, still wet and gross, and Kenma looks up at him in confusion. “A dragon’s eye tooth,” Bokuto supplies. “They’re good luck.”

Kenma _knows_ two luck spirits. If he’s that pressed for luck, he can simply ask for some.

“Well, it’s supposed to be good luck if you’re the one who touches it first, but I’m giving that luck to you!” the tengu loudly adds. Kenma opens his hand, looking at the bloody tooth. How touching. …He thinks. “I want your spell for those dragon-killers to go perfectly. Kuroo tells me you’re a really good spellwriter, though, so I’m sure you don’t need any, but more never hurt anyone, and you don’t need to be really serious and practical _all_ the time so keep that tooth instead of using it!”

“…Is that an order?” Kenma asks dryly, more used to that tone of voice from himself than others.

“I’ll give Kuroo the other one!” Bokuto decides instead of answering. He reaches down and yanks that one free, and quickly passes it off to Kenma, too. “You’re still contracted to him, so you don’t count as the first touch, either.”

“You’re still the one who—”

“Shhhh. According to Akaashi, you’ll live longer if you don’t question me,” Bokuto says with a surprisingly sharp smirk. Kenma blinks at him. Every time he thinks he’s figured out how self-aware Bokuto is, he discovers he’s wrong. “Your hands are still pretty cold, though.”

“It’s cold in here.”

“I guess…?”

Kenma pulls his hand free, pockets the teeth, and rubs his hands together. He’s still cold, but it’s not as bad as before, so he’s been able to ignore it in favor of his headache and the task at hand. “We still need to finish taking what we want, and then we should preserve the rest until I figure out who to sell it to. The storm should be over by then, so we can head home. I’ll take a hot shower or something.”

“I can probably find a seller, if you want.” It’d certainly be easier and require less visibility on Kenma’s part, so he nods gratefully. Bokuto doesn’t seem reassured, however, and reaches over to tug at Kenma’s hands again. “Are you getting sick again or something? Humans shouldn’t be this cold.”

“I’m wet and it’s cold in the cave. We don’t all have a layer of feathers, Bokuto.”

Wrong thing to say.

Before he can properly protest, Kenma is hauled onto Bokuto’s lap. At first, they’re chest-to-chest, but Kenma scrambles backward, yet somehow doesn’t escape, but instead ends up with his back to Bokuto’s chest and the tengu’s chin hooked over his shoulder. It’s better, but he’s never been this close to him before, and the panic isn’t helping his pounding head.

Bokuto unzips his vest and between it and the long feathers on his wings, Kenma is soon cocooned against him. It’s _very_ warm, maybe just shy of cozy because of the lingering moisture on both of them, but Kenma can’t be happy or grateful. He swallows past the lump in his throat and tries not to let the anxiety bubble over. They’re close. Too close. And while Kuro has increased Kenma’s Getting Manhandled Threshold, Bokuto is built like a brick and Kenma can’t help the _fear_ in the back of his mind at how easy it was for Bokuto to move him despite his flailing.

But he’s very warm. And his feathers—the ones not poking into Kenma’s thighs—are quite soft.

“Better?” Bokuto asks, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. He’s either ignoring it or can’t tell how much tension Kenma is radiating. Kenma only makes a soft sound as acknowledgement, not answer.

Bokuto goes back to pulling teeth, flicking his wrists and using magic to do it, arms on either side of Kenma’s shoulders. So slowly, Kenma relaxes into the warmth Bokuto offers. They run out of teeth soon enough, and Kenma points to the horns on the dragon’s head, so Bokuto begins trying to saw his way through them from afar.

They pick over the rest of the dragon like this and wait out the storm together. Kenma is nearly dozing by the time they’re done, lulled by the heavy smell of magic and heat surrounding him.

 

\--

 

“Just focus on breathing,” Suga instructs. Daichi cracks open an eye to peek at him. Suga’s own eyes are closed, head tilted back just a little, expression placid and posture looser than what Daichi’s used to seeing. They’re sitting across from each other, both of them cross-legged, holding hands loosely over their touching knees with a smooth stone of clear quartz in each of Daichi’s palms.

It’d be a lot easier to focus on breathing if Suga didn’t look so damn distracting like this. _Peace suits him_ , Daichi thinks, and quickly shuts his eyes again when Suga starts to move.

He peeks over at him again when Suga pulls his castless hand free. He’s just scratching his nose. “If it helps, you can focus on other things. Breathe in for four seconds. One, two, three, four…” Suga’s voice goes high and breathy as he inhales and Daichi does the same, still staring at him. “And out for four. One, two, three, four. And _stop_ staring at me, Daichi.”

“You said I could focus on other things,” Daichi points out.

Suga drops his head and shoulders and sighs. Opening his eyes to give his boyfriend a flat look, he tells him, “Something like feeling the air inflating your lungs, or gravity weighing you down, or the rocks in your hands.”

“Your hands are in my hands, too.”

“I appreciate the sweetness and joking, I really do,” Suga says as he pinches the bridge of his nose and seems like he’s anything _but_ appreciative, “but I’m trying to get your mind into something sturdier than a wet paper bag. If not for all of the gods, then at _least_ to brace yourself against Oikawa.”

Dinah butts her head against Daichi’s back and he jumps. Her antlers have been filed down, but it’s still unpleasant, and he frowns at the jackalope over his shoulder. “There’s a lot of distractions here, Suga. Sure we couldn’t do it at your place?”

“I wanted to come ward your place, anyway.”

“You don’t need to add a bunch of spells and shit to my apartment. You’re only exhausting yourself,” Daichi says quickly. Suga had gotten dizzy enough to need to sit down earlier, but he’d proudly grinned at whatever he did to Daichi’s front door.

“I’m feeling better now. That’s what meditation is for,” Suga replies. He fixes his posture again and closes his eyes. “Pick _something_ and focus on it, Daichi. Focus on breathing and that sensation and block out everything else.”

Daichi sighs through his nose and settles back in. He closes his eyes, too, and focuses on the cool weight of Suga’s hands on his. Daichi can just barely feel his pulse on his left wrist through his fingertips, slow but steady. He follows Suga’s breathing instructions, though they really only make him want to fall asleep, and tries to ignore his insistent jackalope nudging him again.

He can feel every minute twitch of Suga’s fingers, exactly how cold he is compared to Daichi’s sweaty hands, the roughness of the cast, and the weight of him, however slight, is surprisingly useful as a point to focus on. Daichi has always liked Suga’s voice, too. Now, he sounds soothing and a little breathier than normal; as soon as Daichi notices it, his mind traitorously wanders away in the direction of wondering what he’d sound like even _more_ out of breath. Panting, maybe, dipping low into moans, perhaps hoarse from—

 _Back on track, Sawamura_ , he scolds himself with a little shake of his head.

Although how can it be _his_ brain’s fault when the first thing Suga had done in his place was find the bedroom and smirk as he (supposedly) cast a virility charm?

Come to think of it, Suga is shockingly forward about most things—and yet…? Daichi can’t figure out if Suga just talks big game to cover his shyness or if it’s something else. Suga can be frustratingly circumspect about many personal topics, and for god’s sake, he never would have expected _sex_ to be something Suga avoids discussing. Especially with how fascinated he seems to be with Daichi’s ass.

“I can feel your pulse increasing,” Suga says in that same even tone as before. “That’s the opposite of what should be happening.”

Daichi cracks open his eyes again to find Suga sitting with both Sunshine and Dinah in his lap, not at all disturbed, looking the picture of inner peace. _How the hell does he look like such an angel all the time?_ Half an hour before he was cackling as he tried to find ‘Daichi’s Sex Toy Drawer’. (Like he has one.) “You’re distracting me,” Daichi replies curtly.

“I’m behaving,” Suga replies, the edge of a sulk in his voice, and he reopens those big, innocent, cinnamon eyes like he’s never sinned in his life. “Now,” he adds and his mouth twitches as he restrains a grin. He pulls one hand from Daichi’s in order to pet the animals settled between his legs (getting along, for once; in addition to other things, Daichi suspects Suga may be a descendent of Snow White).

“I understand the need for this meditation and strengthening my psyche and all of those other things I barely understand,” Daichi says, and Suga nods, “ _but_ —”

“Trust me, you want Oikawa out of your brain. Great Old Ones, too.”

“Yes, I got that,” Daichi sighs in exasperation. “But I have to admit, Suga, I’m surprised that you’re not trying to jump me right now.”

Suga blinks, wide-eyed, at him. The very picture of naivety and mild confusion.

“Nevermind,” Daichi says.

“You mean like… sex, right?” Suga asks carefully.

“No, I meant like with a magic knife and sleep soot.”

Suga beams at him, obviously proud that Daichi remembers that much terminology.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but we could have a talk while trying out this meditation thing, right?”

“I’d rather you focus on the meditation,” Suga admits, expression falling, and he looks away as he adds, “but we can talk about that if you want.”

Suga’s past, even with his helpful charts, is still enough of a question mark in Daichi’s mind that he at first worries about some past trauma or incident and he nearly backpedals right out of this conversation. “It’s not just me, right?” Daichi asks instead. The light atmosphere from before is gone, replaced by awkwardness, and even their pets can tell. Sunshine gives Daichi an unimpressed look from between Dinah’s antlers. “I don’t want to upset you or say the wrong thing, Suga. And I’m not trying to lead anything by asking. I just want to figure out if this is something I should be…” Concerned isn’t the right verb to use there. Daichi sighs and runs a hand back through his short hair. “If this is something that I should be asking about? Or just going with?”

“What _exactly_ ask you asking? We could start with that,” he suggests.

“You’re an octopus in bed and half the stuff that comes out of your mouth is flirty. Your hands practically live in my back pockets.” No matter how he phrases this, it’s going to sound _bad_ , and Daichi really wishes he could just undo the past five minutes. “You never push for more. Not _seriously_ , and I just want to make sure everything’s… okay? That we’re on the same page? I’m not mad or anything, I just want to make sure—okay here, just let me finish shoving my foot into my mouth.”

Suga chuckles as Daichi uncrosses his legs and lifts one as close to his face as he can manage it. He can _see_ Suga mentally measure how flexible he is—he _knows_ the desire is there, or some sort of desire is—but Daichi worries that it’s not the _same_ desire. Not that that’d be a dealbreaker, since it’s embarrassing how attached Daichi already is, but he’d like to know sooner rather than later.

“It’s not like I hate sex or anything,” Suga starts, and that’s a good start, because Daichi doesn’t hate sex either, “but…”

“… _But_?”

Suga looks down at Sunshine and Dinah again. “Well, ever since the accident—god, now doesn’t _that_ sound sad—my body is just… more tired. Less alive or something. So pretty much assume everything is lowered. Including my sex drive.”

Daichi nearly groans with relief. “That’s it?” he asks before he can stop himself.

Suga swats his knee with his cast arm. “ _You_ were the one who brought it up like you were scared it was some terminal disease!”

“I didn’t know if it was some sexuality thing or if you couldn’t get it up anymore or what!”

“Dead men can get erections just _fine_ , Sawamura—” Suga says, jabbing his thigh with his pointer finger, trying hard not to smile at Daichi’s undoubtedly horrified expression. (TMI much?) But then, the blood rapidly drains out of Suga’s face and _he’s_ the one who now looks horrified. “Oh _fuck_ , that’s called angel lust.”

Daichi gapes at him. Had he just said—

Suga looks slightly ill and Sunshine stands up on his hind legs to put a paw on Suga’s face, like the cat is comforting him. Suga gives the black cat a wobbly smile, then peeks back up at Daichi. Some of the dismay is replaced by suspicion and he raises an eyebrow. “What do _you_ look so shocked for? You’re not scared of angels.”

 _Why is Suga afraid of angels?_ comes secondary to the _What the fuck Suga just said fuck._ He’s pretty sure Suga isn’t allowed to say fuck. He’s heard Suga swear briefly, but he’d been drunk and very upset at the time. _Is Suga upset now?_ “You swore.”

“I swear all the time.”

“Suga, you just said fuck.”

Suga stares at him, no longer horrified but now like Daichi is in the process of sprouting a second head or something. “I swear all the time,” Suga repeats, cautiously, then he breaks into a sharp, sly grin. “Fuck,” he repeats.

“You look way too much like Snow White to be cursing right now,” Daichi tells him.

“I’m going to teach your pet all the dirty curse words. Seriously, though, haven’t I sworn at Oikawa in front of you before? Or, uh, anything else…?”

“No. As far as I’m concerned, you’re very suddenly sprouting a low sex drive, a foul mouth, and a fear of angels all at once.”

“I didn’t tell you about—?” Suga starts in surprise and Daichi squints at him, because _no_ , he certainly didn’t tell him about Question Mark.

“Use your words, Suga. Your filthy, filthy words.”

“I’m pretty sure I have a running stream of profanity in my head,” he mumbles, cutely defensively. (Daichi figures that if he had Suga’s job (or life), he’d have one, too.) “But can you blame me? My closest friends are Kiyoko, who may as well be a mind reader, Noya, who is nosy enough to be a mind reader, and _an actual mind reader_.”

How can Daichi be dating someone _so_ talkative and yet so bad at communicating? He wants to roll his eyes into next week. “I’m definitely not a mind reader, Suga. You’re going to have to work with me, and that involves holding my hand and talking me through things from time to time.”

Suga literally reaches over to grasp Daichi’s hand with his good one, so Daichi should really expect what follows. “I don’t eat or fuck as much as I used to before I died, I sleep twice as much, my heart rate and magic levels are lower than average, I _do_ think I swear a lot, and that drunk existential crisis thing was because I’m pretty sure I’m an angel possessing my own body. I still think about necromancy from time to time and I shouldn’t. My main concerns in life right now are my dead friend, a demon who keeps calling me his parent, and keeping Kiyoko’s head above water.”

Daichi wants to take all of those unprocessable words and shove them back into Suga’s mouth.

“See! Whenever I say stuff like that you get that stunned look on your face!”

“You don’t just drop that all on someone!”

“You _asked_!”

“Alright, I did,” Daichi says in surrender. He squeezes Suga’s cold hand in defeat. “How about we have smaller, more frequent talks?”

“So… We hang out more often?”

“Yes. That.”

Suga gives him a smile that could make flowers grow. “I’d fucking adore that, Daichi.”

Daichi is pretty sure his face is hot, and Suga won’t let go of his hand. “You’re going to start doing that on purpose, aren’t you?” he asks weakly. _Don’t think about dirty talk, don’t think about dirty talk_ —it’s one of Those Days and Daichi isn’t sure he’s going to get over Suga’s casual use of profanity anytime soon. More exposure is needed before Suga realizes what power he holds.

“Back to the meditation,” Suga kindly replies in lieu of any more F bombs. He nudges Daichi back into position, places his palms on top of Daichi’s once more, and does the serene expression thing combined with the head tilt thing again. Daichi allows himself one last moment of looking before he, too, closes his eyes. “Oh, but before I forget, what are you doing on the twenty-second?”

“I’d have to check my calendar. Why?”

“Kiyoko’s throwing a party, and I want a hot date for it.”

Daichi cracks open an eye. “Is this a cute Christmas sweater party, or another blackout drunk party where I end up with a mythical creature?”

“Hopefully both!” Suga chirps back. “Let me know what your schedule’s like. If it helps, we can probably crash at her place afterward. But back to breathing, Daichi, so in for four…”

 

\--

 

“First rule— _never_ point that at anything you don’t intend to shoot,” Ryuunosuke says, hastily pushing at the handgun until Tadashi’s pointing it at the ground again. Tadashi nods, nervously.

He’d never given much thought to guns before. They’re ubiquitous in movies and video games these days, and he had seen Ryuu and Yuu with them a handful of times. But this is the first time being so _close_ to one. Definitely the first time he’s touching one, much less _holding_ it. It’s nerve-wracking. He’s not sure if he’s going to puke or have a stroke first.

Kei is with him, supposedly for moral support (and to sponge up some knowledge of his own, undoubtedly, even if the other hunters were a little leery of teaching someone who vanished from sight whenever he wanted to sulk). But moral support doesn’t cling to a pine tree twenty feet above their heads with his claws shredding the bark.

“Ready?” Ryuu asks and Tadashi nods though he thinks he’s about to cough up his heart. That can happen, right? Cause of death: not the Fucking Dragon, but sheer nerves. Of course. “Raise your arms and aim at the target.”

The target (Ryuu’s drawing of what looks like a devil ostrich on the back of some old band poster) is on a wide, solid tree about ten yards away. Tadashi thinks that this is pathetically close to start with, even for a newbie, but now that he’s trying to line up the sights, he thinks maybe Ryuu had the right idea here. What if he misses? What if he accidentally hits something else? What if it ricochets? What if—

“There are three bullets in the clip,” Ryuu says, cutting across his inner panic, and Tadashi gives him a jittery nod in return. Tadashi had been the one to load them after Ryuu had shown him how. “I don’t want you to stop until you fire all three, ‘kay?”

“O-Okay,” Tadashi replies faintly. Hoo boy. This had been a terrible idea all around. Well, it’s a _little_ cool that he’s getting to shoot an Actual, Real Gun and normally that thing would be the sort of thing guys brag about in school until they get called into the counselor’s to discuss shootings and Are You Doing Alright At Home Son but Tadashi is abruptly _very far_ from wanting to fit in at school. (And he hasn’t been Doing Alright At Home for half a year now.) This isn’t like _Call of Duty_. The thrill of this, mixed with the heavy weight of his desire to learn a better method of self-defense, is going to make him sick. And Ryuunosuke isn’t going to teach him a thing if he throws up on his 9mm.

“Whenever you’re ready, then. Be careful you don’t put your thumb behind it, it’ll probably break it, and I’m not explaining to Suga that you have to get a matching cast with him because of this,” Ryuu tells him.

Tadashi nods. Suga knows about this outing, although his general attitude had been reminiscent of a child sticking his fingers in his ears and going “I can’t hear you”. Ryuunosuke had made a vague remark about Suga having a couple of bad experiences with guns, and then Tadashi must have made a face, because Ryuunosuke then spent the next five minutes reassuring him that Suga has never gotten shot, as if Tadashi had been about to burst into tears at the very thought.

(Actually, he’d just wondered what a bullet coated in dead man’s blood would do to a magical creature.)

(Tadashi sometimes also wonders if maybe he _is_ cut out for this kind of job when he catches those sorts of weird intrusive thoughts.)

Tadashi adjusts his goggles and Ryuu places his hands over Tadashi’s ears. Alright then. This beats almost dying over a magic arrow. Tadashi raises his arms enough to sight as best he can down the barrel, tongue poked out in concentration, and he tries to brace against the recoil he knows is coming. How bad is it going to be? He’s not sure, but _now_ certainly isn’t the time to worry, and how bad _can_ it be?

He moves his thumb from where it wants to rest against the back of the gun. He takes a breath, moves his index finger to the trigger, and pulls it.

It’s not as loud or as strong of a kick as he’s expecting, but it’s still a jolt. And he sees a little hole in the white of the poster, near the right edge. “I hit it,” Tadashi realizes aloud, half awed and half relieved.

“Two more,” Ryuu reminds him, hands still on his head, and he tugs Tadashi back into a taller position. Tadashi readjusts his footing, raises his arms again, and shoots the poster twice more, back to back. The third time is an empty _click_.

By the time Ryuu releases him, Tadashi surprises himself by grinning. He hands the gun back and looks up at Kei, still sitting in the tree, now slightly more sour-faced. “Tsukki, I shot the demon ostrich!” Tadashi yells up.

“It’s a fuckin’ harpy, okay!” Ryuu huffs and stomps down to check the poster. “Which, by the way, you wouldn’t have killed! You literally winged it, and as a rough and fast rule, if it’s feathered, it gets _pissed_ if you hurt its wings.”

“I hit the demon ostrich!” Tadashi proudly repeats. “So you can come down now. Or are you stuck?”

Kei’s expression flickers in a way that’s only a _little_ hilarious. Tadashi arches an eyebrow and Kei’s grip tightens to the point where he’s actively _breaking_ the bark beneath him. Ryuunosuke walks back over to stand beside Tadashi, both of them staring up at the tree, the elder of the pair sporting a shit-eating grin. “Do you need some help down?” Ryuu coos in a shrill voice.

“I’m sure I’ll have lots of rescuing magic cats from trees in the future, so you can be practice, Tsukki!” Tadashi calls.

“Both of you shut up and finish playing soldier,” Kei icily replies. “ _Then_ I’ll get down. On my own.”

“Don’t be scared! Nothing wrong with being gun shy!” Ryuu declares with a rather hearty laugh, fists planted on his hips. Kei’s expression darkens further and Tadashi begins to worry about Ryuu’s luck levels when the man adds, “I can let you have a turn if that makes you feel safer. It helps when you know what to expect with them.”

“…I thought you didn’t want to teach me,” Kei says with a suspicious squint.

“Well, if you pull another disappearing act on me during this, I’ll beat your ass, tangible or not. But honestly, I don’t mind. Noya’s not here, so you’ll only get a _little_ bit of shit.”

Kei remains stubbornly in the tree, and Tadashi is about to sigh and write him off for another twenty minutes or so, but Ryuu has a glint in his eyes.

“You wanted to tag along, so you’re at least seeing the safety bits up close, Tsukishima. Shoot or not, either way, you’re coming down out of the tree, little luck spirit.”

“Luck spirits aren’t cats by default,” Kei says with a hiss that honestly doesn’t win his argument for him. “Go back to your shooting range. I want to see if Yamaguchi can kill the demon ostrich.”

“It’s a goddamned _harpy_!”

Ryuunosuke and Tadashi leave the luck spirit in the tree (the former grumbling all the while), and they go back to shooting lessons. Tadashi tries shooting the devil ostrich from further back, tries with another handgun, and then a rifle. (He finds he prefers the handgun.) By the time Ryuu is proudly showing off the revolver he borrowed from his sister, Kei has managed to make his way down from the tree and floats curiously over.

Ryuu waits until Kei has approached on his own time like he’s waiting for a scared dog, then he asks, “So, wanna try?”

“It’s not that scary once you get used to it,” Tadashi says.

“That’s because he’s covering your ears for you.”

“These aren’t that loud,” Ryuu scoffs. He takes the revolver from Tadashi, double-checks to make sure it’s empty, then shoves it in the back of his ABUs. He grins, sharp and leery, and Tadashi worries when he asks, “Either of you want to try a shotgun?”

 

\--

 

“What do you know about the Dreamlands?” Iwaizumi demands once he notices her.

The baku freezes, in the middle of plucking an apple from the tree in his dream, then looks uneasily around herself. “This doesn’t taste like a lucid dream.”

“Still gummy?”

“I like gummy apples,” she says and pops it, whole, into her mouth. She blinks, looking around once more, this time with more scientific interest. “What are the Dreamlands? I’ve never heard of them.”

Iwaizumi sighs and flops down into the flowers below. They melt like paint beneath his touch, buttercup yellow and rose red. “Baku travel through dream spaces, right? I was just wondering if that was similar to somewhere I’d… been.”

The dreamscape around them changes, going white and staticky, and that familiar, oppressive feeling returns. In the distance, Iwaizumi is sure he can see the cliffs and the forests of the Dreamlands. The baku wrinkles her noses and waves her hand, and the Dreamlands disappear, dissipating like smoke. “They don’t seem very familiar, and they taste even worse than your normal dreams,” she says with a cough.

“So dream spaces are different,” Iwaizumi surmises. So she’s not breaking into the house. Good.

The baku nods. “I can come and go into dreams. Literally dreams. They’re not really a realm or plane of their own since they’re so changing. Sorry?”

“You don’t have to apologize. I just thought…” He’s not actually sure _what_ he thought, and hilariously, Iwaizumi isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or not. It’s not like he’s _homesick_. God, the Dreamlands had been an absolutely shitty place to live, and he’d always been so happy to leave them on jobs for Ptar-Axtlan.

But it’s strange to be abruptly cut off from it all.

The dream melts once more, this time into reddish desert and rocks, and the baku sits beside him. “I’m used to eating the bad dreams of people who want to forget things. And there’s nothing wrong with _wanting_ to forget them.”

“It’s not that.” Iwaizumi looks at a hazy little dream lizard skittering around by their feet. _Now_ he feels homesick, great. “Do you know the psychic Kiyoko?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s probably the potion-maker who sold you the baku juice, right?”

That’s a relief, however minor. “Yeah,” Iwaizumi says. He leans back on his elbows, head tilted back, and he can almost pretend he can feel the warm southern sun again. The woman beside him gestures, and it’s as if she moves the clouds out of the way. He can _feel_ the heat again and though he’s grateful, he regards her out of the corner of his eye. “I thought baku _ate_ dreams. Nice ones, too.”

“Lucid dreams are usually so cold. This is nice,” she replies vaguely. Iwaizumi makes a sound of agreement and they bask in the fake sun in the fake desert. “I don’t know what sort of spirit you are or what makes your dreams so strange, but I’ll keep eating them and your psychic friend’s if that’s alright with you.”

“That’d be great.” He doesn’t even mind being called a spirit right now. “…Are you _going_ to eat this dream, or are you going to sunbathe with me until I wake up?”

“Dream time is funny. You could think you’re sitting like this for hours, but it’ll really just be a couple seconds.”

Yeah, that sounds like the Dreamlands, too, and Iwaizumi snorts. “Right. Well, just make sure Oikawa has some nice sleep tonight, too, if you’d please.”

“ _That’s_ Oikawa?” the baku asks in shock and that’s about the _last_ thing Iwaizumi expects out of her. Someone _else_ the idiot forgot? Wait, then why didn’t she recognize— “You wouldn’t _believe_ how many dreams I’ve eaten from people with crushes on him! Did he used to work with a coven? Oh god, he’s _nothing_ like people’s dreams!” she exclaims and collapses into a fit of giggles. The dream shudders around her, dipping in temperature, but Iwaizumi is too irritated to care.

“You’re shitting me. Do me a favor and _never_ let him know about that, alright?” Iwaizumi asks, desperately, and she nods, mirth still dancing in her eyes. “Good god, that’s disgusting.”

“He was in _your_ dream the last time I was here.”

Iwaizumi groans and flops onto the rough sand beneath them in defeat. Another thing Tooru must _never_ know. Wait, hadn’t that been a nightmare? He struggles with the memory, and the dream flickers around them again.

“Your secret is safe with me,” the baku tells him, “Iwa-chan.”

He can hardly help the reflexive shudder that goes down his spine. “It’s Iwaizumi.”

“I know.”

He looks over at her and she gives him another smile nearly as warm as the dreamy sunlight. “You’ll stop by again?” he asks, almost hopefully.

“Depends on your dream. But I’ll make sure you and Oikawa get your share of good sleep. Just keep feeding me some good dreams!” With that, she gets up, dusting off her backside with her tail and hands. The desert drops into nighttime and Iwaizumi shivers again. “Don’t use any more of that baku juice, though, I don’t need the bribe and I don’t want anyone else to stop in. Next time, tell me about those Dreamlands of yours?”

“Maybe,” he hedges, but the idea doesn’t sound _too_ terrible. “What are we supposed to call you?”

“ _We_?” the baku sniffs. “Your friend already has a nickname for me and has been _far_ less gruff.” Iwaizumi feels himself color, but can he _really_ be blamed if his first instinct is to dig for more information rather than niceties? “It’s Miyanoshita. I’ll be back again next week, Mr. Gummy Lucid Dreams!” she calls, waving, as the dream falls apart around them and Iwaizumi falls into another dreamless slumber.

 

\--

 

Kuro raises an eyebrow when Kenma’s head bobs for the fourth time already this trip. The train ride isn’t that long. He _knows_ Kenma has been sleeping enough—if anything, he’s been sleeping _too_ much—so why is he struggling to stay awake? Kuro is ninety-nine percent certain that humans don’t hibernate. Kenma’s been working surprisingly diligently lately, though, so maybe he’s exhausting himself?

Kuro isn’t sure; all he knows is that he’s beginning to _really_ worry.

He’s been to the goblin market enough that he knows the way himself, and he shakes Kenma awake when their stop comes up. They almost don’t make it off the train in time—with a gesture and a scowl, Kenma keeps the doors open a beat longer than they should have been—but soon they’re down the steps and out into the chill, foggy day again. Kenma blinks owlishly and looks around, as if orienting himself, and Kuro feels another stab of worry.

“This way,” Kenma mutters and slips his hand into Kuro’s, tugging him along.

Most of Kuro’s concern evaporates in favor of excitement over the otherwise pathetically mundane act of holding hands. They’ve done it before. Kenma used to be pretty cuddly with him. But lately, he’s been skittish at best, and caustic at worst. (The best has been far more frequent.) Kuro squeezes Kenma’s hand and the witch gives a soft, but fond, little huff.

They wind their way through a maze of empty side streets and alleys until they find the shopfront guarding the realm door. There’s no one waiting in line or minding it, so Kenma doesn’t hesitate before dropping the money into the toll box. The portal springs to life and he tugs Kuro in behind him.

The demon wrinkles his nose; the overbearing smell of magic, all kinds mixed together, always takes a little bit to get used to. Kenma leads him down the narrow street until they hit one of the main veins of the market, and only then does he pause, turn around, and peer up at Kuro. Kuro feels his cheeks warm and he blinks, surprised by the sudden attention. “Something on my face?”

Kenma’s eyes drop down to his chest. “Making sure you’re still wearing the amulet,” he mumbles. Kenma reaches up, tentative, slips a finger under the cord, and tugs it up until he can see the sun stone attached. The little bit of skin contact is, sadly, one of the more exciting moments he’s shared with Kenma lately.

“Shouldn’t you have checked that _before_ we got here?” Kuro asks archly. Kenma frowns at him and drops the amulet.

“The charm needs to be refreshed. …Remind me when we get back to the room.”

Kuro would sooner eat his own foot, and thankfully, Kenma’s voice is soft enough that it doesn’t register as an order. “Are you okay, Kenma? You seem really tired.”

“I just want to get this spell over with.” A pause, then he wearily adds, “Both of them.”

“Alright, but you still seem a little out of it. This can wait a little while longer.”

Kenma gives him a rather disappointed look. “ _Remind me_ to refresh the charm when we get back,” he repeats, voice hard, and Kuro smiles helplessly. He walked into that, didn’t he.

He still can’t lie to Kenma, but while he feels the tug of the command against his ribs, it’s not as bad as it had been. Kuro had been under the impression that the contract would just _poof_ and end one night, but maybe it will slowly rot away instead until one day, he can’t feel their connection anymore. _That’s a sad thought_ , he thinks. Kenma is still sulking when he slips his hand back into Kuro’s and they resume their trip.

Kenma still seems out of it, though. His gait is unsteady and more than once he bumps into people, when normally he makes a point to avoid contact with strangers. After the third time, when a tall and intimidating ogre glares down at where Kenma brushed his shoulder against the ogre’s elbow and Kuro in turn has to glare him off as best he can, Kuro is pretty damn sure that Kenma should not be out today.

Kuro tugs him aside, off the road, and feels his forehead first. He doesn’t feel warm, but maybe a little clammy? He’s not sure and Kenma’s dour expression means he’s probably about four and a half seconds from losing all contact with him today. “Alright, we’re taking a different approach,” Kuro says quickly, and before Kenma can protest, he scoops him up in his arms.

“What are you doing?” the witch asks in clear alarm.

“Keeping you upright and out of harm’s way. Y’know, the usual,” Kuro flippantly replies. In hindsight, it probably would’ve been easier to give Kenma a piggyback ride, but now he’s committed, one arm beneath Kenma’s knees and the other around his back. At least he knows where they’re going, and it’s not too much farther. “Did you write a list of the things we needed today?”

“Yes, but you’re not _carrying_ me through the errands.”

“No, of course not.” Kuro really wishes he could make a tail to grab said list, but he knows that would give him away, and he’s neither stupid nor suicidal. Kenma gives him another suspicious look, and Kuro grins at him in response. “Don’t worry, Kenma! I can do this easy.”

“You’re not setting me down somewhere and _leaving_ me—”

They’ve arrived just in time. Kuro sets him down on the table and cheekily announces, “Hi, yes, I’d like to trade this witch.”

Akaashi and Bokuto each lean to the side to look up at Kuro from around Kenma. Kenma’s face is crimson, and the kitsune in the stall next to them bursts into loud laughter. “Um,” Akaashi begins, eyes darting to Kenma’s nearly visible discomfort, but Kuro cuts them off.

“He’s in good condition, just a little sleepy today. I think he’s worth a temporary tengu companion.”

“He is _not_ ,” Akaashi snaps on reflex. Kenma gives them a flat look over his shoulder, and the tengu quickly backpedals, cheeks pinking, “Sorry. Tengu are just… Sorry.”

“Tengu are worth an awful lot,” Bokuto covers, leaning up onto his wings beside Kenma, and he gives Kuro a sharp-toothed grin to match his own. “You sure this witch is worth our time?”

Kenma fidgets and goes to slide off the table, but Kuro puts his hands on his hips and keeps him there. “Can you guys not—?”

“This witch is the best witch in the universe and he’s definitely worth a tengu. Two tengu, even,” Kuro cuts in and puffs out his chest. Bokuto stands taller, matching him again, and Kenma looks like he’s considering _crawling_ off of the table and away from them if it’ll stop this embarrassment.

“I suppose he _did_ squish a manticore,” Bokuto says with a thoughtful hum.

Akaashi and Kuro both blanch. “He _what_?”

Kenma gives up on dignity and scoots off the table, retreating to Akaashi’s side of it, and looks like he would have tried to escape out under it if the seated tengu had not caught him by the back of the hoodie. “Just… Go, you two. I can watch the stall,” Akaashi says with a heavy sigh. “Kenma can nap here or whatever you seem to think he needs. Go before you two embarrass us further.”

Kuro plucks the list from Kenma’s hand and the witch’s glare is interrupted by a wide yawn. Akaashi raises an eyebrow at him, but Kuro is quickly dragged off by an enthusiastic Bokuto, so he doesn’t hear what they ask him.

“You’re a lifesaver, Kuroo! I was getting _so_ antsy today, don’t know why, but I just had to go stretch my legs a bit,” Bokuto happily exclaims and loops Kuro’s arm with his wing, mindful of the flight feathers.

“Go back to the manticore bit.”

“Didn’t he tell you about that?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Bokuto makes another thoughtful sound and looks away. “Huh. Well, it was awesome, and it nearly exhausted him, so he probably didn’t want you to worry. Like you just did, and loudly, in front of half the market.”

Kuro sighs and examines the list so he doesn’t have to think too much about that. “He’s just been so… I don’t know. Tired and slow and kinda sad lately. Mostly tired, though. D’you think it could be the manticore thing? Those are poisonous, aren’t they?”

“Nah, it didn’t get near us.” Bokuto waves his claws dismissively and Kuro isn’t sure why, but he feels a strange little twinge in his chest at the ‘us’. “Honestly, do you think he could be a little depressed?”

“What would he have to be depressed about? And he’s not sad and crying all the time, he’s just _so_ sleepy!”

Bokuto gives Kuro a Look. Kuro is entirely unused to that sort of seriousness and disappointment from Bokuto, and he feels another, stronger twinge behind his ribs. That one he can place as something like guilt, though he isn’t sure _why_. “I thought he was worried about you and me spending so much time together, but I’m not sure that’s exactly it,” Bokuto says, without explaining his Look, leaving Kuro feeling faintly lost. “I’m sure all the magic he’s using up isn’t doing him any favors, but I don’t really know how humans work.”

“I was thinking something like that, too,” Kuro replies, still cowed by that Look, and he holds up the list like an olive branch. “But he can relax a bit with Akaashi while we take care of this, though! …Do you have any idea what any of this stuff is?”

“I think you both need to be cozying up to that little luck spirit again since we just got that dragon,” Bokuto says, pointing down at the ‘dragon’s blood’ on the list, and Kuro nods. “Otherwise I think this is just a bunch of herbs? Well, not the beetles and unicorn hair, but I think we should find an apothecary. You lucked out with the dragon blood, but I have no idea where you’re going to find unicorn hair this time of year.”

Kuro takes a moment to place why unicorns sound familiar. Something to do with Kiyoko… Bokuto tugs on his arm to drag him down a side street shortcut, and they arrive at an apothecary-slash-flower shop just as Kuro remembers that Kiyoko bought a unicorn for that little healer of hers. Good news: they have a unicorn to pluck. Bad news: Kuro has _no_ idea how they’re going to approach either of them.

But first, the rest of the list. The headless person on the other side of the counter tilts their neck stump, questioning, and Bokuto gives them a cheery wave. “We are very confused about plants but we have a list, so we’d like your help!” he says as a starter. Kuro can’t help but roll his eyes; they’re going to get fleeced now. Unless he thinks that this person wouldn’t do that to a tengu, which seems like a very tengu thought to have.

The headless shopkeeper makes a short but complicated gesture with their hands. The two men cock their heads to the side with matching blank expressions.

With a full-body sigh, the shopkeeper rummages around underneath the counter and comes up with a chalk board. ‘ _No sign language?_ ’ they write and Bokuto and Kuro both have to shake their heads. ‘ _The list?_ ’

Bokuto slides it over and the shopkeeper scans it over with their missing head. Weird. Kuro waves Bokuto over to handle the plant stuff while he pulls Kenma’s phone out of his coat pocket (insurance, so hopefully Kenma can curl up and sleep a little). Kenma still has Kiyoko’s number in his phone, and Kuro hovers over it for a long moment, thinking. But he ends up scrolling down to Sugawara’s number instead. Safer.

It takes him a couple tries, but he manages to call him without hanging up immediately, and Suga answers almost at once. “Hello?”

“It’s me,” Kuro says, mentally sighing at the wariness in Suga’s tone.

Which, of course, completely melts away after that. “Oh, Kuroo. How are you doing? And how’s Kenma?”

“We’re, uh—alright, not _good_ ,” he amends, almost-lie bitter on his tongue, “but not bad. I’m worried that Kenma’s coming down with something again, but no—I need a favor.”

“And what is that,” Suga replies, sounding equal parts exasperated and amused. “More soup?”

“No, I need unicorn hair.”

The silence is sudden and heavy. “I don’t have any unicorns,” Suga says and now he sounds very uncomfortable.

“I know the little blonde healer has one that Kiyoko bought her.”

“Oh.” Another pause, and then Suga asks, “What do you need unicorn hair for, anyway? Are you doing some sort of purification— _ohhhh_.”

“Yeah.”

“I can ask Hitoka about getting some hair from her unicorn.”

“Well, we’re already out today getting a bunch of stuff,” Kuro suggests. Bokuto waves to him from across the shop, then holds up two types of nearly identical thistle. Kuro shrugs back at him; how the hell is _he_ supposed to know what to get? “If you could ask her and then tell us where to meet her, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can do. How is the purification spell coming along?”

“I’m not sure. Kenma’s working on _something_ , and we’re grabbing the ingredients today, so it’s probably okay?” It’s not that he doesn’t pay attention to Kenma or what he’s doing, but lately, it seems like he’s alternating projects every five minutes. Interrupted by naps and video games. It’s difficult to keep track of.

“I’ll text you after I get in touch with Hitoka,” Sugawara tells him. Kuro makes an affirmative sound, and he hangs up. So that should hopefully solve their unicorn problem, which just leaves beetles and making sure they get the right herbs.

Kuro rejoins the other two, who are _still_ debating the thistles. Kuro closes his eyes and points at one, and that works well enough for Bokuto, although the poor shopkeeper looks shockingly aggravated for someone without facial expressions. He’s not sure why there was so much discussion about thistle, but the rest of the plants seem easy enough to find, although the shop is out of hyssop right now.

Their purchases are bundled up and put in a bag, and Kuro momentarily blanks on payment. But Bokuto covers for him without missing a beat. They smile and wave goodbye to the shopkeeper (who seems relieved to see them leave), and outside, Kuro lets his shoulders slump. “I can’t believe I forgot about _money_! Thanks, Bo, I owe you one.”

“So you stole Kenma’s phone and grocery list, but not his money?”

“Priorities, I guess.”

Bokuto laughs and claps him on the back with his free hand. “I’m not used to being the smart one!”

“If you’re so smart, then why didn’t you know what thistle to get?”

Bokuto dodges that question and instead asks, “Hey, Kuroo, don’t humans get each other flowers to court? That’s a thing that they do, too, right?”

“I think so? Don’t ask me about human things, Bo. It’s exhausting trying to pretend like I know about them.”

“You _have_ to have picked some stuff up from Kenma.”

“I know a human can survive a week off of energy drinks and nineteen hours of sleep a day,” Kuro sulks, and Bokuto pats his back again, gentler this time. “I don’t know if it’s the contract, or what he’s doing, or _what_.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine! You two survived jumping between planes, so you’re probably deathless at this point through sheer willpower,” Bokuto scoffs in reply. He gives Kuro a sidelong glance, then reaches into the shopping bag and stuffs the bundle of calamus underneath Kuro’s nose. “I’m a lot older than you, so let me give you some sagely advice.”

Kuro gives him a responding look that clearly says _this ought to be good_.

“Give Kenma some flowers. It sucks, but you can’t always fix things, especially other people. So just be there for him.”

“I was _going_ to be! That just sounds like more owl noise, not sagely advice.” Kuro swats the bouquet away from his nose and sticks out his tongue for good measure. Bokuto also sticks out his tongue, and, after a beat, he leans up and pokes Kuro’s tongue with his own. And the demon can’t help but break into laughter.

Bokuto grins, clearly pleased with himself, and stows the bundle of calamus again. “Give Kenma a gift. Court him properly, goddamn, it shouldn’t be that hard for two people who spent just about all of their time together to kiss!”

“I’m sorry, _how long_ did you say you were courting Akaashi when _they_ proposed to _you_?”

“Tengu have more time to waste,” he retorts, color rising in his cheeks, and it’s Kuro’s turn to grin. He leans over and pecks him on the pink cheek. “Not that we’re wasting time! Just—different scale of time, y’know.”

“I know what you mean, Bo. And _maybe_ I’ll take your shitty, generic advice.”

“ _Sagely_ owl tengu advice.”

“ _Silly_ owl tengu _noise_ ,” Kuro corrects. Kenma’s phone buzzes in his pocket, so he doesn’t return Bokuto’s sneer, and pulls it out to check. A message from Sugawara with a location in the city and a time for later that afternoon. “Got an in for unicorn hair, though. Score one for Team Demon.”

“Then I’m counting these as my score!” Bokuto replies, waving the shopping bag, and Kuro has to let him have that point.

They continue bickering as they wander through the market, pausing only long enough to ask a pair of harpies where they could find someone who sold kotl beetles. They get pointed to the southern part of the market and sneak back by the tengu stall to check on the other two; Kenma isn’t visible, and when Akaashi notices them, they just point down, underneath the table. Bokuto drags Kuro away before he can try to check on him.

Apparently, ‘southern part of the market’ means more of a journey than Kuro anticipates. He and Kenma haven’t strayed much outside of little parts of the goblin market that Kenma seems familiar with. And, he realizes about forty-five minutes into their trip, just because Bokuto is confident about where they’re going _does not_ mean he actually knows where they’re going.

They ask for directions _again_ and manage to get pointed in the proper direction of a critter collector. Whatever that is.

“I wonder what kind of stuff counts as _critters_ ,” Kuro remarks and Bokuto just shrugs.

“Maybe bugs and tiny lesser spirits? Maybe small animals.” There’s a thoughtful pause, curious enough that Kuro looks over at the tengu, and Bokuto adds, “Hey, Kuroo, d’you know why Kenma doesn’t have a familiar? I was talkin’ to Akaashi the other day and they mentioned that human witches usually do. And neither of us have ever seen Kenma with one.”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t had one as long as I’ve been with him, and he’s never mentioned one.” Witches _are_ supposed to have familiars, right? Kiyoko mentioned once not having one because she is a psychic, too, when Yaku had made some remark about trying to adopt him as her familiar. The only other witch Kuro has met outside of her or Kenma is Ushijima, and the man certainly didn’t have any sort of animal with him. “Maybe they’re out of style these days. You’re not exactly current on human trends, Bo.”

“Hey, just yesterday an old lady with a boa familiar bought from us!”

“Maybe it was a fashion statement.”

“Fine, _I’ll_ ask Kenma about getting him a familiar!” Bokuto declares with a snort. He crosses his arm-wings, then, after a moment, drops them again with a nervous, furtive look. “I was just thinking… Well, what if critters are stuff that counts as familiars? We could shop around a little and maybe pick out something nice for Kenma. I know that cute animals cheer _me_ up when I’m down.”

“I don’t think a familiar is something you should buy for a witch without their knowledge, but…” But maybe it _would_ help? He knows Kenma likes cats, at any rate, and who knows what sorts of things familiars actually _do_ for witches.

As it turns out, a critter collector turns out to be about the coolest job in the world. Kuro can hardly contain his excitement over the wyrmling curled around the woman’s shoulders long enough to stammer out something about needing kotl beetles. They _totally_ need a wyrmling, too. From the way Bokuto’s digging his nails into Kuro’s arm, he can tell that he agrees. What if Kenma got a wyrmling familiar?

The magic is somewhat lost when she gives them a burlap sack of wriggling beetles the size of his fist and says, “Pick out however many you need.”

They stare into the bag. Bokuto peeks back up at the aqua blue wyrmling again. “Can we—”

“Bella ain’t for sale. Take your beetles, fork over the cash, and stop looking at her like you want to eat her, birdbrain.”

Kuro grabs Bokuto by the collar before he can start on his Tengu Are Proud Strong Awesome Creatures tirade. He can chew her out after they’ve gotten what they need. Closing his eyes and making Bokuto hold the bag, Kuro reaches in and hopes he doesn’t need too many of them. …He’s very much unaware of how many they need. The kotl beetles are hard-shelled and squirmy, yet also strangely cold.

When he pulls out a pair of them, belly-to-belly so his fingers can fit around them, his hand is blackened and dripping up to his wrist.

Kuro bites back a yelp and dunks his arm back into the bag to cover. It doesn’t look like the critter collector noticed, but Bokuto’s eyes are huge when they lock gazes over the bag. They nod to one another.

Quick as a flash, Kuro yanks his arm out, beetle-free, and hides it with his coat sleeve behind his back. Bokuto shoves his hand into the sack instead, grimacing only a little, and pulls out two flailing beetles with another one accidentally speared on one of his claws. “This many,” Bokuto says, holding them up, and Kuro nods in agreement.

“You two don’t have any idea what you need, do you,” the woman deadpans. But she takes their money all the same, feeding it directly to her wyrmling, and gives them a cloth sack to put their beetles in.

Kuro gives the wyrmling one last, longing look as they leave. He tries not to think about the moving sack held in his good hand. “At least we got everything on the list,” Bokuto points out as he wipes his beetle-juiced claw on his skirt. “‘Cept the unicorn, but you said you had that covered. How do we find our way back?”

“The way back is the easy part.”

Following the contract’s pull in Kenma’s direction, Kuro isn’t at all surprised when the return trip takes about half the time. Akaashi is seated at the tengu stall, polishing an egg in their lap, and they find Kenma curled up behind the table. His boots are off, feet stuck under Akaashi’s feathered thigh, and his coat covers him like a blanket. His expression is placid in sleep, two-tone hair falling across his face, lips parted slightly.

Kuro hates to wake him, but he still reaches out to do so. Akaashi gives a start at his unsettled hand, though, and hisses, “What did you do?”

“So, he might’ve stuck his hand in a pile of beetles,” Bokuto casually replies.

“Did you, too?”

“…Maybe.”

“Why did it do this?” Kuro asks with a pout, holding out his hand for Akaashi to inspect.

“Those things nullify magic. Why does Kenma need some?” they murmur. Akaashi turns Kuro’s hand over a few times in their claws, touch gentle but mouth twisted into a disapproving frown. “You’re lucky you didn’t melt into a puddle on the spot.”

“Is that what you think I look like?”

“We’ve seen you unsettled before,” Akaashi deadpans.

“Yeah, well, I’m _not_ a puddle,” Kuro stubbornly maintains. At that, Bokuto laughs loudly enough to wake Kenma up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( happy birthday to meeeee [#bell book and can this get any longer](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/bell-book-and-can-this-get-any-longer/chrono) (that link is for all of the art/fic that got posted along with this chapter) (and [here](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/bbac-feelings/) is my usual bbac tag too!) 
> 
> 1Merde. = "Shit." [ return ]  
> 2Connard. = "Ass." [ return ] ))


	20. Kageyama Tobio Is Not Sure How He Got Stuck With This Mess

“Ahhh, this isn’t working, either,” Hitoka groans and flops onto the table, Tobio’s arm caught underneath her.

“Told you it wouldn’t work,” Hinata says. She can hear the smirk in his voice, and, a moment later, she hears the smack that the witch gives him, too. “ _Ow_! It’s just that you two have already tried every combination of nettle and _everything_ else, so why would this time work?!”

“It’s not _your_ goddamned arm that’s cursed! Would it kill you to have some sympathy?!” Tobio snarls. Hitoka sits up, frowning, and pats his cursed arm with all the sympathy Hinata is supposedly lacking. The fight fizzles out before it can begin, and Tobio grumbles, “Why are you still _here_ , anyway?” Kasa shuffles on his shoulder, head bobbing in agreement.

“I c-can visit the human realm, can’t I?” Hinata says with enough nervousness to make the other two peer suspiciously at him.

“You… _have_ been back to your family, right?” Hitoka asks.

“You don’t _still_ have the egg with you, do you?!” Tobio adds, voice dropping into an alarmed hiss.

“Of course I don’t! I gave it back to my family!” Hinata exclaims, cheeks puffed out with his indignation. He lets the air out in a sigh, then, hanging his head like a kicked dog, he adds, “Well, I dropped it off at her place…”

“Oh my god. You’re still on the lam,” Tobio realizes and Hitoka gasps. “Why didn’t you go back to the crows?!”

“They’re very worried about you! Saeko and Kiyoko said that they already told the crow tengu you’d be returning with the egg!” she adds.

“I can’t just go back when I can still help here!” Hinata stubbornly replies.

“You dumbass, you can’t just—”

“They wouldn’t let me return here! Not while everyone’s so scared about this upcoming apocalypse, and not when I ran away in the first place! Someone needs to stick around and make sure this curse gets fixed and no more eggs get stolen,” he says with an audible pout.

Hitoka, while increasingly anxious about his sharpening teeth, does not want him to break his glamor in the middle of her campus library. A crow stuffed into Tobio’s hoodie is one thing; a crow _tengu_ is quite another. So she reaches over and takes Hinata’s hand in both of hers. She runs her thumbs over his knuckles, looks into his eyes, and tells him, “Hinata, everyone is worried about you. We know you want to help, but—”

She’s cut off by the shrill ringing of her phone’s alarm. She and Hinata both shriek and Kasa is fluffed up to the point of looking like a big black pompom, and Tobio looks severely disappointed about being part of this group.

“S-Sorry…” Hitoka says weakly and she pulls her phone from her bag. She turns off the blaring nyan cat and gives them both a rather wobbly smile. “I didn’t expect to get stalled on this again. Sorry, Tobio, but I have to go meet someone soon and check on Giggle.”

“What’s a Giggle?” he asks.

“Oh, my uni— _unicorns have purifying properties!_ ” Hitoka squeals and leaps to her feet with the realization. How had she not taken advantage of this before?! Okay, she’s never worked with many unicorn parts before, but now she _has_ one, and she’s so _stupid_ not to have tried mixing hair or tears or saliva with nettle—

“You… have a unicorn?” Hinata asks, clearly unsure about that. He and Tobio share a sidelong look but Hitoka doesn’t have time for their sudden shyness.

“Tobio, come on! Do you still have the nettles in your bag?”

“Yeah, I do—”

She doesn’t need to hear anything else. She tugs him to his feet, makes a beckoning gesture to Hinata, and drags them all out of the library. She’d already called and mentioned bringing guests onto coven ground, so that shouldn’t be a problem—at least, not any more of a problem than bringing Kenma and Kuroo there would pose.

They’re halfway off campus before Hitoka slows to a stop with dread overriding her excitement. She’s bringing Tobio and Hinata… to meet Kenma and Kuroo. A witch and a tengu meeting another witch and a _demon_. Hitoka knows Kenma is quiet and shy and Kuroo, while rather scary _looking_ , is perfectly nice while contracted. But Hinata is loud, boisterous, and a tengu. And Tobio isn’t exactly the friendliest in the world, either…

This is a bad idea.

But she can’t just ditch them _now_ , that would be rude. And not when she has a potential breakthrough with the curse right in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” Hinata asks. He and Tobio peer at her over each shoulder, and she nearly jumps at their sudden proximity. “I thought you were excited to see your unicorn. _I_ definitely want to see your unicorn,” he adds.

“I’m, um, meeting two other people there…”

“And?” Tobio prompts.

“And, well…” Hitoka chews on her lip and thinks of some way out of this without outing anyone or starting a fight. “Um, Kenma’s a little bit shy—”

“Kenma?!” Hinata crows, bouncing on his feet. “You know Kenma?!”

“ _You_ know Kenma?”

“Dyed hair, witch, grumpy?” Tobio asks.

“I wouldn’t call him grumpy, he’s just quiet.”

“Kenma is a tengu friend!” Hinata exclaims, to Hitoka’s utter shock. She heard that Kuroo had somehow gotten into the owl tengu’s good graces along with Suga, but as far as she knew, everyone’s relationship with the crow clan was rather rocky.

“We can use this!” Hitoka cries, seizing Hinata’s hands. “Kenma can tell your clan that you’re visiting us! They can’t be mad at him!”

“And Kenma can help us with the curse!” he agrees at once, shaking their clasped hands, now definitely bouncing in place.

“You said he’s not a healer,” Tobio, impervious to their glee, points out. “He barely helped us with your glamor.”

“I’m sorry, Kageyama, I thought you _wanted_ that curse taken care of,” the tengu loftily replies.

And that, apparently, settles that. With a cocktail of elation and residual nerves in her stomach, Hitoka leads the strange little party across town. Hinata seems enamored by the bus, agitated by the subway, and very tired by the hour-long trip by the time they trek the last of the way to the small park-turned-pasture near the edge of the city. It’s land that the Foxglove Coven owns, but aside from a few old gardens near the corner of it, they’ve mostly let it grow wild. And now, it’s home to Giggle the unicorn foal and a pair of white hind owned by another member of the coven.

The road nearest the makeshift pasture is old and more pothole than asphalt, but it’s better than the muddy, half-frozen dirt path they slog through in order to get to the grassier, firmer parts. The two deer shy away from them and wander off towards the little copse of trees. Giggle, though, trots on over, nearly prancing, and gives Hitoka a happy little neigh. The unicorn stops when he registers Hinata’s presence, however.

“It’s so… small,” Hinata says with a cock of his head.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Tobio mutters under his breath, and Hinata smacks him without looking. Giggle stares at them both, still save for the flicking of his tail, and Hitoka steps in front of them to beckon him closer.

Just when Giggle cautiously steps closer, ears pricked but eyes soft, Kenma and Kuroo arrive on the other edge of the park. Giggle bolts, Tobio jumps, and Hinata and Hitoka launch themselves in opposite directions—she after her unicorn, and he at the arriving witch. Kenma hardly touches down before Hinata scoops him up with a million-watt grin.

Hitoka catches up to Giggle near the trees. She wishes she had treats for him, but she doesn’t, so she makes due with sweet words and magic in her fingers. Giggle mouths and licks at her hand and she strokes his mane until he stops sulking. She leads him back toward the boys, taking it at his pace, and by the time they come back, it seems like Kuroo and Tobio have gotten over some sort of glaring match.

Hitoka looks down at where Hinata is still holding onto Kenma’s hand. How cute. But when she looks at Kenma proper, she sees fatigue in every line of his body and a gauntness to his frame that has her worried. It’s only been a couple months since she’d last seen him. Kenma registers her concern and quickly looks away, dropping Hinata’s hand as he shies closer to Kuroo.

“Well. Um. This is Giggle,” Hitoka says, patting the foal’s neck. Giggle steps forward, curious again, nostrils flaring as he sniffs the air. “What did you two need hair for?” Wait—that’s too abrupt. “I-I mean, how have you two been? I didn’t mean to make this all business! It’s, um, nice to see you again, and wow you look terrible—oh _god_ , I mean, I must not look much better! F-Finals and all that! Not that you have finals, but you look really tired, and _wow_ your pupils are really dilated, what’s wrong—” _Shut up, Hitoka!_ She bites down on her lip to cut herself off and buries her face in Giggle’s mane.

“There’s nothing _wrong_ ,” Kenma replies softly. Giggle pulls against Hitoka’s hold on him, and she peers up at them through his white mane. Kenma looks unsure about the unicorn approaching him, but it’s better than him being scared, right?

“Yeah, it’s not like we’re knocked out and left bleeding on a roof,” Kuroo snarks and Tobio’s glower darkens further.

“Kuro, stop.”

“I liked him better when he was sleeping,” Hinata says behind his hand and the demon turns his irate look on him next. Kenma just sighs.

“C-Can we all stop fighting? Please?” Hitoka pleads, now all but getting dragged forward by Giggle. He may be young, but he’s still a large animal, and she’s fighting a losing battle. “Why’s he so interested in you…?” He mercifully stops just in front of Kenma and Kuroo.

Kuroo puts his hand out toward the unicorn, curious, and Giggle sniffs at his fingers. Then licks them. Then suckles on them, despite Hitoka’s tugging and Kenma and Tobio’s vocal alarm. “This kinda tickles,” Kuroo says, uncertain.

“Giggle, behave! You _really_ shouldn’t be licking him!”

“Do you have virgin blood?” Hinata asks with a suspicious squint. He glances over at Kenma, as if asking why he’d be dumb enough to plant someone like that in front of a unicorn, but the witch’s attention is focused solely on the unicorn sucking on his demon. Giggle seems happy enough, and Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind though Hitoka can tell he’s getting nervous about _their_ reactions.

And then, with a _crunch_ like he’s eating a carrot, Giggle bites off his fingers.

Hitoka screams while her baby unicorn contentedly chews. Kuroo simply _stares_ at his hand, now bleeding freely with ichor running down his palm and wrist, and Hinata gives a squawk and flaps into the air, glamor completely dissolved. “Demon!” he screeches.

Tobio tries to pry the unicorn’s jaw open—Hitoka can admire the fact that he’s thinking clearly enough to want to avoid a unicorn with a taste for demonic flesh—but more fingers near the foal’s teeth is the _last_ thing she wants to see right now. With another shrill cry, Hitoka shoves him away from Giggle, and Hinata tugs him back at the same time with his talons buried in his shoulders.

Hitoka, practically folded across Giggle’s back, wheezes in relief, then looks around for Kenma. It takes her a few moments to spot him; he’s hovering above them on his broom, wide eyes betraying his alarm, Kuroo staring down over his shoulder with similar alarm. But not panic or horrific pain or fury.

“I’m so sorry!” Hitoka calls up, and it feels pathetically inadequate, but what else can she say?

“I can probably regrow them,” Kuroo calls back down. Kenma nods, just slightly, but neither of them seem keen on approaching the unicorn again anytime soon. Hitoka supposes it’s a minor miracle Giggle had gone after Kuroo, then, and not Kenma, although she privately doubts that anyone else would be as stupid as putting their fingers in a unicorn’s mouth. Even a baby unicorn’s mouth.

“Let me heal you?” Hitoka pleads.

“Why would you heal a demon?!” Hinata demands.

“Did you seriously not realize he was a demon earlier?” Tobio snaps at him, and it quickly turns into a scuffle.

Hitoka feels the situation falling further and further from her control. Giggle finishes his snack and swallows, making a little sound like he wants more. She’s not sure how she could have pulled the fingers out of his mouth before he’d eaten them, and now she’s going to end up with a poisoned or demonic or dead unicorn, and Kiyoko is going to kill her, and she’ll already be dead from guilt over killing her _first pet ever_ —

“Can we, um. Just get the unicorn hair and leave?” Kenma hesitantly asks.

Hitoka nods miserably.

 

\--

 

“I wish you would give me more information,” Asahi sighs and concentrates on turning the paper. Usually by the time he manages to turn one page, he’s done reading, so it’s more or less a constant endeavor. And yet, it’s getting easier for him.

That’s not a good thing.

“I want it to be _your_ idea,” Yuu returns, not pausing in his own reading. Faster reading, of course. It looks like one of Suga’s old journals. Of course. He’s getting to be as bad as Suga.

“It’s going on _your_ body,” Asahi mumbles.

“You came up with the crow on my shoulder. I liked that one.”

“Yes, but that was—different.” His face burns at the memory; the ink-splattered wing now spread across the back of Yuu’s shoulder had been an offhand remark at first. But, Yuu being Yuu, he’d become enamored with the suggestion and it’s now a permanent reminder of how much Yuu pays attention to Asahi’s words. It looks nice, very fitting for Yuu, but sometimes, that reminder stings. “Why not get a matching one on the other side?” Asahi asks, straining to push the page over to the next.

Yuu sighs loudly, as if this is the most obvious answer in the world. He drops the notebook and flops onto the couch next to him, accidentally bouncing through his thigh, and both of them pretend he hadn’t. “I want a _new_ idea from you. I’ll probably get a matching crow at _some_ point if it makes you happy, but I want something new for this.”

“This is difficult to come up with. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“It’s fine! You have good ideas, once in awhile, and I’m sure I’ll like whatever you come up with!” Yuu loyally exclaims. There’s the twitch of one of his hands, and Asahi knows he restrained the urge to pat him on the back in support (too hard, just like Suga). Asahi misses those near-painful thumps.

Asahi turns one of the pages almost without thinking. “…We don’t have a lot of time left. I can’t stay much longer,” Asahi says and lets the magazine flutter from his grasp.

“It’s a poltergeist at worst,” Yuu replies with a forced dismissive air.

“I’m _not_ going to find out.”

Yuu huffs. Neither of them want an argument—it’s the last thing they want, not _another_ argument, they’re both so tired of those—so he just falls silent. Asahi knows he doesn’t necessarily mean half the things he says in the way that he says them. Yuu just isn’t the one facing the prospect of becoming a monster or being used to fuel the end of days. And Yuu is, if nothing else, tenacious. He’s resigned to it, but he’s still digging his heels in and making Asahi _drag_ him.

In this one case, Asahi doesn’t mind the extra weight. At least he cares enough to put up this fight, to give Asahi an out. And, if he’s being truly honest with himself, he _is_ scared of passing on. Just not as scared as he had been. And not as scared as he is about making things worse for everyone else. He won’t turn into one of the things that go thump in the night—the things that Yuu and Suga make a living exterminating.

“We could talk to Suga about it. I’m sure he’d like to know if the contract decayed enough to the point where you’re a demon-or-otherwise risk,” Yuu suggests, casually, and Asahi wishes his glare had a little more bite.

“No. It doesn’t concern him.” Well, okay, it _could_ , but the last thing anyone needs is more stress added to their plate. “Please, Yuu,” Asahi adds in a sigh, “let’s just get through this ourselves. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get any worse.”

“Would being corporeal again be _really_ so bad?”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that.”

“Kuroo’s a nice enough guy, and who even _knows_ what the angel shit did to Kiyoko! And Suga’s always been a little off ever since he died. The first time.” Yuu groans and throws an arm rather dramatically over his face. When he sags against the couch, one of his feet goes through Asahi’s waist. “It’s not the end-all, be-all anymore if you’re not strictly alive or human. That’s all I’m saying.”

“It is for _me_ , and I wish you’d respect that.”

“I _do_ respect that!” Yuu nearly shouts, too fast, bolting upright once more. Asahi regards him for one long moment, then turns back to the magazine.

“I know you do,” he quietly replies.

“I just—I gotta play devil’s advocate here. If there’s some way out of this that doesn’t involve losing you, then I’m going to find it, and I’m going to make sure you know you have that option.”

“I know you do.”

“I just…” Yuu pauses for a moment, glancing down at where they’re touching-but-not, then meets Asahi’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. “I just need to make sure, for both of us, that we know everything. And I’m trying to prepare us both for what’s going to be a shitstorm of crying and snot and tears and—”

“I _know_.” He’s not sure who will be crying more, but it’ll certainly be a mess. And he doesn’t want to hear about it right now.

Yuu sighs again, drama edging back into his exhale, and forces the seriousness of the situation away. “We promised you that you wouldn’t be alone because we loved you too much to let you go.”

“I was too scared to pass on,” Asahi reminds him with a wry smile.

“Well, yeah, but we _still_ love you. And you know Suga and me, we fight really fuckin’ hard for what we love.” Asahi shoots him another look—that seems very pointedly plural—but Yuu reads it at once and automatically corrects, “ _I_ still love you, you big goofball. Even if I can’t touch you and even if you pass on or turn into a poltergeist. Say, maybe you’re turning into a banshee? That’d be sort of cool.”

“ _No_ , it wouldn’t be!” Why couldn’t he have just left it at the sentimental part?

 

\--

 

Tadashi blinks a couple times to make sure what he’s seeing is actually happening: Kenma is bandaging up Kuroo’s hand, Kuroo looks like he’s barely—and literally—holding together, and there’s _black blood_ running down _Kenma’s_ chin from his nose. Kei looks like he’s about to turn on his heel and leave forever, so Tadashi reaches over and grips his hoodie sleeve, tight.

“It looks like we’re interrupting something,” Kei says thinly. He takes a step back, testing Tadashi’s hold.

“Just give me a moment. I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly,” Kenma mumbles back. He wipes his nose with his sleeve and tightens the knot on the cloth bandages.

Kuroo looks up at them, hair dripping shadows and ink, and Tadashi isn’t sure what to make of the plea in his eyes.

“Do you, uh, need help with that?” Tadashi asks uncertainly.

Kuroo holds up his injured hand— _holy fuck_ he is missing _fingers_ and Tadashi and Kei both step back that time—and they can see that it’s already soaking through. Again, apparently. “Did you put a gag order on him while you attempt surgery?” Kei asks with a valiant attempt at snark. _Is that what’s in store for me_ hangs beneath his words.

Kuroo nods emphatically in response to the question, which explains his uncharacteristic silence, and Kenma’s frown deepens. “He was just talking too much. He’ll probably start again soon. I just don’t understand why it _won’t work_ …” The last bit is a venomous hiss under his breath.

“Maybe because you’re bleeding the same color he is,” Kei suggests. Tadashi elbows him in the side.

“That’s just a side effect.”

“Of _what_?” Tadashi asks incredulously.

Kenma’s eyes flick up to his for a brief moment of annoyance. But it’s Kuroo who answers him. “Stay contracted to Tsukki for awhile longer and you’ll start figuring it out.”

“It’s not. That,” the witch mutters, haltingly.

“Then what is it, Kenma?” Kuroo shoots back.

Kenma sighs, wipes his chin again, and shakes his hair out of his eyes. “…I need one last ingredient before I can do this tonight. Graveyard dirt.” He sniffs wetly and tilts his head back before adding, “Not a lot, just a jar or so.”

“… _Graveyard_ dirt,” Tadashi repeats. Kenma nods.

“Oh, it doesn’t have to be from any specific grave,” he says, catching their unsettled expressions, and that’s a relief. “Or I guess from an actual graveyard or cemetery… Just from blessed ground with a lot of people buried from there. No grass or plants, just the dirt.”

Tadashi nods and the tension doesn’t quite leave his frame. (The last time he’d been in a graveyard: crying in the middle of the night on his birthday. The time before that: trying not to get possessed by an entire _Danse_ full of clingy ghosts. The time before even that: his mother’s funeral. Tadashi does not look forward to _another_ trip to a cemetery.) And he can tell that Kei isn’t exactly keen on the idea, either, but what choice do they have?

“Is there anything else you need?”

“You could dry out a beetle for me.” At their blank looks, Kenma almost smiles and explains, “Someone bought me live kotl beetles for this spell when I only needed an ounce of their dried shell powder. It was, um, a joke. I’m not sure you have enough control over fire magic to do that…”

“We’ll just get the dirt. Give us the jar,” Tadashi says, sighing and holding out his hand. Neither Kenma nor Kuroo move, but a black tendril about the thickness of Tadashi’s wrist carries over a mason jar from the counter. Tadashi takes it, and with his own sigh, Kuroo melts into his shadow. Kenma looks vaguely annoyed again.

Tadashi and Kei leave the hotel, glad to be gone from that weird atmosphere, and Tadashi pulls up a map on his new phone. It feels a little strange to be googling for a random graveyard, but after cycling through a few synonyms, they find a tiny one not quite a mile from where they are now. It’s chilly outside, but not freezing, so they just walk, and silently pray that it will suffice.

The graveyard is a tiny little chunk of land, half of it on an even tinier little hill, surrounded by an old wrought iron fence. The gate is locked and wrapped in thick chains, and Tadashi isn’t certain what the deal with the place is. It’s not quite overgrown enough to look completely abandoned, but everything’s sort of crooked and weedy, so it’s definitely not well-tended, either.

Kei gives him a boost, he minds the spikes on top of the fence, and Tadashi drops down into the half-frozen mud with a gross splash. He falters and his bad leg gives out, but he catches himself against the iron behind him without getting any muddier.

(Why the fuck does he have a _bad leg_ he is only eighteen and that realization is frustrating and sobering.)

It becomes apparent why the place has been deserted once Tadashi looks around from inside the fence. And Tadashi suddenly stops caring about his aching thigh.

There are spirits everywhere, hidden and confined by some spell woven into the iron behind him, which Kei only now notices he can’t float through. Most of them seem to be somewhat corporeal, judging by the way they lean on and crawl over headstones, and they’re all humanoid. _Very_ humanoid, in fact; Tadashi is pretty sure half of them are wearing or possessing human bodies. Just… dead bodies.

A couple of them hop awkwardly around before they seem to notice him. There must be about a dozen in total, all confined in this little patch of damp dirt and charmed iron fence, and now all eyes are on Yamaguchi Tadashi. Big, round, dead eyes, glassy and unfocused. Fucking _creepy_.

“Uh, Tsukki…?” Tadashi says, keeping his voice low. One of the nearer spirits opens its mouth and Tadashi can see very long canine teeth, like a vampire.

Wait.

Tadashi watches them hop around on rigor mortis legs. Solid, bouncy, sharp teeth…

Kei, having hauled himself up and over the fence by himself, drops down onto the ground beside Tadashi just as Tadashi figures out that they’re now stuck in a pen with a dozen jiangshi.

“Tsukki, I think we need to get the dirt and haul ass out of here,” Tadashi says in the same even tone as before.

“What the _hell_ are those,” Kei says with a scowl. Tadashi tugs the jar out of his hands, kneels down, and begins scooping handfuls of damp dirt into it.

“They’re those hopping vampire things. They’re in horror movies and video games?” Tadashi says. He’s uncomfortably aware of a couple of them hopping closer. They mostly seem curious, probably confused about the luck spirit suddenly in their midst, and Tadashi does _not_ want to find out what would happen to Kei if he got bitten by one of those. Adding another type of spiritual pollution into his mix is not a good idea.

“I have no idea what ‘those hopping vampire things’ are, but I don’t think we should stay here, Yamaguchi. I think we really need to get going.”

Well, no shit. “Hold on a—”

“Right _now_ , Yamaguchi!” Kei barks and Tadashi is abruptly yanked up by the back of his shirt. He nearly drops the jar. One of the jiangshi is practically upon them, more stumbling than hopping, jaws open inhumanly wide and reeking of rot and blood.

Tadashi shoves Kei behind him, which makes the bell on his collar _ding_ , and he raises his hands to try to write runes—only to find the jiangshi _already_ backing off. Tadashi keeps his arms up but squints suspiciously at the cowering spirit.

Behind him, Kei does his own little hop, and goes _ding_ again. The jiangshi shies back and the next nearest one gives a little twitch.

The boys exchange a glance.

Oh _fuck_ yes. This, Tadashi can do. Finally, a monster that is containable, easily kept away, and _slow_. Tadashi digs the other collar out of his coat, ringing it furiously, but the jiangshi all around only give him mildly bemused expressions. “Really?” Tadashi whines, and Kei snickers behind his hand. “If you keep laughing, Tsukki, I’ll pick you up and shake _you_ instead to keep them away. Keep ringing while I finish grabbing this dirt.”

Kei mumbles something, likely along the lines of I’d Like To See You Try, and _well_ Tadashi is going to have fun with that one later. Provided the rest of the evening turns out alright. But this is already a good sign, and he _refuses_ to take it as anything else. Today will be fine.

Tadashi pacts soil in tight to the jar until it’s as full as can be. No need to make two trips. Kei bounces on the balls of his feet next to him, _dinging_ on most of them, and it only makes him seem jittery and grumpy. But it keeps the jiangshi away and that’s what matters. Kei helps Tadashi hop the fence again, and this time, Tadashi helps him get back over, and soon they’re both dirtier than before but merrily on their way back to Kenma and Kuroo.

Neither of them notice the half-seen, antlered figure crouched on the corner of the cemetery’s fence.

“Why did only yours work? Mine is technically a bakeneko’s, too,” Tadashi remarks, holding up the arm with the collar wrapped around the wrist.

“Maybe mine belongs to a luck spirit currently instead of in the past.”

“…Hope so,” Tadashi replies. Unexpectedly heavy, so they fall back into silence, Kei no longer smirking like he had in the graveyard, and Tadashi has no clue what to say to him. Good luck seems trite (and half a pun), telling him it’ll be alright seems like it’s overly optimistic, and telling Kei that he’ll support him no matter what just makes him remember when Kei had run away.

Kei isn’t the most expressive person around, either, so Tadashi has no clue what he’s thinking right now. He’s at least going through with this, and Tadashi has faith in Kenma, but Kenma also looked distracted and haggard, and he’s certain Kei noticed that, too. Before he can talk himself into further fretting, Tadashi reaches over and grabs Kei’s hand. He keeps his gaze straight ahead despite the eyes he can feel on him. It takes a couple of moments, but mercifully soon, Kei returns the gesture, squeezing Tadashi’s fingers.

They head into the hotel, go up the elevator, and every step towards the ignored hotel room feels heavier than the last. The door swings open after Tadashi’s knock, and they find Kenma sitting by the desk, grinding up something in a mortar. “Did you get the graveyard dirt?” he asks without preamble.

“Yes, and nearly ended up as jiangshi food, too,” Tadashi replies. Kenma just gives him a thoughtful tilt of his head, then returns his attention to his grinding. “This is all we need, right?”

“Yes. We’re only waiting on Yaku now.”

“Why is he going to be here?”

“I need luck spirit blood, and Lev said he wanted to be here. For, um, you two, I guess.” Kenma turns even further from him, nose nearly buried in the little bowl, until he ends up sneezing on it. The witch checks his nose with a Russian curse—no blood and no snot in the beetle powder—and Tadashi sees a tiny, half-congealed Kuroo rise up out of his shadow beneath the desk in concern.

They exchange some sort of wordless conversation, because after a moment and a brief leg touch, Kuroo sinks back down without a sound.

Tadashi sincerely hopes Kenma isn’t as distracted as he seems. _Not seems, but if Tsukki were hurt and I was suddenly bleeding demon blood…_ he amends, but that mental image doesn’t make him feel any better. (It only makes him feel sorry for Kuroo.)

Kenma sets aside the finished powder just before there’s another knock on the door. Tadashi jumps nearly a foot in the air, unaware he’d gotten so tense, and Kei’s hand tightens on his again. The door swings open—Tadashi isn’t sure if Kenma did it himself or not—and a disheveled Lev (holding an irritated tan cat) barrels in. “Ahh, Kenma, are we late?! I had to watch Anya and—”

“And he almost brought her with us,” Morisuke flatly adds, ears pinned back. He makes no move to get out of Lev’s grasp, though his tail swishes angrily. His expression does not improve as he looks around the messy hotel room before circling back to Kenma at the desk. “So we’re going to purge Kei in the middle of a human hotel?”

“I thought about pulling the fire alarm, but I didn’t want the noise,” Kenma replies. “…And I’m sure it will be fine.”

“It already reeks,” the cats says and slithers out of Lev’s hands. He shifts as he lands and tugs off the oversized hat on his head to free his ears. “What are you using that smells so bad? I don’t see how you or Kuroo can stand it.”

Lev loudly sniffs the air and Tadashi may covertly to the same. He can’t smell anything off, although it smells a little musty in there. Kuroo again rises out of the shadow beneath Kenma’s socks and winds his way around Kenma’s leg until a little black puddle is seated in his lap. “This is why you should get fresh air once in awhile. You’ve gotten used to your own stink, Kenma,” he says with a grin bright enough to match his hollow white eyes. Tadashi is very unused to seeing Kuroo like this, and he must say, it’s pretty unsettling. (But he supposes it matches what he’d seen of Yui as an angel.)

“There’s nothing that smells here,” Kenma grumbles. He casts a quick, guilty look at a pile of laundry in the corner, though.

“It smells like magic,” Morisuke agrees. He walks up to Kenma, tilts his chin back, and looks over his face. At least he’d washed the blood off; Tadashi isn’t sure how badly the bakeneko would worry had he seen _that_. Despite what Kenma had said, he’s pretty certain that humans shouldn’t be bleeding black, regardless of contracts.

“Can we stop smelling the air and get back to the task at hand?” Kei asks in a tight voice.

“Oh. Yes. Of course,” Kenma says. He pulls his face away from Morisuke and grabs the bowl with the powder, then looks down at the tiny Kuroo still clinging to his pants. “Kuroo—” he begins, then something in his expression pinches shut and he just mumbles, “You just rest there. Lev, help me arrange the ingredients and I’ll let you help me write out the circles.” Tadashi is surprised at how affronted a blob of darkness with white dots for eyes can look.

“Why is he helping you?” Kei asks, alarmed, whereas Lev looks like an overexcited puppy as he bounds over and helps Kenma grab things from tall shelves and beneath the bed.

“Why is there more than one circle?” Tadashi adds.

“Precautions,” Kenma replies curtly.

Tadashi and Kei both fall silent. Morisuke reluctantly lets the other two work and ends up perching on the windowsill next to Tadashi, and begins eyeing him, next. Tadashi tries to shuffle away without looking guilty. “…And when’s the last time _you_ slept, huh?” Morisuke asks him.

“Um,” Tadashi brilliantly answers. Sleep’s been a little hazy for him lately, but he definitely remembers passing out after the hospital adventure. He’d gotten a fair bit of sleep in the hospital and soon thereafter, actually, so he feels like that should count for something.

“That’s what I thought,” Morisuke sighs and folds his arms across his chest. His tail lashes behind him. “If you lot don’t start taking better care of yourselves, you’re going to burn yourselves out. Not like humans are particularly long-lived, anyway…”

“I’m healthy, Yaku!” Lev pipes up.

“You ate two of those long fruit things for lunch and nothing else,” Morisuke deadpans.

“That’s _two_ fruit by the foots, so that’s almost as tall as me! But I’ll eat a better dinner if it makes you feel better. Kenma, Aunt Masha gave me some _kvass_ if you want to come over to share with us,” Lev sweetly suggests. “Kuro, too!” he adds in spite of the way Morisuke bristles.

“I just want to stay in tonight with Kuro,” Kenma replies.

“Oh well, more for me and Yaku!” Tadashi wonders if Lev is _ever_ discouraged.

Kenma starts arranging ingredients and directing Lev as he traces out a circle in a dark chalk on the hotel carpet, as best as he can. Kei only releases Tadashi’s hand when Kenma beckons him and Morisuke over to draw blood from, and then the blond spirit is made to stand in the inner circle. Morisuke turns back into a cat and drapes himself over Tadashi’s shoulders in comfort.

“It’ll be fine,” the cat murmurs in his ear when he sees Tadashi playing with the collar wrapped around his wrist.

“Yeah. Yeah, it will be,” Tadashi agrees despite the worry in his heart.

Kei looks mildly ill as Lev triumphantly finishes the inner circle’s runes. Tadashi squints at it—he recognizes more of it than he’d thought he would. Lev leans back on his heels, accidentally smears chalk over one cheek, and loudly asks, “Why is the middle one a confinement circle, Kenma?”

Kei just about bolts but Kenma reaches over and grabs his arm before he can move. “It’s just a precaution,” the witch tells them.

“Why does he need a _confinement_ circle as a precaution?!” Tadashi demands.

“If he turns into something because of this. The risk is slim, but it’s still there. I’m not going to have him turn into a demon or worse and have to fight him,” Kenma says, brooking no argument, and Tadashi chews his lip to keep himself silent. Kei looks a lot more than mildly ill now.

Kenma finishes up the outer circle himself and makes Lev sit at the table in the corner. Tadashi shuffles over after a few moments to join them, and Morisuke jumps down onto the table between them. Kei wrings his hands over the hem of his jacket, claws digging into the fabric with a tearing sound that neither he nor Kenma seem to notice.

Kenma mixes most of his pile of ingredients into a large wooden bowl and starts painting that onto the outer circle of runes. “Coat and shirt off,” he says, and with clear discomfort, Kei sheds the layers. Kenma dumps the leftover paste onto Kei’s demonic arm, up across his shoulders and down his back. “Rub that in.”

Tadashi starts to lose track of what’s going on by the time Kenma is asking Kei to drink a tall glass of what looks like witch water. Kei sips at it, until Kenma gives him a _look_ , then hurriedly chugs it. Tadashi can see him sweating from where he’s standing and wishes he could get closer without messing anything up. He’ll have to settle for fretting on the sidelines.

Kenma smears Morisuke’s blood across the bridge of Kei’s nose and down his chest. Tadashi wrinkles his nose; the room is starting to take on a distinct odor. It’s not blood or anything he can quite place, but something deep in his bones tells him that this is _magic_. Morisuke has outright covered his nose with his paws, peeking over them to watch, and only Lev seems unbothered.

Kenma is already writing runes against Kei’s shoulder with a marker, so Tadashi doesn’t notice at first when he reaches up to unbuckle the collar around his neck. Kei doesn’t, either, and he jumps and grabs Kenma’s wrists, holding them above his head so Kenma is nearly on the tips of his toes. “What the _hell_ are you doing?!” Kei hisses.

Kuroo winds his way up Kenma’s body until the shadow slips out of the back of his hood, and he looms over Kei with his teeth bared. “Let him go.”

“Kuro, get down. You need to rest. And, um, please put me down,” Kenma says without a trace of fear in his voice. Kei continues glaring at him, and Tadashi considers intervening until Kei slowly lowers him. “You need to take it off for this, otherwise it’ll interfere with my magic. Best case scenario, it nullifies my spell and nothing else happens.”

“Worst case?” Kei asks.

Kenma looks down and admits, “A lot of things could happen. My magic could latch onto it and purge the luck spirit parts too, or it could mix and worsen the demon problem, or it could explode. I’m not sure.”

Though his face is white as a sheet, Kei reaches up himself and begins unbuckling the collar. Tadashi can taste blood in his mouth from how hard he’s been gnawing on his lip, and Morisuke is completely covering both his nose and eyes by this point. Tadashi can see Kei’s hands are shaking and he _really_ wants to step in to help. Even to comfort. _Especially_ to comfort.

The group collectively holds their breath when Kei finally pulls the collar away from his neck. To Tadashi’s knowledge, this is the first time since Kei had gotten it that it’s come off. Kei swallows and hands it to Kenma, and Kenma places it on the bed, careful not to let the bell chime.

Nothing else happens. Kei doesn’t turn into a ghost or implode or melt.

Then again, Tadashi can see spirits, so how is he supposed to know if Kei is suddenly a ghost again?

 _Kenma can’t_ , he remembers, and he feels like the witch would have said something. Probably.

Kenma steps out of both circles and starts writing runes in the air. Tadashi is _definitely_ holding his fucking breath now. He’s terrified to think of this backfiring—Kei could turn into something _worse_ , or back into a ghost, and what are they going to _do_ if they can’t touch each other anymore? At least Tadashi can see him now, but he remembers how touch-starved Kei had been during the _Danse_ and when he’d first started getting used to a corporeal form again. He’s not sure Kei can go through that again. Tadashi will probably worry himself into permanent insomnia if it happens.

Or they could have a redo of the warehouse incident and try to fight a goddamned angel again.

Tadashi shakes his head, eyes never leaving Kei, to clear his traitorous thoughts. _It will be fine_ , he tells himself, and mouths the words, too, when he catches Kei looking at him.  _You’ll be okay_.

The smell of magic worsens and Tadashi can see the runes on the floor begin to faintly glow. First the confinement circle, then the outer circle, and Kei glances down at them with something rapidly approaching abject fear in his expression. Tadashi’s fingers tingle and the collar on his wrist starts to feel strangely cold. Morisuke presses up against the wall, fur on end, but he doesn’t try to leave or complain.

Kenma writes the last rune and then presses both palms into the outer circle. All of the magic and light die away with a nearly audible _snap_ and one of the lightbulbs in the kitchenette pops.

Kei’s arm is no longer blackened or clawed. But, when he looks down at himself, Tadashi can see that something is off. Something’s _wrong_.

And then he sees the horrified, _guilty_ look on Kenma’s face, like the witch knows he just fucked up.

Tadashi’s heart drops down into his feet. _No_.

They were _lucky_ — _Kei_ was fucking lucky. Kenma is a good witch and Kei was lucky and there’s _no way_ they’re back to square one. They did not go through all of that shit for this to be a failure, even if it’s not a disaster.

The following things happen so quickly that Tadashi isn’t certain what happens in what order. He launches himself at Kei, sick and guilty and damn near heartbroken, and Kei suddenly lights up like a golden firework with enough magic to make Tadashi’s ears ring, and Kenma crumples to the floor with a weak, choked groan.

Tadashi hits Kei and _oh thank fuck he’s tangible_. Kei is glowing brightly enough to almost be painful to look at. So Tadashi squeezes his eyes tight and wraps his arms even tighter around Kei and wants to pick him up and twirl him around with how horrendously relieved and giddy he’s feeling. “It worked, it _worked_ , Tsukki!” he breathes against the too-bright skin.

“Kenma?!” It’s Lev’s voice that jars Tadashi out of his joy.

Tadashi turns and finds Lev crouched by Kenma, prodding his shoulder, and Morisuke, back in human form, retrieving the collar from the bed. He has to float to reach, but he slides it back around Kei’s neck, and it’s like a light switch. Kei is back to normal with only a few swirling motes of gold to show for his attempt at becoming a luck spirit flare. Tadashi blinks the spots out of his vision and Kei looks like he’s doing the same.

“Kenma, is he—”

“He probably just used too much magic,” Morisuke sighs.

 _But he’s a witch_ , Tadashi thinks. He can’t vocalize his concern before the bakeneko in front of him clamps his hand over his suddenly bleeding nose, however.

“Why the shit does it smell like an _angel_ in here?” he hisses, tail bottlebrushed again, and searches the room like it’s offended him gravely.

“Kuro’s not coming out of Kenma’s shadow,” Lev says, his voice high in concern. “If it was magic, he’d be worried, but they’re not waking up!”

“Did it go wrong?” Kei asks and they crouch down beside the prone witch while Lev rifles through Kenma’s pockets until he pulls out his phone. “It worked. What happened to him?!”

Morisuke isn’t the only one with a nosebleed, and they all stare in horror as dark blood begins to drip out of Kenma’s nose again. “Why is it _black_?! What did Kuroo do to him?! And why does it smell like a fucking _angel_ in here if he’s working with demonic magic—” Morisuke falls silent, color draining out of his face to leave only stark contrast against the scarlet smeared over his lips.

Without a word, he hops over the bed and begins going through Kenma’s things. Lev is furiously scrolling through Kenma’s phone, so Tadashi and Kei kneel beside him and try to check him over. “Well, he’s not dead, right?” Kei asks, looking scared to touch him.

“His breathing is uneven,” Tadashi says. He tries to feel for his pulse, but his fingers are still tingling. He’s certain that Kuroo’s lack of a reappearance is the worst omen of all; even if he’d been hurt and recuperating in Kenma’s shadow, he still should have come back out, unless it affected both of them. “I-I don’t know healing magic, but he feels cold. Should I try to warm him up?”

“Was he sick?” Kei asks in a tone that adds _why the hell was he doing this if he was sick too_.

“Sugawara!” Lev suddenly shouts, startling them both, bad enough for Tadashi to jump. He’s speaking into the phone, fast and nearly incoherent, “I need Akaashi! Yes— _yes_ , the tengu! Something’s wrong with Kenma and I—no, I _don’t_ know! He just collapsed and I think it’s magic and Akaashi knows about magic and—”

“Tell me where the tengu is,” Morisuke orders. He comes back up out of a pile of things in one of the cabinets with a glass jar half-full of something like milk in it held in his long tail. Morisuke slams it down on the kitchen counter like it’s poisonous. “I’ll go get them and bring them here.”

“Akaashi knows where this is, I just need to talk to them, but Suga is—”

Morisuke snatches the phone from Lev and demands, “Sugawara, where are you right now?”

After a pause and a barely-audible answer, Morisuke vanishes and the phone drops back into Lev’s outstretched hand. “Send Yaku to get Akaashi and tell them that we’re in Kenma’s hotel room. They know where it is! And—oh, if you think so—okay, okay. Fine!” And then Lev hangs up, too.

The room is deadly silent for less than a minute before Kuroo wakes up coughing.

 

\--

 

“Do you get emergency calls often?” Daichi asks, sounding amused, and Suga shoots him a dirty look from where he’s listening to a panicked Russian try to explain _something_ over Kenma’s phone.

Daichi looks _far_ more serious when Yaku appears in the bookstore. With impressively good reflexes, he grabs the bakeneko by the tail and yanks him behind a bookcase. Suga snorts into his fist, because _wow_ , Daichi’s lucky he’s not about to get gutted and Yaku’s expression was _hilarious_. “Okay, so what’s going on?” Suga asks, trying to restrain an inappropriate smile.

“ _Don’t_ just pop in here! This is a human store with human customers and—”

“Something’s wrong with Kenma and I found half a jar of angel’s blood in his hotel room. Lev mentioned a tengu that could help—point me in their direction,” Yaku says, cutting across Daichi.

“Hold on, Lev,” Suga says into the phone and gives Yaku a frown. He only now notices the red smeared across Yaku’s face. “I don’t know where Akaashi is right now, but you could try the goblin market. The owl tengu have a stall there. Lev, I’m on my way— _yes_ , I’m coming.” Suga hangs up with that and turns back to Yaku before he can vanish. “Where is Kenma staying right now?”

Yaku manages to give him a rough set of directions, enough for City Native Suga to figure it out, and Yaku disappears again with a _pop_ while Suga starts shoving his things haphazardly back into his messenger bag. “Is this that much of an emergency?” Daichi worriedly asks.

“Hopefully not, but I’ve learned that it’s never a good thing when witches faint or angels are involved,” Suga replies, distracted, but then pauses. He leans over and kisses Daichi on the cheek, a sad excuse for cutting another meeting short, but shit, he’s _trying_. “I’ll make sure he’s fine.” Even if he’s not certain Daichi has met Kenma. But it’s nice of him to worry.

“You be careful with angels and witches, too, Suga,” Daichi says. When Suga goes to pass him, Daichi catches him by the cast and tugs him back around to give him a proper kiss. Daichi’s mouth is soft and warm against his, and he tastes like the chapstick Suga was teasing him about, and Daichi’s big palm cups Suga’s cheek like they were meant to fit like this.

When Daichi pulls away again, Suga can’t meet his eyes. “Sorry,” Suga tells him.

“Go make sure the witch is okay. And tell your spirit friends that the bookstore _isn’t_ some sort of landing pad or meeting spot for the magically inclined,” Daichi says and gives Suga a gentle push towards the door. 

“Maybe I can see you later tonight?” Suga asks, hopeful, but unsure. He’d originally swung by the bookstore to bother Daichi until the store closed, which was soon, but he knows Daichi has the opening shift tomorrow and he doesn’t want to keep him up. And he sure as hell isn’t sure how long this will take.

“Text me when you’re done. Good luck, Suga.”

“Bye, Daichi.” There’s something else on the tip of his tongue there, but it feels weird to say right now, so Suga just shoulders his bag and beats a fast retreat out of the store. (Maybe he needs to leave abruptly more often if it will get Daichi to kiss him in the store.)

But Kenma. Kuroo has been worried about him for ages for a plethora of reasons, and Suga isn’t sure where to begin. Yaku mentioned angel blood, so Suga can only surmise that it’s the stuff he got from Kiyoko, and that’s nasty shit. But Kenma is smart if nothing else. It’s out of his way to head home, but he’s not sure what he’d even _need—_ hopefully Kenma just needs a cold bucket of water and a replenishment potion.

It takes him half an hour by train to find the hotel and another fifteen minutes to circle around the topmost floor until Lev breaks the charm on the door to yank him forcefully inside.

And Suga is immediately _assaulted_ by the stench of magic. _How had Kenma put up with this?!_ he thinks, eyes watering and sleeve clamped over his nose. Suga had known that Lev was there, but he’s shocked to find Tadashi and Tsukishima as well, both of them looking worried sick. …And Tsukishima looks suspiciously healthy. _Alright, so Kenma managed to fix his demon problem._ That’s a good thing— _great_ in fact because Suga had no idea how to help _or_ get Tsukishima to open up enough to trust him to try to help—and it likely means that Kenma overtaxed his magic.

Which, while difficult for a witch, is not impossible and a little more problematic than normal magical exhaustion. But it must have been severe for Kenma to pass out.

“He tried fixing Tsukki and he _did it_ but then he collapsed,” Tadashi says, sounding near tears, and he’s gripping Tsukishima’s hand so tightly that his own hand is shaking. “But Tsukki is okay now? Is he? Do you know how to tell if the spell worked? Is it the spell that did this to Kenma?”

“Kenma just fainted and he’s never fainted doing magic before! Not like this, anyway, and then his nose started bleeding and Kuro is really quiet too,” Lev adds in an even more frantic tone.

“Both of you, just shut up. Someone will figure it out,” Tsukishima grinds out.

“It will be okay,” Suga tells them, far more kindly, and he leans down to check Kenma’s breathing and pulse. It looks like they moved him to the bed, and Suga sees the faintest of stirrings in the shadows on the covers beneath him, followed by a tiny, wet cough. “Kuroo, can you hear me? Are you alright?”

“Kenma’s sick again,” Kuroo says tiredly. “My fault…”

“How is this your fault?” Suga asks. He doesn’t want him to fall asleep or pass out again, so he wants to keep him talking, and he doesn’t care how.

But Suga freezes when he sees the blackness smeared across Kenma’s cheek and nose. He’d thought it was a bruise at first, but he can see the wetness there upon closer inspection. Just to be sure, Suga reaches out and gently places his finger against Kenma’s skin, and his own skin burns. Suga quickly wipes it off on his jeans. He hadn’t thought _that’s_ what Kenma had been bleeding.

Well. He knows what this is now. Kenma’s _really_ fucking lucky his own body isn’t rejecting the demon’s blood, too, right now.

Suga takes a deep breath and tries to keep himself calm. Dear fucking god, Akaashi is going to kill them both for letting this get this bad—wait, Akaashi had certainly seen Kenma recently. So they hadn’t noticed it, either. So the tengu will definitely not be the one to cast the first stone. “Tsukishima, come here,” he says evenly and the tall blond obediently stands next to him. Suga reaches into his bag, grabs an old vial of his blood, and uncorks it. “You’re tangible and visible now, right?”

“I believe so.”

“He’s been visible all this time, except for a couple moments after the spell,” Lev helpfully supplies.

Suga dips his thumb in the blood and presses it against the inside of Kei’s wrist, the one that had just been demonic. No reaction outside of a grossed-out frown. “You’re at least clear of the demon risk. And you’re still visible, so you can’t be a human spirit again. You’re probably where you should be on the luck spirit route, just now without any other factors. Good!” He doesn’t have to fake the gladness he feels, at least, and gives Tsukishima a happy grin as he claps him on the shoulder.

Suga corks the vial again and tosses it back into his bag. Tadashi nearly melts with how obviously relieved he is. “So the spell worked… and it was too much for Kenma?” he guesses.

“The exertion didn’t do him any favors, but it wasn’t because of that. He’ll be fine, so you two can go home. You both look like you need the sleep,” Suga says pointedly. Tadashi has the good grace to look ashamed, but Suga can see him brace to dig his heels in, so he adds, “It’s nothing you can help with, and I’d rather you two go home and go to _bed_. Alright?”

“Are you going to ground us if we don’t?” Tsukishima asks in a deadpan and Tadashi bites back a laugh.

The tense moment is broken and Suga starts herding them toward the door. “Don’t tempt me, either of you. Kenma will be fine, and I’ll text you when he and Kuroo are okay again.”

“Yes, yes, we get it. The adults are using bad magic so the kids need to get home. Forgive us for being concerned.”

“Good _night_ , you two,” Suga says and all but shuts the door on them. He sighs and turns on Lev, who’s already giving him a reproachful look. “Lev, I would like you—”

“Tочно нет! I’m not going anywhere!” He narrows his eyes and rocks onto the balls of his feet. He almost looks imposing. “You know what happened to him, don’t you? Tell me.” [1]

Kuroo coughs again and Suga runs his hand back through his light hair. “It’s probably something similar to an allergic reaction. Kenma and Kuroo would be on one end of the spectrum, and the angel magic he’s working with would be on the other. Using magic just made it worse.”

“Kenma can’t be allergic to angel things,” Lev replies, like it should be obvious. Suga inclines his head, indulging him. “He needs to summon an angel to make his protection spell. He wouldn’t try to make a spell like that if he was allergic to them.”

“…He’s trying to _what_.”

“Nice going, Lev,” Kuroo rasps. He gives a small groan and coughs, yet again, into Kenma’s shirt. “I made it worse, didn’t I? By settling and unsettling…”

“It… wouldn’t have helped things,” Suga replies honestly. “But this sounds like it may have been coming for awhile. How long has Kenma been working on this?”

Both Lev and Kuroo fall suspiciously silent.

Well, shit. That long, huh. “He won’t die from this if we stop it now, and thankfully, it should be a matter of keeping him away from that stuff until his body can recover. Kuroo, why aren’t you in a settled form right now?”

“Kenma’s been feeling like shit, so it’s been hard, and then I got hurt today. Kenma flipped out and wanted me to rest until he could be sure that I’d regrow the fingers properly.”

“Regrow the—?!”

“I’ll be fine! See, not a lie,” the demon petulantly insists.

No wonder they’re both a mess. Kiyoko is going to shit a brick when she hears about this. “First things first. We need to wake Kenma up and keep him awake. I have a potion that should help, but we need to get him scrubbed and away from his saturated place. Do you two have some place else you could stay?”

“With me!” Lev volunteers at once.

“I think Yaku would eat us.”

“You’re both welcome to stay with me,” Suga offers, although he’s already thinking of the logistics of that. It’s not like he has a large place, and some of his wards may not agree with a longer stay for Kuroo. Kuroo doesn’t respond, though, so Suga says, “Let’s just wake Kenma up, first. I think I have some smelling salts somewhere in here…”

Suga finds the salts and wakes up Kenma just in time for Yaku and Akaashi to reappear in the room with enough magic to make his ears pop. Kenma looks like he goes from unconscious to heart attack in half a second and Kuroo lets out another small groan from beside him. “What happened?” Akaashi asks urgently, stepping toward them.

“You’re awake again,” Yaku says with a heavy sigh. “Thank the gods.”

“What _happened_?” Akaashi repeats with a desperate look at Suga.

Suga gives Kenma a moment to speak up for himself, but the witch just remains looking dazed and mildly afraid, so he has the feeling he’s barking up the wrong tree there. “The witch with the long-term demon contract was experimenting with angelic magic,” Suga says, staring hard at Akaashi. There’s nothing but surprise in their features, so Suga is inclined to believe that they didn’t know about it.

“I’m shocked no one noticed it _before_. I’d buy that Kenma and Kuroo got used to it, and Lev has the nose of a tree stump when it comes to magic—”

“Hey!”

“—but you tengu have visited Kenma before, right?” Yaku asks with a falsely polite tone.

“I have never personally interacted with an angel before. I have no idea what they may or may not smell like, and I don’t stick my nose into others’ business,” Akaashi replies. They narrow their eyes and give the bakeneko a guarded look. “And I was also unaware that cat spirits were so knowledgeable.”

“This isn’t time for a cat versus bird match,” Suga hurriedly intervenes. He gently tugs Akaashi over, closer to Kenma, and the witch finally blinks and comes a little closer to attention. “Kenma, you need to find another place to live and get rid of the angel blood. I can help you dispose of—”

“I need that,” Kenma replies blankly.

Suga will debate the ethics of angel summoning with the apparently serial illegal summoner _later_. “Kenma, your body practically thinks _you’re_ a demon right now. You need to get rid of it before something worse happens. And, here, you need to drink this.” He’d never really thought that his own horrible potion would be useful for anyone else, but if Kenma needs a bit of dark magic to function right now, then it’s worth a shot.

Kenma takes the jar and begins to drink it on autopilot until he gets a whiff of it. Suga nearly laughs at the look on his face after that; Lev actually does laugh. Kenma takes a hesitant swallow of it, but gags almost immediately, and, on wobbly legs, he staggers to the bathroom and slams the door behind him.

“That’s about what I was expecting,” Suga admits. He turns to Akaashi and asks, “Do you know of any way to fix this? More magic would just exacerbate this, but maybe tengu magic…?”

Akaashi shakes their head. Also about what Suga had been expecting. “Kenma may need to work it out of his system the old-fashioned way.”

“But what about until then? And how long will it take?” Lev asks.

“And what about that angel-powered plan of his?” Yaku adds.

“ _And_ what about Kuro? Kenma said the contract will be up soon,” Lev continues.

This is too much information to handle in one short sitting and ooh, he is definitely not going to get to see Daichi again tonight. Suga feels a headache coming on but forces it back for now. “Kenma needs to be far away from angels and their magic until he’s feeling better. I don’t know how long that will take. A few days, at least. After that and after someone talks to him about _exactly_ what he’s doing to his body, then maybe he’ll be able to figure out a different solution.”

“That’s a lot of details you don’t know,” Akaashi comments and Suga sucks his teeth because _yeah_ , he knows. “But he’ll be alright?”

“Overall? He should be. Unless the potion I just gave him makes everything worse. That’s a possibility.” Who knows how the hell necromancy will mix with demonic magic.

“Kenma needs a vacation from this! He can stay with me for a week,” Lev declares.

“With you and that aunt of yours who is still pissed at him for leaving his job?” Yaku asks and Lev deflates with a sad whine. “What’s the chance of him reconciling with Kiyoko?”

“Probably about zero,” Lev replies.

“I’ll do it,” Akaashi says. The other three turn to stare at them, more than a little surprised. Akaashi cocks their head to one side, tucks their hair behind their pointed ear, and asks, “What? I have the space and you can’t get farther from a problem than another realm. I’m sure Bokuto would love to have the company.”

Suga wants to _kiss_ Akaashi and their sudden (but helpful) bigheartedness. No more future as a tengu shrink for him! “What about Kuroo, though?”

“He and Kenma can stay inside until he can maintain a settled form again. Kenma can help him conceal everything else after that, and he _is_ a tengu friend. If anything, Kenma will draw more raised eyebrows.”

Eventually, Kenma drags himself back out of the bathroom, exhausted demon in his arms, and gives them all another bemused expression. Suga gives him a sunny smile in response. “Good news, Kenma, Kuroo. You two are going on a vacation.”

 

\--

 

Kei and Tadashi lay in bed, facing each other, Kei’s left hand’s fingers intertwined with the fingers on Tadashi’s right hand. They’re close enough that their breaths intermingle, Tadashi’s deeper and more even than Kei’s, and smelling of mint from his toothpaste. Kei feels strangely warm, lying here with him, and he’s not certain why. Tadashi already told him that he’s still barely above room temperature. He wonders if he’ll ever get up to proper human temperature again. Morisuke is warm. Suga and Asahi, however, are both very cold. Who the hell knows anymore.

Tadashi’s eyes close and Kei studies the fan of his dark eyelashes against his cheeks. He also wonders if he can recall ever seeing this well in the dark before.

He knows he doesn’t need glasses anymore, and it’s not like he’s wearing them now, but it’s still so _strange_. And he doesn’t like being without them for very long, aside from quiet moments like this, in bed.

“I wonder what kind of magic it was that Suga wouldn’t tell us,” Tadashi murmurs and reopens his eyes. He looks down at their joined hands.

“Yaku seemed to know what it was.”

“He recognized the blood. We… We’ve seen it before, at least.”

“He _went looking_ for the blood,” Kei reminds him.

Tadashi closes his eyes again with a slow exhale. “Suga and Morisuke both seemed to know a lot more about all of this and they wouldn’t tell us. When are they going to stop treating us like kids?”

If the mood were anything but quiet and tender, Kei would consider making a crack about kids killing dragons. As it stands, he just sighs. “I think those two are _never_ going to stop treating you like a kid, Yamaguchi.”

“I just think—I mean, I _can_ do things, you know? I don’t want to be the kid they shove out the door when things get a little rough. I just wish they’d let me help them. I-I’m being trained for that, right?” And Kei knows it isn’t just being shuffled aside under the guise of protection; Tadashi is still deeply shaken by Kenma’s collapse. (Kei is, too, if he’s being uncharacteristically honest with himself.) “Kenma did all this for us and _hurt himself_ to do it, Tsukki. How are we ever going to get the score back to zero?” Tadashi whispers and ducks his head low. His forehead is nearly touching Kei’s collarbone and he has to lean back a little to avoid getting butted in the chin.

“Why don’t you worry about why we have such masochistic friends instead?” Kei suggests.

Kei earns a laugh for that, although it’s small and perhaps a little bitter. But better than this sad ruminating. “I guess when you deal with ghosts and blood and death on a daily basis it starts to wear on you,” Tadashi murmurs.

Kei’s stomach churns. He supposes it does start to wear on people.

Tadashi sighs, and they’re still close enough that Kei can feel that little puff of air, and he momentarily wonders what would happen if they were to kiss right now. ( _Can_ they even kiss when one of them isn’t worried about the other dying? Do teenaged supernatural trainwreck kisses _have_ flavors other than worried-slash-desperate?) It’s rare that they have these quiet moments, both of them in bed, both of them corporeal and okay and not sick.

Before Kei can begin musing on whether or not luck spirits— _that_ hasn’t sunk in yet, either—truly have hormones, the scene is ruined by the _loud_ rumble of a stomach. Both boys jump a bit at the sound.

“…Was that you or me,” Tadashi whispers, a laugh in his voice he’s already trying to smother. They both know it was him. “Well, aren’t you hungry, too?”

Kei has been living in a perpetual state of hunger for what feels like forever now. At this point, he’s quite convinced that spirits can’t die of starvation. “I’m not in the mood to get sick tonight.”

“I can make you something! Yachi has been trying to find recipes—”

“Before or after she’s been distracted by tengu and witches?” Kei flatly asks.

Tadashi smacks him lightly in the shoulder. “The point is, from what I’ve seen, it’s less about _what_ you’re making and more about what you make it _with_. And I have witch water, and that dead lizard-thing Morisuke brought in the fridge.”

“Yes, that sounds _so_ appealing.”

“Just have dinner with me, Tsukki!” Tadashi chirps and he’s already sitting up and breaking the warm, comfy cocoon. Kei sighs, but follows him, because he doesn’t want to be left alone in the bed, and he _is_ hungry.

Tadashi turns out to be a worryingly good butcher… and a less than skilled cook. Or maybe he’s not very well-versed in frying salamanders. The meat seemed overly wet, _slimy_ even, yet it burnt to a crisp in almost no time at all, leaving the pair to stare down at the charred pieces with matching bemused expressions.

“…Pancakes?” Tadashi suggests.

“Can you _handle_ pancakes?”

Tadashi swats at him with his spatula.

“Make whatever you want. I don’t feel like getting sick tonight—”

“I think I know a way for you to be able to eat them!” And with that, Kei gets no further say in the matter, and Tadashi bustles around his tiny kitchen to grab various supplies. Flour, sugar, milk, he can understand those. But when Tadashi turns to him with determination fierce in his eyes, Kei balks. “Tsukki, hold out your hand.”

“Excuse me?” he retorts, like he’s not already raising his arm for him. Tadashi takes his hand in both of his, turning it over so his palm is upward. He runs his fingers along the lines there, like he’s reading it, and the light touches tickle badly enough that Kei considers trying to turn intangible again to escape.

But he A: doesn’t want to pull away from Tadashi, and B: does not want to test anything outside of maybe eating right now. Today was experimental enough, and Kei feels hungover from it all. Who cares if he can never float through walls again? He’s fine being able to touch shit and eat shit and _sleep_. Totally fine with it, in fact. Fucking _elated_ about that.

Tadashi rubs his fingertips against the light dusting of golden luck that collects in Kei’s palm. Kei always wonders how well Tadashi can truly see that—it’s annoyingly visible to him at all times—but he’s interacted with it enough that he’s not sure anymore. He doesn’t seem to notice it the same way when Yaku shakes out luck from his fur onto him.

Tadashi swipes some luck onto his index finger and pops it into his mouth. Kei stares at him, train of thought crashing and burning.

“Hm, feels a little… chalky? It doesn’t really have a taste…” There’s the smallest dab of gold on Tadashi’s bottom lip and Kei wonders if he’s going to die again from the sight. “Alright, so we can put some into the pancakes and I’m sure they’ll turn out fine!”

“You want to make _lucky_ pancakes?” Kei asks sourly, eyes still on Tadashi’s mouth. Unfair.

“You should be able to stomach those, right?”

“How are you going to get that much luck?”

“Shake you like a pepper shaker?”

Kei scoffs and drags his gaze away. Now _he’s_ wondering what luck tastes like, too. “I’d like to see you try—”

And, of course, Tadashi wraps his arms around his waist and picks him up. Kei flails for a moment before grasping Tadashi’s biceps to steady himself, and his face feels impossibly hot when he looks down and finds the freckled boy grinning up at him.

Tadashi tries shaking him, and to his credit Kei _does_ manage to smear luck across the counter with more flailing, but it can’t be called a victory. “Someone should tell Suga that that won’t work,” Tadashi says, halfway breathless from laughter and strain, and when he sets Kei down, the blond makes sure to put a couple steps between them as a precaution. “Alright, Tsukki, your job is to try to shed as much luck into the bowl as possible while I get everything else ready.”

“What if luck dust is flammable or something?”

“The sink is right there.”

“Aren’t you supposed to put baking soda on kitchen fires?”

“Luck isn’t _grease_! Water will be fine—and I’m not going to set anything on fire, anyway! Have some faith, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, rolling his eyes, and Kei scowls at him. Until he finds that little bit of luck still on him, anyway.

Kei obediently tries to make as much luck as he can while Tadashi mixes together the rest of the batter. When he finishes, they both look at the small amount of gold in the bowl, frowning. But Tadashi doesn’t complain. He just dumps it on top of the pancake batter so that it looks particularly glittery.

The pancakes— _miraculously_ —turn out not only edible, but something he can keep down. Kei only eats two, leaving a complaining Tadashi to try to finish the rest, but it takes the sharp edge off of his hunger and makes him sleepy. Again. Because they’d been _trying_ to fucking sleep before Tadashi wanted a ridiculous midnight snack.

When Tadashi gives up on the stack of food he can’t finish, Kei drags him back to the bedroom for sleep. And to _finally_ get that bit of luck off his lip.

 

\--

 

Akaashi’s claws click together as they fidget with their hands. Kuro wishes he could offer some reassurance, but he hardly has the energy to stand, much less try to deal with a nervous tengu. Kenma stands beside Kuro, a single duffel bag clutched in his arms, and he stares ahead like he’s seeing nothing at all. The only reason why Kuro hasn’t suspected that he’s gone completely catatonic is the little flinch he does every time Kuro lets his settled form slide.

He probably shouldn’t be out of Kenma’s shadow right now. His hand aches, his entire body feels like it’s made of lead, and he can feel nothing but a buzz of pain and fatigue across his admittedly thinning connection with Kenma. But it’s technically _Kuro_ who’s the tengu friend between the two of them, and they’re not going to try to smuggle a _concealed_ demon into tengu space, regardless of health problems.

Bokuto finally appears from the other side of the realm door, breathless and ruffled. “I’m finally—wow, you two look _terrible_.”

“Thanks, Bo,” Kuro dryly replies.

“Did you bring them?” Akaashi asks. Bokuto nods, but his gold eyes linger on the witch and demon. “Alright, you two. Hopefully this will go smoothly, but just in case—”

“Wear these!” Bokuto interrupts and thrusts two amulets at them. They smell strongly of tengu magic and Kuro can’t help but curl his lip. Kenma hardly blinks. With a sigh, Bokuto puts it on Kuro himself (the amulet _clinks_ against the one Kenma had made for him), tossing the other to Akaashi to let them put it around Kenma’s neck. “These are proof that you’re our guests. Officially, you’re mine and Kenma is Akaashi’s.”

“Kuroo is a tengu friend, so he shouldn’t be an issue, but _please_ try to stay solid until we get home,” Akaashi says, nearly pleads.

“Easier said than done,” Kuro huffs. He thinks he’s dripping again. He flexes his injured hand; it feels like all the blood in his body is pooling uncomfortably in his remaining fingers. He notices Bokuto’s gaze linger on that, too, but at least he doesn’t ask right now. Kuro just wants to crawl onto the nearest horizontal surface with Kenma and try to sleep this off.

“Let’s go, you can do this!” Bokuto loops his arm with Kuro’s and tugs him, gently, forward. Kuro can’t help but hold his breath when he steps through the portal. The magic is blessedly cool against his skin, even if the air on the other side is dry and smells even _more_ like birds.

Kenma and Akaashi step through a moment later, Akaashi’s hands on Kenma’s shoulders. _Finally_ , Kenma loses a bit of his dazed expression long enough to take in the foreign surroundings. It’s dark out, the artificial atmosphere copying that of the human realm, but there are streetlights and will-o-wisps around, giving everything a warm, if dim, glow.

They’re stopped by a pair of guard tengu in rather interesting armor not far along the street. Kuro gladly lets their hosts do the talking, explaining that they’re friends who are staying for a few days, and it’s really impressive how they talk around the issue of their actual _identities_ without outright lying. Kuro doesn’t feel very well right now, especially with the alien magic thick in the air, but at least neither guard asks if he’s a demon or not.

Instead, they’re just ordered, “State your name and intentions.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, and, uh, sleep?” Kuro can _feel_ Akaashi’s eyes on the back of the neck so he hastens to add, “Recuperation and relaxation. We’re tourists.”

There’s a long pause and it takes Kuro an embarrassing beat to realize that they’re all waiting on Kenma. He turns to look over his shoulder and is overwhelmingly relieved to see that Kenma is still upright, reactive even, though he’s shying back into Akaashi’s grip with a nervous expression. “…Kozume,” he finally says, “K-Kenma. Um, same.”

The guards don’t seem particularly endeared to him by the hesitant display, but they don’t voice any complaints. Kuro is absolutely certain he’s about to fall into formlessness by the time they sign some paper and hand it over to Akaashi. Bokuto nearly drags him away and down the street but doesn’t speak up until they’re around a corner. Kuro eyes the strange architecture, distracted, and jumps when Bokuto finally exclaims, “What was _that_?!”

“Wh-What was what? We didn’t get kicked out,” Kuro replies defensively.

“Tetsurou?! How come I didn’t know you had a human name!”

“…What the fuck, Bo.”

“Let’s _not_ have this conversation here. You two will be spending the night with me, since it’s closer, and we can discuss what to do in the morning,” Akaashi says briskly, one arm still tight around Kenma’s shoulders, and they point down the street.

“Did _you_ know he had a human name?” Bokuto asks.

Akaashi does not respond.

“Did you seriously think,” Kuro huffs, unsure whether he should be irritated or amused. He lets both emotions fall from his grasp and settles back into his concern and exhaustion, however. That’s easiest.

As new and frankly oppressive the tengu realm is, Kuro finds himself nearly dozing on his feet by the time Akaashi mumbles, “Here we are.” This building doesn’t look much different from the other ones along the dim street, so he supposes they’re in a residential district, and he hopes it’s a quiet neighborhood because sleeping for ninety hours sounds damn near heavenly.

They find out just how delayed a tired demon’s reflexes are when Bokuto scoops him up and Kuro doesn’t shriek until they’re a story up. Bokuto shushes him, but Kuro can’t help but claw at him, seeking stability even in midair—and the spike of adrenaline and panic upsets his already weak grasp on his physical form.

There’s a terrifying moment of freefall that Kuro _never_ wants to re-experience. But then he’s safely caught in Kenma’s arms, who in turn is being carried up by Akaashi, and by the time Kuro burrows into Kenma’s hoodie and tries to calm his racing heart, Akaashi is letting them down gently on a wide, balcony-like outcropping.

Kuro peers over Kenma’s shoulder; they’re three or four stories up, and only _now_ does he spot the different levels, mostly lost in the darkness of the night. That makes sense. Bird people and all that. But a little _warning_ would have been nice, fuck. His heart is still hammering against his ribs and he feels _terrible_ from the sudden shift in form—Kenma sniffs wetly above him and Kuro is startled to find more too-dark blood dripping out of his nose.

Kenma mutely shoves his sleeve up against his face before either of the tengu can see. Kuro whines, soft enough that only Kenma could hear it, but the witch doesn’t meet his eye.

“You can stay in the bedroom, and the bath is just down the hall,” Akaashi explains as they usher them inside. They give Kenma a perplexed look but don’t ask about his sleeve, at least. “I’ll be out here if you need anything tonight.”

“I’ll be here, too!” Bokuto adds.

“No, Koutarou, you will go home. There’s not enough room for both of us.”

“But they are—”

“No buts. We can figure this out tomorrow.”

“But I—”

Akaashi fixes Bokuto with such a _look_ that even Kuro wants to cringe away. Kenma adjusts his grip on his bag and shuffles down the hall, slow in his unfamiliarity, but once he realizes which room is the bedroom, he’s quick to duck into it and begin putting magical locks on the door.

“Are you sure we should be doing that?” Kuro asks quietly, slinking out of his shadow and inspecting Kenma’s bloody nose. It seems to have stopped bleeding and was minor overall, thank god. Kenma does not respond. “Are you feeling better now?”

Kenma still does not reply. When he seems satisfied about the alarming number of locks on the door, only then does he sink down to his knees with an exhausted, heavy sigh. Kuro crouches down beside him, rubbing circles into his back soothingly. The silent act is really starting to get to him. But since they’re alone again, then maybe…

Kenma takes a deep, shuddering breath and Kuro realizes that his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. The demon starts, dismayed he hadn’t realized how bad Kenma was feeling before and incredibly uncertain as to what to do _now_ , so he just asks again, “Are you okay? Kenma, talk to me. _Please_.”

Kenma sniffles once more, and Kuro doesn’t know if it’s another demonic nosebleed or he’s about to start crying. He’s nearly nauseous with how bad he’s feeling; he doesn’t know what to _do_ and he’s never seen Kenma like this. Not after getting shot, not after leaving Kiyoko, not even after his and Lev’s fight.

With previously thought impossible strength, Kuro forces his form to settle once more so he can wrap his arms properly around Kenma. But he sees the witch flinch at the change, again, and he clamps his already stained sleeve back over his face.

Kuro sits back on his heels and doesn’t touch Kenma.

Kenma doesn’t let the tears fall, and after a couple more wet sniffs, he drops his hand again. Without looking at Kuro, Kenma approaches the big, nest-like bed and falls face first onto it. He kicks off his boots and curls up into the dip in the middle. Kuro sits on the edge of the bed. He, too, toes off his shoes, but doesn’t flop down onto the softness. He brushes a few locks of Kenma’s dyed hair away from his face and stays up the rest of the night in order to maintain a consistent form.

 

\--

 

“I already have helpers,” Kiyoko says simply. Suga stares at her. She knows he’d been angling to help her with the preparations with the Yule party for the express purpose of getting healed enough to get his cast off, but she wants him off jobs for awhile longer.

Especially after she’d heard of what happened to Kenma.

“It won’t kill you to _take a break_ ,” she adds. “Go see Daichi again. We can handle this.”

“You’re going to take _Lev_ into the _goblin market_ ,” Suga stresses, again.

“He can carry things better than you can right now. Go home, or see Daichi, or take a nap. We can handle this much, at least,” she tells him, again. Suga finally relents (with one last attempt at puppy dog eyes, but Kiyoko long ago became immune to them) and slinks back into the shop. Kiyoko lets out a sigh of relief—immune as she may be, it’s still difficult to deal with Suga at times—and beckons Lev and Yaku back toward her. “Sorry for the wait. Are you two ready to go?”

“ _Yes_!” Lev positively gushes, eyes bright and cheeks rosy in the winter air. Kiyoko returns his smile and leads them toward the nearest portal.

She feels a little strange with Lev as her escort today, especially without Kenma around anymore, but everything about party preparations has felt a little off ever since Yui died. (It feels even stranger to have her back yet _not_.) But Kiyoko isn’t going to _not_ have the party. They need a bright spot.

“Oh, Lev, please remind me to look into plane tickets when we get back,” Kiyoko says and he nods. “And we need fairy sugar fugashi.”

Yaku raises an eyebrow at her. Kiyoko merely gives him a polite look back in response, until he gives in and tells her, “You know, you and Sugawara are surprisingly alike. You fret over everyone else. He just does it more obviously.”

“And you’re one to talk?”

Yaku purses his lips and hmphs.

Lev is nearly vibrating with excitement by the time they get to the portal into the goblin market, and Kiyoko tentatively herds him through it with a hand on the small of his back. Yaku grabs the back of his shirt in a far tighter grasp, which turns out to be the right idea, since the moment they’re out into the goblin market, Lev tries to bolt with an excited cry.

Kiyoko had been expecting dizziness and some illness, not an even _more_ enthusiastic Lev. She’s beginning to wonder if anything ever stalls him. “I-I have a list,” she says, trying to be loud enough to cut across his oohing and ahhing, and she’s not sure she succeeds. “We _only_ need what’s on this list.”

“You need a firmer hand than that,” Yaku says with a sigh. He plucks the paper from her hand, yanks Lev down to his eye level, and holds the paper up to him. “ _Only_ what’s on this list, Lev. Don’t get distracted and _don’t_ run off.”

“So you and Kenma are his firm hands?” Kiyoko asks, amused, and Yaku hands the list to Lev for him to scan over.

“I just _try_ to keep them out of trouble. I have no idea how Kenma does it.” Yaku casts her another sidelong look, then casually adds, “I suppose Sugawara told you what happened to Kenma?”

“Yes, and I’d thought we could pick something up for him and Kuroo as a get well soon gift.”

“You don’t seem particularly surprised.”

“Pacts with demons come with risks,” Kiyoko says with a little shrug. “Don’t mistake my lack of overt concern for a lack of total concern. Kenma… doesn’t really want to see me right now, and I’m not going to push him. I’ll only remind him that I could help him, and send him something with Lev for the next time they see each other. And, Lev, I’d like you to—”

Kiyoko turns to ask him, but the Russian summoner is gone.

After a harrowing twenty minutes following shouts and a rather painful list of broken items, they find Lev in front of the tengu stall. Kiyoko has no idea how he found it, but, as she sets her hands on her knees and tries to catch her breath, she can only feel grateful that she hadn’t had to try to rescue him from an ogre or something. Lately, most of her magic has come out distinctly angel-flavored, and she wouldn’t like to demonstrate that in the middle of the market.

“ _Lev_!” Yaku barks, making Lev jump horribly.

Akaashi, the only tengu at the stall that Kiyoko recognizes, gives them both an unimpressed stare. “I think you lost something,” they deadpan.

“I was buying things on the list!” Lev whines, holding up the paper like a shield. It doesn’t stop Yaku from floating up and cuffing him upside the head.

The other tengu, a physically smaller one with an undercut and sharp grin with sharper teeth, leans onto the table with arm-wings bent. “Please tell us why a couple of humans want so many tengu eggs! Especially the loud one.”

“Komi, be nice, I know them,” Akaashi says like they really wish that weren’t the case.

“I just want them for cooking,” Kiyoko says with a small, quick bow. “I do this every year, ask the crow clan.”

“They’re still expensive,” Akaashi warns.

“That’s alright.”

“But you get the pretty human discount!” the other tengu hastily corrects. Akaashi looks irritated but lets it pass as their associate disappears beneath the table to dig out the eggs.

“ _I_ never get the pretty human discount. Why wasn’t I going to get it?” Lev asks, close to a whine again, and Akaashi’s eyes twitch even narrower.

“It just means you aren’t pretty. Don’t complain about it, you’re not paying for it,” Yaku grumbles.

“You should get the discount, too, Yaku,” Lev says earnestly. There’s a loud laugh from beneath the table and Kiyoko quickly hides her mouth with her hand when she sees Yaku’s red-faced, pinched expression. “Tengu have weird tastes.”

“We do not,” Komi says, still snickering when he comes back up with a trio of tengu eggs. Kiyoko gestures for Lev to open up the bag he’d been assigned to carry.

“Please tell Kenma that he’s welcome to come to the party if he’s feeling up to it,” she says. 

“Is that the little witch you took home?” Komi asks Akaashi, who reluctantly nods. “Wow, you’re popular lately.”

“Can I visit Kenma?” Lev asks next, and Akaashi shakes their head. “Why not?”

“You’re not a tengu friend.”

“We could be friends if you want.”

Komi breaks into snickering again and Akaashi just shoves the bag with the eggs back across the table at them. Kiyoko slides the money across in turn. “I’ll let Kenma know you three said hello and invited him along. But honestly, he’s hardly come out of the bedroom, so I doubt he’ll be feeling social anytime soon.” Akaashi’s voice drops into a whisper toward the end, claws cupped around their mouth. “Lev, he may feel better if you continue messaging him.”

“I’ll come back with some _kvass_ to bring him!” Lev declares.

“I’m capable of making sure he eats—”

“And did he grab his Pusheen pillow? And all his chargers?” Lev barrels onward, cutting across Akaashi and making the tengu’s lip curl. “I’ll help him move his stuff but he won’t tell me what he wants to do next—”

“Lev, don’t have this conversation in the middle of the market,” Yaku finally interrupts. He pulls Lev back by the shirt and forces him into a little bow. “Kenma has his phone number if you need to reach the tall idiot again. Otherwise, we need to get going.”

“Thank you,” Kiyoko adds with a small wave. The smaller tengu waves back enthusiastically.

“Yaku, aren’t you worried about Kenma?” Lev asks, hardly out of earshot and still too loud. “ _I’m_ worried about Kenma and I’m always told I’m not a worrier.”

“Haven’t you heard of the concept of discretion?!” Yaku hisses.

“Is this because you don’t want Kiyoko to worry about Kenma? Or—wait,” Lev says with a horrified gasp, “do you _not trust_ Kiyoko?”

“She is _right there_.”

“Yes, I am. But please, don’t mind me, continue,” she pleasantly tells them. It’s almost like a gossip session, how fun.

Yaku scrubs a hand over his face and lays his ears back against his hair. “I’m trying not to get into the middle of it, but _yes_ , Kenma and Kiyoko had their… fight or whatever—”

“It wasn’t a fight,” Kiyoko mildly points out.

“—and I’m sure Kenma would appreciate it if he had some privacy for his own problems.”

“But Sugawara knows, and Suga tells Kiyoko everything,” Lev says. Kiyoko frowns; it’s not precisely true, and it only reminds her of the secrets she’s keeping from Suga in turn. Ouch.

“ _You’re_ the one who called Sugawara!” Yaku hisses. “God, Lev, sometimes I think you’re as pushy as Kuroo when it comes to shoving Kenma at people.”

Lev looks away with a thoughtful tilt of his head. It takes entirely too long for him to answer. “…I don’t think tengu have cell phones, so how else was I supposed to find Akaashi?”

“Oh my god,” Yaku groans against his hands. “You _are_ as bad as Kuroo. You two need to stop pestering Kenma and let him have some breathing room for once!”

“You’d smother him if you had the chance! _I_ at least know that Kenma likes _kvass_ when he’s feeling down.”

Oh, the things Kiyoko is learning about the small spellwriter. Not precisely useful things, although it’s touching to hear about Lev’s apparent plan for Kenma’s forced, future friendships. She supposes she shouldn’t underestimate lawyers _or_ Lev, even if he comes off as a bit airheaded at times. “Next on this list,” Kiyoko says, cutting across their squabbling, “are mandrakes and mistletoe.”

“What’s a mandrake?” Lev asks cluelessly.

“Oh, my poor ears,” Yaku whimpers.

Kiyoko smiles as she leads them towards a flower shop. She won’t tell them just yet that she already packed them earplugs, since she’s curious to see how Lev will take the mandrakes. And Yaku’s protective streak over Lev’s wellbeing is curious indeed. She wonders just how far it extends.

 

\--

 

“Oh good, _finally_ ,” Issei mutters as Tadashi trudges into the store. The kid looks exhausted, but that’s sort of what he’s looked like for about two months solid now, so who is he to judge? He remembers shit happening in high school. “No, wait, before you go to the back—” He physically has to grab Tadashi by the back of the coat to keep him from his zombie walk to the back of the store.

The freckled boy gives him a sleepy and confused stare.

“Where’s your spirit boyfriend?” Issei asks.

Tadashi slowly frowns at him. “Sleeping. At home,” he replies, evasively, and _ooh_ Issei is going to ask what that’s a euphemism for later. But right now, there are more pressing issues.

“Alright then, Yamaguchi, I sure hope you can do this for me.” He maneuvers him so Tadashi can see a woman toward the back corner of the store, opposite of where the door to the staff room is, who is keeping herself busy trying to reach some books on the top shelf without the use of a stool. It involves a lot of hopping and groaning. “Is that woman human?” Issei asks.

“ _What_?” Tadashi asks back.

“Shirofuku Yukie. _That_ is the new manager Sawamura hired. And he can’t tell the business end of a burnt from the other, so I’m starting to worry that he managed to hire something _else_.” And Sugawara hadn’t been in today, and Takahiro can’t come in for another two hours. Tadashi is the last resort before calling Tooru and the not-selkie boy toy of his.

“What makes you think she’s not human?” Tadashi asks with a sleepy squint. “Has she said or done anything…?”

“She hasn’t hurt anyone, if that’s what you’re asking. But _something_ has eaten the words off half a dozen books and all she’s done since I’ve gotten here is introduce herself and then circle around the store. Supposedly familiarizing herself with the place,” Issei says, flapping his hand dismissively. The store wasn’t large; she doesn’t need to get it memorized in a day.

As they watch, the rosy-haired woman lifts herself into the air to reach the book. Yukie floats back down with a pleased smile, then catches their eye, and she waves with a wider smile.

“I’m going to kill Sawamura,” Issei announces.

“You had a say in who they hired, too,” Tadashi reminds him. “You’re a boss, too.”

“It was probably _your_ ghostly shenanigans that lured her here.”

“That’s rude and untrue.”

“Go get your fucking lanyard and nametag before I introduce you two. Then we can decide if you get to play spirit exterminator for the store,” Issei says and gives him a push toward the back room. Tadashi gives him a dirty look before trotting off.

Yukie comes over, a couple of books in her arms, and she glances back at the door to the back room. She blows a bubble with the gum she’s chewing. “Is that another one of the part-timers here?” she asks curiously and sets the books down on the counter.

“What’re those?” Issei asks, nodding down to the stack.

“Oh, more books with missing pages I found.”

 _You found or_ made _?_ Issei grouchily thinks. “Right. Thanks. How do you keep finding these?”

“Oh, it’s not so hard,” Yukie replies. “You just have to know what to look for.”

Issei is going to run a finding charm on the entire goddamn store to see if she’s touched anything else. Tadashi comes back out, waving goodbye to Akira, lanyard in his mouth while he ties back his hair. “Hello,” he says, and after a beat of hesitation, he sticks out his hand. “I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi. Matsukawa said that you’re our new manager?”

“Hello! You can call me Yukie, and I hope we have fun working together,” she replies brightly, shaking his hand.

“Oh yeah, it’s a blast working here,” Issei remarks. He rummages around beneath the counter, checking his phone—Takahiro hasn’t responded yet—and grabbing the bag of chips he’d stashed earlier. Yukie stares at the chips like they’re made of solid gold. Issei rolls his eyes and asks, “You two want some? We normally keep a couple snacks and drinks behind the counter. Just so long as the customers don’t see it and you don’t make a mess, that’s fine.”

“Thank you!” She swallows her gum and manages to fit approximately half the bag into her mouth at once. Issei would put _money_ on the fact that she actually unhinged her jaw to do that. Tadashi flinches at the _crunch_ she makes. “Oh, I’m so glad we can have food here,” she adds, surprisingly coherently considering how full her mouth is. “I was worried I’d have to eat more words or trying to lick Tadashi for the luck.”

Issei throws his hands in the air and Tadashi scrambles over the counter to get away from her, like she’s actually about to eat him. “I did not sign up for this shit,” Issei snaps, hands slamming down on the countertop while Tadashi searches the drawers. He pops back up a moment later with a small, silver knife held in his shaking hands. “Oh my god, put that away! You’re keeping _weapons_ here?!”

“I thought this was a nice store,” Yukie says, eyes wide, still chewing. She swallows and takes another large handful of chips without asking. “There are other spirits haunting this place—”

“They _better not be_.”

“—well, there’s the luck spirits who keep stopping by, and there were wards carved into the door frame,” Yukie corrects. “I was only eating the words off of books we had a lot of copies for, or that were already damaged. If we can have other food here, though, I can stop!”

“What _are_ you?” Tadashi demands.

“I look human right now, don’t I?” she asks worriedly, hands running over her face. Issei likes this situation less and less. “I’m a gulon, but I swear my glamor is totally stable. I got it checked out by a witch and everything.”

“You know what a gulon is?” Issei asks quietly. Tadashi shakes his head. “Shirofuku, this is a _human_ store. Half the staff doesn’t know a thing about magic or spirits. Sorry you were under the impression that this is some sort of buffet for you, but it’s really not.”

“No, I know. Well, I thought it was spirit-friendly, but I _know_ it’s for humans. I need human money.”

“For what?” Tadashi asks. He’s finally lowering his knife, too, and while his guard is down, Issei reaches over and yanks it out of his hands with a dirty look. He can’t believe the little shit had a _knife_ in the store. …Even if it may be a good idea if this trend of magical bullshit continues.

“For food!” Yukie responds like it’s the only logical conclusion.

“All of those books you ate, they’re coming out of _your_ paycheck.”

“One was already scribbled in by a child and another had a ripped back cover.”

Issei glances down at the books on the counter, and god, she’s _right_. Can he fire someone on the grounds of not being human? It’s not like she lied on her application since there’s no _Are You Human_ question. Maybe there should be.

“I can help guard the store from other spirits if the luck spirits aren’t enough,” she suggests. “And you’re actually really lucky that all of this luck hasn’t attracted anything bad yet. …Hm, lucky… I guess that’s how that works, isn’t it…?”

“Fine, you can work here, provided you keep the place free of other things,” Issei groans. “And I’m still gonna kick Sawamura’s ass. Yamaguchi, go show her where the candy jar in the back is before she eats anything else.”

Takahiro shows up three hours late with Starbucks and a bag of creampuffs. Yukie nearly tackles him for them, and he literally chucks a creampuff down an aisle to get her to chase after it and leave him alone. Looking rattled, he hops the counter and slides the coffee over to his boyfriend. “Hey, so not sure if you’ve noticed, but you have a hunger spirit infestation, Issei,” Takahiro solemnly tells him.

Issei smacks him in the face with a half-empty book.

 

\--

 

Kenma wakes up to black hair tickling his nose and a blessedly warm body molded against his. He still feels tired, like he’s been dragged into consciousness against his will, and he wonders just how long he slept. Not long enough, apparently.

He raises his head enough to wipe hair out of his eyes and drool from the corner of his mouth. His body is still trying to decide how asleep he really is, not quite hungry or thirsty or needing to piss quite yet, but his mind is _slightly_ more awake, and thus, it only takes him a few moments longer to process that it is _not_ Kuro nestled up next to him.

Akaashi raises their head with their own slow, sleepy blink. “…You’re awake?” they ask with a small yawn that they politely cover their mouth for.

Well, Kenma’s certainly more awake _now_. He quashes his knee-jerk impulse to scramble away but he can’t hide the way his body tenses, especially with how close Akaashi is.

“You just slept for twenty hours,” Akaashi tells him with another, wider yawn. They stretch and use the movement to unsubtly scoot away from Kenma. Kenma relaxes, just a fraction, and glances down to make sure he’s still decent. His shirt’s rucked up enough to expose part of the scar on his stomach and there’s still black blood on it, but Akaashi doesn’t question either. They must assume it’s Kuro’s. Instead, they remark, “Kuroo tried to tell us that you’ve already been awake and were just napping again, but, well, he’s a terrible liar. I’m willing to believe that he just didn’t want us to worry, though.”

That sounds like Kuro. Kenma pulls the blankets back up around himself and in between he and Akaashi. “Where is he?”

“Out with Bokuto, picking things up from your apartment.”

“And why are you…”

“Kuroo _insisted_ you have another source of body heat nearby. And I agree, you feel cold. Did you need more blankets?”

Kenma shakes his head. Akaashi makes a thoughtful noise that doesn’t really work as an answer. Kenma fiddles with the hem of the blanket and wonders how he can ask Akaashi to leave without making the situation worse. He’s still exhausted, but it’s a physical sort of fatigue, not necessarily tiredness; now, he’s starting to realize how hungry he is, and _goddamn_ he needs to pee.

Kenma’s stomach growls, and he winces. Akaashi takes it as their cue to slip out of the bed. “I’ll make you something. What do… Are you particularly picky?”

Kenma shakes his head. He hardly waits for Akaashi to leave before throwing on a sweatshirt and bolting down the hall toward the bathroom. It takes him a few moments to figure out the toilet, and less time to figure out the sink. _There’s so much magic use here_ , he thinks, borderline interested. If this visit had been under _any_ other circumstances… _How is Kuro handling this?_

Kenma pads back down the hallway on bare feet, and wonders about just ducking back into the bedroom to sleep some more. The prospect of facing Akaashi, alone, after last night is not a pleasant one.

As if reading his mind, Akaashi calls from down the hallway, “I’ve made tea and some soup.”

Kenma slinks out and catalogues Akaashi’s home as he goes. He hadn’t been the most aware last night, and truthfully, even now he seems detached from the situation. It’s too surreal. The strange decor and organic style of the house only reinforces it. It mostly seems to be wood, dark and almost modern, but the corners of each room are a little too rounded. The entire package makes it seem a little like the inside of a _very_ nice treehouse.

Kenma does not smile at the thought as he sits down at the table. Akaashi serves him tea without a word and Kenma holds the ceramic mug to warm his fingers. He doesn’t drink it and concentrates on the heat.

It’s a long time before Akaashi says anything. Kenma has a bowl of some kind of strangely sweet-smelling soup in front of him and Akaashi is seated across from him before the tengu clears their throat. Kenma flinches at the sound and runs his fingers down little grooves in the mug.

“Koutarou’s mother made these for me, years ago,” Akaashi says. Kenma belatedly notices that the bowl seems to match the mug, and, surprised, he lifts his eyes until he meets Akaashi’s gaze. “She’s very talented. Koutarou inherited a lot from her, but sculpting was definitely not part of that. …When he gets back with Kuroo, I’ll show you a couple of his works.”

Kenma doesn’t understand, although he’s a tad surprised by Akaashi’s sentimentality.

“She’s incredibly big-hearted. So is Koutarou. He’s very worried about you and Kuroo both,” Akaashi continues, and Kenma finally understands. He ducks his head, letting his loose hair hide his face, and tightens his grip on the tea. “Not to say I’m _not_ worried but… I should hope you realize how Koutarou is by now.”

Kenma gives them the tiniest nod. There’s a wide gap of behavior between Akaashi and Bokuto and Kenma has a pretty good idea of where the boundaries to each lay.

“And he’s going to get curious. I’ve answered what I can, protected what privacy I can, but there’s a lot neither of us know. Kuroo gets antsy when I’ve asked him, and I don’t want to put either of you on the spot, but we are doing you a favor. We’d appreciate honesty in return.”

Kenma gives them an even smaller nod. This feels like a scolding, and he wants to sink into the floor. Maybe intangibility like ghosts is the way to go, after all.

“We need to know what you were doing with the angel blood and magic,” Akaashi finishes. “We need to make sure you’re both alright, and I’m personally concerned that you didn’t know better, Kenma. Kuroo, I can understand, but you’re a witch and a spellwriter at that. _What_ made you want to mix magic types like that so badly?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Kenma whispers.

Akaashi leans forward on the table. Their expression is set firm, resolute and sharp in a way Kenma is unused to seeing directed at him. “You’re still recovering from this. Who knows if this could have permanent repercussions on your magic—”

“It doesn’t matter because I failed,” he forces out, louder this time, “and I can’t try it again now.” The angelic magic would probably kill him should he take an angel’s grace now. It’s probably better that they found this out now instead of later—Kenma has the exact opposite of a death wish—but this loss is still raw. He _failed_. He can’t summon an angel, he certainly can’t take its grace, and that means he won’t have the power necessary to save himself, much less Kuro or anyone else.

So he failed.

That’s it then.

“What were you trying to do with angel magic to begin with?” Akaashi asks. Their expression has softened now, eased by Kenma’s own cracking composure, and Kenma chews on the inside of his cheek to make sure this doesn’t get any worse.

“Can it… wait? Until Kuro and Bokuto…?”

“…Yes. Of course, Kenma.” Akaashi leans back in their chair and looks down pointedly at the untouched meal. Kenma averts his eyes and doesn’t answer the unspoken question. His stomach complains about its emptiness, but he still doesn’t feel up for eating.

He hopes Kuro isn’t feeling as bad as he is.

 

\--

 

“Alright, body,” Suga says, seated on his living room floor. Sunshine blinks at him from the back of the couch. The cat knows better than to get in the middle of the circle. “I know this is theoretically possible. So don’t let me down.”

Sunshine gives him a look that clearly conveys what a Stupid Idea this is.

Suga ignores the cat.

It’s not just the cast that’s stuck on his arm, he tells himself. It’s his dominant hand. He can’t write runes or cast very well, which means he’s even worse in a fight, which means Kiyoko is stubbornly trying to keep him out of the _apocalypse_. Or as far as she can manage it. Suga is pretty sure he could wear down Hitoka in a few more weeks, but Suga isn’t certain they have a few more weeks. His arm would almost be better on its own by then, anyway.

But, what can an ex-necromancer with a pathetic amount of natural magic do?

Suga grins to himself as he flips through the book with his left hand. _A whole hell of a lot_. Yui may have been the spellwriter and Kiyoko is no slouch with her potions, but Suga has enough creativity to keep his head above water in their company. And, as much as the revelation has pained him, Suga has a hunch that he’s not _quite_ so useless with magic as he thinks.

One: he knows humans can successfully integrate an angel’s grace with their own magical systems, thanks to Kiyoko. (Or at least witches can, but Suga doesn’t want to think about that right now.) Two: Suga knows that humans can _use_ an angel’s grace, also thanks to Kiyoko. Three: Suga knows, hypothetically, that there’s an angel’s soul somewhere in him. Probably. Also also thanks to Kiyoko.

So it’s just a matter of _getting_ to it.

Then, bam, fixed arm and shoulder (and ribs, since those haven’t quite sat right with him).

 _And, if this works, I should have enough magic to make a new contract for Asahi and Noya_ , Suga thinks and swallows thickly. He needs to test this theory before telling anyone, however. He’d sooner eat his broken arm than give anyone false hope like that.

Of course, he knows the risks. He’s playing with the very thing keeping him going. But he doesn’t think a couple broken bones and a binding contract are _that_ taxing on someone’s magic, so he should be fine. Or maybe he’ll just lose the deathless thing. That would be almost nice.

Suga takes a deep breath and sends the text to Daichi. ‘ _call me in an hour? <3_’ It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Kiyoko anymore, but should something bad happen, at least Daichi won’t know _what_. But as soon as Suga hits send, guilt begins gnawing at him, because he’s scared of putting more stress on Daichi or their tenuous relationship. Shit, he totally should have sent it to Tooru. Sure, he would have figured out what he’d been trying to do, and give him shit about it for the next ten years, and probably tell Kiyoko… Okay, not Tooru.

Suga almost wants to quit this entire experiment. It’s different doing it alone, without Yui. Far more nerve-wracking.

Before he can wimp out, Suga starts feeding magic into the circle. He feels an odd little twinge in his chest almost right away, but it’s easy to ignore. Sunshine jumps down from the couch with a _thump_ and slinks out of the room to escape the growing smell of magic.

His phone rings and Suga nearly jumps out of his skin. The magic in the circle wavers and then breaks with a painful snap. Suga coughs and wonders if that took out another rib while he reaches for his phone with his good hand. Daichi’s number on the screen makes him frown. “Hello?” he croaks.

“Oikawa told me that if you want time-based calls, it means you’re doing something stupid,” Daichi says as a greeting.

_I’m going to hit Tooru._

“ _Are_ you doing something stupid?” Daichi continues.

Suga coughs again and rubs at his sternum. His throat feels weirdly wet. “…What if I just wanted to use you as an alarm for a nap?”

“Suga, I don’t think it’s _possible_ for you to sleep for only an hour at a time.”

“Believe in me, Daichi.”

“I believe you were doing something stupid. Do I need to come over?”

Suga looks down at the magic symbols and papers scattered around his living room floor. “No!”

“That was sure convincing.”

“I’m serious, Daichi, I’m fine, I just—” He interrupts himself with a hacking cough that gets flecks of blood on his hand. Great. Suga wipes his palm off on his bare chest—he’ll have to shower anyway—and sniffs. So the question of Can One Sugawara Koushi Use Himself As A Loophole will have to wait another day for an answer. “Nevermind, it’s done now, Daichi.”

“What were you doing?”

“Just testing something.”

“Something dangerous?” Daichi asks sternly. Suga coughs, yawns, and rubs his chest again. “Suga, is this an actual thing with you?”

“No, it’s just—I thought I could do something for someone. I probably can’t, though, so it’s a moot point for now.” Suga flexes his fingers as best he can in the cast and his arm hurts in response. Lovely. “I’m really tired of having broken bones, Daichi. This sucks.”

“It won’t hurt you to heal like a normal person.”

“I _can’t_ heal like a normal person.” Daichi doesn’t have a response to that, and Suga feels stupidly victorious. And then the guilt comes back. Suga puts the phone between his shoulder and ear so he can start picking up the papers around himself. “So, my night’s suddenly free now. Would you like to hang out?”

“I’m doing laundry right now.”

“You don’t have to wear anything while we hang out.”

“ _Suga_ ,” Daichi says in that _are you teasing me or coming onto me_ voice. Suga privately wishes they didn’t have to be mutually exclusive, although in this case, he supposes it’s just teasing. “I meant I don’t want you to come over and see my piles of dirty clothes everywhere.”

“You actually _sort_ your clothes?” Suga says with a fake gasp. “Daichi, so responsible! You’re such an adult, wow.”

“Someone has to be here. If you want to go out, and I’m going to be in sweats, otherwise I can come over to your place if you want.”

Suga, again, looks down at the mess of his living room. “Let’s go out instead. I don’t mind sweatpants.”

They meet up at a ramen bar nearer to Suga’s place than Daichi’s and Daichi rolls his eyes the moment he sees Suga. Suga just beams at him. “Did you do this just because I said I’d be scrubbing it?” Daichi asks him.

Suga, wearing his nicest jeans, one of two button-ups he owns, and having actually showered and brushed his hair, just keeps smiling. “Would I do something like that?”

Daichi’s exasperation soon breaks into his own grin. He presses a quick kiss against Suga’s cheek and tells him, “You already are a solid nine to my six-point-five, so thanks for rubbing it in, Suga.”

“I just thought you deserved to see what I clean up like.”

“To go to a ramen bar. While I’m in sweats and ratty sneakers I got back in _high school_. Thanks, Suga.”

“I’ll be your arm candy for the evening, so don’t complain,” Suga primly tells him and loops his cast arm with Daichi’s. He pats Daichi’s arm sympathetically for good measure. They go inside just as it starts to snow outside, and Suga thinks that this improvement for his evening isn’t half bad.

 

\--

 

Getting repossessed is very different from being possessed, as it turns out. However, Wakatoshi thinks he’s doing a very good job at keeping that contained. He’s fast to adapt, faster to cover up any weaknesses that could get in the way of his job.

The most startling difference between the first time he accidentally got himself possessed and now is that Northot _talks_ to him.

It’s never much at one time, but little things. Manipulative things. They’re easy to tune out, actually, because Wakatoshi knows he cannot trust _The Thing That Should Not Be_. It’s pretty much in the title there. It _shouldn’t_ be, but it’s going to be, because of Wakatoshi.

But he’ll take care of it and send it back to wherever it came from.

“ _I know what you are planning_ ,” Northot croons in his ear. “ _I know that you will fail._ ”

It bothered him, at first, that his unearthly employer knew his plans of banishing it again after the fact. But it shouldn’t be surprising—Northot has probably picked over his memories half a dozen times by now and he’s probably pretty lucky that it doesn’t start eating them out of spite. Or perhaps it knows that Wakatoshi is more effective when unimpaired. That seems most likely, since he can tell that the deity is getting restless and desperate. The ghost and luck spirit incident had been a major step backward when they had been on the cusp of finishing this.

“ _You won’t stop me. How does a single human plan to stop a god?_ ”

He never answers it, of course. He can already (sometimes) see the way Shirabu regards him, looking at him like he’s out of his mind. Wakatoshi doesn’t address this or bother correcting him.

Sometimes, however, he can _see_ Northot.

Just out of the corner of his eye—the first time, he’d thought it was Shirabu—or when he lets his focus drop for half a second. He can’t concentrate on looking at Northot, can’t even look directly at it. So Northot just looms in his peripherals, tall and colorless and with branching horns at impossible angles and too many teeth without a mouth.

Apparently, a person can even get used to _that_ sort of vision haunting them if given enough time. How about that.

“ _If you move against me, she will die again. Your allies will die with you. You will waste your life, yhafh’drn_.”

He doesn’t even react to the R’lyehian anymore. He supposes he’s become immune to its burn, or else Northot in his brain shields him.

Wakatoshi focuses, as best he can, on gathering the missing or ruined ingredients. Many are easy enough to replace, although he had to go to three different shops to get enough hyssop again. He can see Tendou’s mouth practically watering every time he forks over cash to buy things, but neither the matagot nor Shirabu ask why they don’t just steal things.

Other things are more difficult to find. Such as the First egg, or the goddamned spirits that caused this setback.

It’s not like he wants revenge. He couldn’t give a shit about those two in particular right now, but they had been easy targets and they still may be. They’re just going to have to time it properly. Which involves a lot of waiting, but they’re halfway through December now, so less than three weeks to the Old Moon Ball. Higher spirit, lower spirit, tengu First egg, blood of nephilim, and a new place to store it all. The list is giving him a headache.

“Is the brain bug still bothering you?” Tendou asks out of nowhere, and it takes Wakatoshi a moment too long to realize that it’s him talking and not Northot’s growl in his head.

“It’s not really a bother.”

“You can see it now, can’t you?” Tendou asks with a sly squint. Wakatoshi doesn’t want to admit to it, but he also doesn’t want to lie to Tendou. “I thought so,” he says anyway. “Who knows what got messed up in your head with that thing popping in and out!”

“I don’t feel messed up.” That is enough of a truth, right? Wakatoshi inclines his head toward the matagot and adds, “It won’t distract me from anything.”

“Can’t a _friend_ worry about a _friend_ ’s well being without it being about a job?” Tendou asks with a laugh in his voice. He claps Wakatoshi on the back, strangely soft despite his size, and Wakatoshi just blinks at him. He doesn’t understand the emphasis.

“ _Look at how he worries for you. Why put this in jeopardy?_ ” Northot whispers.

And, most strangely of all, _that_ is the first thing to not be easily brushed off.

Well, Tendou and Shirabu know of his plan to banish Northot again after the fact—Shirabu had given him that _are you actually insane_ look that is about the only expression Wakatoshi can consistently identify on him—so they should be expecting some degree of trouble. He’s not dragging them into this blind.

But he _is_ still putting them at risk, and that doesn’t sit well with him.

Not well enough to simply unleash Northot and run, not like what Tendou has suggested, but perhaps more precautions could be taken to ensure their safety. And, really, it wouldn’t do if they got through this and they all just ended up dead and it was all a waste—

Northot’s laugh is soft and insidious against the shell of his ear.

Well, that’s a problem.

“I think I’m too worried about you,” Wakatoshi bluntly announces. Northot falls silent and Tendou’s eyebrows raise. “If this becomes a distraction, it could be a problem. Please, don’t die. I’ll need a lot of focus if I’m going to banish Northot.”

“ _Tu es trop bizarre_ ,” Tendou replies with something like wonderment. [2]

“Just _don’t be distracted_ , then!” Shirabu snaps from somewhere nearby.

“But Tendou is my friend and I’m curious about what you’re working toward,” Wakatoshi tells him. Shirabu does not respond and Tendou stifles a laugh in the crook of his arm. The matagot has fixed Wakatoshi with a _look_ , too, that he can’t quite decipher, and that doesn’t sit well with him. But, for Shirabu’s benefit, he adds, “I do appreciate that you haven’t tried to kill either of us, though.”

“Not that it’d work,” Tendou adds.

“…I’m not stupid. Let’s just get this trainwreck over with.”

“ _How very attached you are, yhafh’drn_.”

This doesn’t seem to have fixed his problem at all.

 

\--

 

“What are you doing?” Kuro asks, surprised, pausing in the doorway. Bokuto stands on the tips of his toes to see over his shoulder, making confused sounds right in his ear, but Kuro is too taken aback by the sight of Kenma curled up in the huge bed with his laptop on his chest to care.

“Email,” Kenma replies, after a sulky little pout at Bokuto’s presence.

Kuro is _pretty sure_ you need the internet for that. And he’s also _pretty sure_ that the internet is a human thing. Unless it isn’t? Bokuto’s reaction isn’t exactly helpful, so Kuro remains uncertain. “You get wifi here?”

“What’s that?” Bokuto asks.

That answers that.

Kenma scoots down further and pulls his laptop up higher to shield his face from them. Kuro feels bad for his spine. “Kenma, you haven’t left, have you?” He’d brought his laptop with him in his bag, so that’s not new, but Kuro and Bokuto had gone out specifically to get him more things. And food. Kuro can feel Kenma’s hunger gnawing at him, and who knows what tengu food is like? Better safe than sorry.

“He’s stayed in there for most of the day.” Both Kuro and Bokuto jump at Akaashi’s voice, and Kenma sinks even lower into the bed. “Kuro, perhaps you could get him to eat?”

“Not hungry,” Kenma replies.

Akaashi makes an exasperated sound. They don’t try to peer over Kuro’s shoulder at least, and in fact try to tug Bokuto away from being so nosy, but it just makes Kuro very conscious of the fact that he’s standing in the doorway, inadvertently blocking them from Kenma entirely. The metaphor is not lost on him.

“Well, we can sit down to eat anyway, because I am!” Bokuto announces. “Besides, Keiji said you’re gonna talk to us about what’s been going on and why you’ve been doing stuff with angels.”

Akaashi manages to drag Bokuto away, and Kuro closes the bedroom door behind him. He waits until he can hear them both out in the kitchen before approaching Kenma. The witch seems a little better about his presence today, but he sure as shit isn’t going to push it. “Look, I have mittens,” Kuro says, holding up his hands. Kenma’s eyes flicker over, for a moment, then return to his screen. “My hand doesn’t hurt so much today, but we figured it would be better if we covered it.”

“…If you’d unsettle and let yourself heal, you could fix that within a day or two,” Kenma replies. He glances up at Kuro again. “Why didn’t you do that last night? Who knows if you’re doing permanent damage…”

“It was hurting you.”

Kenma’s expression immediately drops into a glare. “And it isn’t hurting _you_? Kuro, that’s _stupid_ —”

“The absolute last thing I want to do is hurt you,” Kuro interrupts. Kenma maintains his glare even as Kuro carefully sits on the edge of the plush mattress by his feet. “And last I checked, _you_ started bleeding demon blood every time I messed up. You seem to want to keep this under wraps as much as possible, and I don’t think worrying Bo or Akaashi even _more_ is a good idea, either.”

“Or they’d kick us out,” Kenma mutters.

“They wouldn’t do that. Neither of them would do that,” Kuro corrects sternly. Kenma doesn’t argue, at least, but he’s a little put out that Kenma would say that at all.

“I want you to let your hand heal.”

“But you—”

“Kuro, I _order_ you to—” And Kuro is across the bed in a flash, whole hand pressed to Kenma’s mouth to prevent the rest of that from slipping out. Kenma’s eyes are wide, but from indignation and not fear, and even despite cutting off his words, Kuro can feel the sting behind his sternum.

The sting spreads before fading, and Kuro feels his form slip a little. Too-dark blood drips from his nose and onto Kenma’s cheek, and Kenma hardly bats an eye.

With a defeated chuckle, Kuro takes his hand away from Kenma’s mouth. He wipes his wrist under his nose, then brushes the spot off of Kenma’s cheek. His skin is soft and he doesn’t break eye contact. “…So this doesn’t hurt you anymore, hm?” Kuro asks.

“Apparently not. Will you please let yourself heal?”

The shift from an order to a request is more touching than Kuro can properly articulate. His face feels strangely warm because of it, too. Before he can think it through, Kuro leans down once more to press a quick kiss to Kenma’s forehead.

He finds Kenma staring at him when he draws away and Kuro, face now _definitely_ hot because _oh god what did I just do_ , does the only thing he can do: he jumps into Kenma’s shadow as a retreat.

Kenma does not address the kiss. Or chastise him for it.

That’s nice. Kuro can live with that.

Sleeve shoved up against his bleeding nose, Kenma darts out into the hallway and down to the bathroom, and Kuro sits in his shadow, silently agonizing over what he just did. Why did a kiss on Kenma’s _forehead_ of all things fluster him this much? Why didn’t he ask permission? Why didn’t he feel this same sickening mixture of embarrassment and nerves when he and Bokuto shove their tongues down each other’s throat?

Done washing his face, all Kenma says is, “We’re having a talk with Akaashi and Bokuto. They want an explanation.”

Kuro nods, but then realizes Kenma can’t see him like this. “‘Kay,” he croaks out.

Kenma _might_ have made a little huffy sound that _could_ have been the smallest of laughs. It sends a thrill down Kuro’s liquid spine.

Walking out to meet the two tengu, on the other hand, feels like a funeral march. While their bond is collapsing ever faster these days—Kuro feels close to an anxiety attack himself whenever he thinks about _half a month left_ —he can feel Kenma’s dread just as strong as if it were his own.

The sight in the kitchen is a laughable contrast; Akaashi is making tea and Bokuto is kicking his legs while seated on the counter beside them, humming some human pop song. It’s comfortable and cute and warm. Kuro wonders if Kenma feels like an intruder, because Kuro _knows_ he’s more familiar with the pair and even he feels like he’s interrupting something a little too domestic.

“Ah, Kenma!” Bokuto breaks into the widest, brightest smile upon seeing him, however, and Kuro notices how Kenma’s posture relaxes. Kenma seats himself at the table, the furthest spot from the two, and avoids eye contact.

“Where’s Kuroo?” Akaashi asks.

“Tetsurou,” Bokuto corrects.

“I’m not calling him that.”

“He needs to rest,” Kenma replies with a little gesture down to his feet. Kuro is about to rise up and greet them himself, but Kenma nudges him down with his toes. “I’m still not really hungry… Is it alright to ask if we can get this over with?”

“Get what over with?” Bokuto asks, looking back and forth between them. “The talking thing?”

“You haven’t eaten all day,” Akaashi points out.

“Why do we have to get _talking_ over with?” Bokuto continues.

“Koutarou, _please_.” The clipped tone is punctuated by the _thunk_ of the kettle against the stove. Bokuto blinks down at Akaashi, eyes wide, and Kuro definitely feels like he’s intruding now.

 _Is this what Kenma is so spooked about?_ Kenma’s definitely sharper than he is, but he feels like this sort of bickering between the pair is new.

“Kenma is going to explain what he was doing with angelic magic and why he was keeping from everyone,” Akaashi says. Their tone is a little friendlier, but not by much.

Kenma shrinks down, just a smidge, in his seat.

“I knew about it,” Bokuto announces like it’s not an announcement at all, and the room seems to freeze.

Kuro finally gets out from beneath Kenma’s feet and hands to seat himself on the table, high enough to see the way Akaashi is gaping at their mate. Bokuto gives a little shrug. Kenma, while still wary, does _not_ look surprised, and that’s enough to convince Kuro that Bokuto isn’t talking out his ass.

“He told you he was experimenting with dangerous magic,” Akaashi says.

Bokuto’s gold gaze flickers over to Kenma, just for half a second, and he shrugs again. “I smelled it on him. Kenma’s smart, I figured he knew what he was doing.”

“And how do _you_ know what angelic magic smells like?”

“Why are you so—”

“So _what_ ,” Akaashi breaks in, eyes narrowed. “So concerned over the prospect of a human messing with that kind of magic? So concerned over the idea of Kenma getting into _more_ trouble? He already has a demon, Koutarou—witches get _hung_ for that sort of thing, even these days.”

“Could you stop talking about us both like we’re not here?” Kuro says loudly. Akaashi turns to him; Bokuto looks away. “What’s with the sudden interest in my identity? You two didn’t care this much before.”

“…You’re trying to keep it a secret,” Bokuto explains, something sad slipping into his tone, “so we want to help. But if you’re keeping it a secret, that means you’d get into trouble, right? We don’t want anyone getting burned at the stake.”

“Okay, fine, we appreciate that. Really. But you don’t have to interrogate us over this!” Kuro exclaims.

“I trust Kenma,” Bokuto stubbornly adds.

Akaashi massages their temples, and Kuro can see the tension in their jaw. After a breath, Akaashi says, “I want to. Please don’t make me the villain. I would like to know why _all_  of you know so much about angels, and what Kenma wanted its magic for. Especially since it nearly killed him.” Kuro _still_ doesn’t understand Akaashi’s fixation, not until the tengu hangs their head and adds, in a much smaller voice, “I don’t want to think about Kenma hurting himself like that again. I don’t want to think about what could scare a witch that badly.”

“…Sounds like you already have a guess,” Kuro says.

“What _else_ has all the humans in a tizzy?” Akaashi asks in response.

“What does _not_ ,” Kuro shrugs, quickly shooting Kenma a look before diverting his attention to Bokuto. “So why do you know how angelic magic smells, again?”

“Uh. Well.” Bokuto fidgets, and he kicks against the cabinets again. His talons _clack_ against the wood, and he doesn’t stop until Akaashi sighs. Then, stillness. “So, there’s this kitsune near us in the goblin market, right?” Bokuto begins and Kuro _feels_ Kenma freeze. “I needed a favor one time, so he asked for a favor back, and I had to transport some angel blood for him a few years ago—”

“ _What_ kind of favor did you need from Futakuchi,” Akaashi groans with another, even longer sigh. Kuro wonders if this has been an issue in the past, or if there’s something about that kitsune’s reputation they’d been unaware of.

“Uhhhh,” Bokuto intelligently replies.

Kuro feels a gentle tap on his back and twists around, settling himself back in Kenma’s lap. The witch doesn’t say anything, instead watching the two tengu like one would a tennis match, and Kuro takes the cue to stay out of it as well.

“Remember… the hydra blood I used against that dragon?” Bokuto finally forces out. Akaashi’s expression is stone; that alone seems to spur Bokuto into a panicked little defense of himself. “It’s a _dragon_ , okay! We needed something to take it down, and I remembered that Kenji had some stuff, and so I asked him, and it was a big rush and he just said I could pay with a favor, and helping him get some stuff wasn’t so bad as a payment in hindsight—”

“You helped him _get_ the blood?” Akaashi interrupts, shocked.

“Maybe.”

“Who _knows_ what that sort of stuff could be used for! You could have gotten hurt, or sick, or—”

“Oh, like it’s worse than fighting a dragon?” Bokuto scoffs.

Akaashi’s expression drops from stone into ice in a heartbeat. Bokuto actually scoots back, away from them, on the cabinet, feathers looking a little fluffed up in his shock. “I did not _want_ you to fight that dragon, and I want you to make questionable deals with other youkai even less. There are humans out there trying to destroy the human realm, and now you’re telling me that a known witch dealer had _angel blood_ —”

Kuro can’t stand to watch Bokuto get reamed out any longer. “Uh, yeah, excuse me.” He raises a little hand, his uninjured one, and peeks up over the table again. “You don’t really have to worry about that stuff being used for any nefarious purposes. So it all worked out in the end, I guess. Fate or something.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and then, the longest, weariest sigh from the barn owl tengu yet. “So my mate made an illicit deal in which he helped obtain illegal substances, which then wound up nearly killing you two about two decades later.”

“Sounds like it,” Kuro says with a nod. Bokuto mimics the motion, and, when Akaashi drops their head to pinch the bridge of their nose, he shoots Kuro a thumbs-up. (Kuro tries to return it, but puddles don’t really make good thumbs.) “So, as cute as it is to watch you two get fluffed up at each other, is it time to go back to bed yet?”

Both of them color and move to start smoothing down feathers, and Kenma’s faint amusement vibrates through Kuro like a purr. “We still didn’t get to what you were _doing_ with the angel blood. Why were you using _blood_ to get magic?” Bokuto mumbles through his incredibly endearing pout. Kuro isn’t sure how he can switch from fearsome and intimidating to a large, feathery nerd so easily, but he finds he enjoys the contrast.

“We, ah, needed the angel magic to summon an angel to steal its grace and use that as a magic battery. But since Kenma’s allergic to that kind of magic, it’s all sort of moot and we’ll behave from now on,” Kuro explains in a rush.

“So you gotta _summon_ one?!” Bokuto exclaims.

Kuro lets out a wildly unconvincing laugh. “W-Well, it’s not like there’s any _other_ places to get an angel, right…?”

“You’re a witch. What do you need that much magic for, anyway?” Akaashi asks. It seems they’ve finally caught onto the fact that Kuro has done all of the talking, and they’re addressing Kenma specifically now.

Like he’s completely unperturbed, Kenma just averts his eyes and evenly answers, “A protection spell that can withstand a Great Old One.”

Neither Akaashi nor Bokuto have a response to that.

“But, like we said, moot point now!” Kuro says with artificial cheer. “We won’t get in trouble like that again—”

“What are you going to do now?” Akaashi asks. Their voice has dropped into something serious, again, but there’s no longer the hard edge to it that it held before; now, it’s soft, worried. “You said you failed. Is there no way to fix this situation?”

“You can live here with us!” Bokuto suggests at once.

“No,” Akaashi replies, just as fast.

“But Akaashi—”

“Koutarou, let them make their own decisions. Kenma, what do you plan on doing now?”

Kuro, too, is very curious about that. Kenma fiddles with the demon in his lap, petting over the blackness with the tips of his fingers, even if he’s not quite looking at him. “I… don’t know. It doesn’t really matter now.”

“I would say the apocalypse still very much matters,” Akaashi replies.

Kenma makes a short, aggravated sound through his nose. For the first time, he looks up at Akaashi with blatant irritation. “That was my Plan C. I’m out of time and out of options.”

“You don’t have _any_ other ideas?” Kuro asks, surprised himself. He hadn’t really realized how big of a deal this had been; he’s already so used to Kenma adjusting and always landing on his feet, even if he doesn’t always share that information.

“The only other thing I could to involves turning someone into a demon, but even that falls apart if I can’t actually _use_ the angel’s grace.” Kenma’s tone is still clipped and uncharacteristically cold, and Kuro finds himself shrinking back from it. He doesn’t like it directed at Akaashi, but at himself even less. “There’s nothing else, Kuro. I’m sorry.”

“What if someone else helped? Friendly witches?” Bokuto suggests, and Kenma gives him a look so flat that he recoils. “ _None_ of the covens like you?”

“Bo, what part of demon summoner and almost-angel-summoner makes you think we’re popular with others?” Kuro says with a dark little huff.

“What about tengu magic?” And Bokuto addresses what they’re all thinking. Akaashi does not immediately shoot him down, too, which means that it’s a legitimate possibility.

Still, Kenma gives a little shake of his head, loose hair swaying with the movement. “They’re different types of magic. You can’t mix them without a lot more time and research than I can do.”

“So there’s no way we could help you?” Akaashi asks.

Kuro, close as he is, can see the tiniest pinkness across Kenma’s cheeks. “No,” the witch replies curtly. “I couldn’t ask you to, anyway—”

“Of course you can! We were already gonna help Sugawara, so it’s like the same thing if we help you, too. There has to be ways around the apocalypse thing without you overdosing on bad kinds of magic,” Bokuto declares with all the confidence in the world.

Kuro chuckles, muffling it in tiny claws, and even Akaashi finally smiles. “Well, he is right about that. You don’t have to do this alone, Kenma. Thank you for telling us, now will you please eat something?”

The tension in the room eases, and Kuro nearly laughs again out of sheer relief. Bokuto jumps off the counter and plops down in the chair next to Kenma, scooting it over with a loud, grating noise, and Kuro perches on the table once more to watch Akaashi and their magical cooking.

Only Kenma doesn’t seem reassured in the least by the offer, and barely picks at his food. Kuro ends up eating most of it as a cover—it tastes fine, so he knows it’s not Kenma’s pickiness, as much as he may hope it is. Kenma excuses himself as fast as humanly possible after that and carries his over-full demon in his arms back to the bedroom, all but dropping him on the plush bed once they’re inside.

And he’s back to putting too many locks on the door again. Kuro rolls onto his back with a disgruntled noise, but it doesn’t catch Kenma’s attention like he’d hoped. “That worked out alright, didn’t it? They’re not pissed and we can stay here to keep sleeping off all this shit.”

“That didn’t fix anything,” Kenma tells him. He spares Kuro an unfairly disdainful look before stooping to grab his laptop again. “We’re still stuck without any safety net, in another realm, and you’re barely healing. Here.”

Without another word, Kenma pulls a small multitool out of his hoodie pocket and slices open his finger. He squeezes out blood (mostly red, but not quite human tone) over Kuro and lets it drip down, despite Kuro’s spluttering. “Hey, gross! Some warning, next time, maybe?”

Kenma doesn’t respond. Kuro makes an overly loud gagging sound and finally Kenma pulls his hand away, examining the cut.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Kuro sulks. He sinks into Kenma’s shadow, just to avoid further bloody abuse. He doesn’t even feel that much better, either, which only adds insult to literal injury.

“Nothing got fixed,” Kenma reiterates. He flops onto the bed and sets his laptop on his chest. “And it’s not going to.”

 

\--

 

Hitoka and Hinata wait with bated breath as Tobio sniffs the swampy concoction. After a moment to steel himself, he throws it back like a shot. Impossibly, the tiny pair opposite him lean in _further_ as they take in his reaction: gagging, sniffling, and nearly instant sweating. Hitoka isn’t sure if she should be taking notes or not, but to be honest, they’ve tried _so many_ different spells and potions to fix this curse, and it seems redundant to keep track of so many of the same symptoms.

It’s so repetitive. She can handle the side effects of the curse just fine, and, in fact, is pretty damn confident handling every individual result of the curse that she’s seen in him and Saeko both. If this were a simple case of magical poisoning (or normal poisoning for that matter), this would have been fixed weeks ago. But Hitoka has rarely dealt directly with curses, and so she feels like she’s just running in circles in trying to deal with this.

Tobio grumbles wordlessly about the potion while the other two stare at his curse-blackened arm. His skin is shiny with sweat and he looks paler than he did prior to taking the potion; he flexes his fingers and his shoulders tremble while he struggles not to throw up, probably.

“…My arm feels funny,” he finally mumbles, somewhat coherently. Hitoka is approaching dizziness with how long she’s been holding her breath.

 _Maybe this time_ , she thinks. Hopes. _Prays_.

And then, miracle of miracles, the bruise-like coloration starts to _fade_ , then recede.

Tobio keeps flexing his fingers and looking ill, but once the skin on his shoulder returns to a normal tone, Hitoka and Hinata let out matching whoops of victory. “It worked, _it worked_!” Hitoka cheers, clutching at Hinata’s hands and struggling not to literally jump for joy.

“You did it! You cured a curse from a Great Old One!” Hinata cheers right back, even louder. (He has no such reservations about jumping for joy, it seems.)

Tobio looks up, stares at them for a moment, then looks down at his arm. The curse has already receded down past his elbow, and his forearm is now closer to mauve rather than midnight. “This shit is cold as balls,” he mumbles, relief clear in his voice, and lets his head rest against his other arm.

“But you’re fixed!” Hinata crows.

The curse has disappeared down to just his hand by the time Hinata seizes Hitoka by the shirtfront and kisses her soundly on the mouth.

Tobio slowly raises his head by the time it takes for Hinata to release her. Hitoka is too stunned to move, and only gapes at Hinata. Hinata is still grinning with a full million watts, but when Tobio awkwardly coughs, the smile vanishes in half a second. “Th-That’s for him!” Hinata says with a wild point at Tobio. It doesn’t fix the situation. “Because he’s grateful, but he can’t kiss you, and I-I didn’t mean it like _that_ it was just because we were celebrating!”

“Y-Yes, celebrating!” Hitoka squeaks. Her face burns and she can’t look either of them in the eye, so she concentrates on watching Tobio’s arm fade back to normal.

“And I know _he_ wouldn’t do it!” Hinata firmly repeats. Hitoka is inclined to agree with that, although more for the fact that Tobio still looks ready to faceplant onto the desk.

Wait.

She just _kissed someone_ who wasn’t Kiyoko. Her girlfriend. She just became part of an _affair_. With a tengu, no less! And on behalf of _someone else_! She doesn’t have the nerve to be Hinata’s affair on behalf of Tobio! The blood drains out of her face and Hitoka is left almost as pale as the witch, trembling just as hard, when she whispers, “I-I just cheated on Kiyoko.”

“Are you two _ever_ going to do something with each other that doesn’t leave someone near tears?” Tobio asks.

“Th-These were supposed to be _happy_ tears!” Hitoka wails.

“I can’t be a human’s affair! I’m too young!” Hinata whispers, chewing on his nails, with the air of someone realizing they’re terminally ill. Hitoka reaches over and tugs his claws away from his mouth, unable to help remember The Giggle Incident.

With a grunt of effort, Tobio stands in order to tower over the both of them. He folds his arms—now both exclusively person-colored, how wonderful and deserving to be celebrated _properly_ and not by illegal kissing—and peers down his nose at them. Even pale, trembling, and shiny with sweat, he’s imposing, and neither Hitoka nor Hinata can quite meet his gaze.

“Even though it was stupid and probably just Hinata being stupid… If it means that much to you, just go talk to Kiyoko and explain yourself,” Tobio commands, but his voice wavers at the end, second-guessing himself. “That’s… what people do to sort out this sort of thing, right?”

“You two have to come with me,” Hitoka replies faintly.

She hadn’t thought it possible, but he pales even further. “I can’t.”

Hinata puts his arms up into an X in front of him, wildly shaking his head to punctuate it. “We definitely can’t! She’s the one in charge of dragging me back to the tengu realm, remember?”

“But she can test to see if the curse is truly gone—”

“ _You_ could too,” Tobio flatly interjects.

Hitoka musters her courage to exclaim, “A-And I need courage to tell her that I just k-kissed someone and it wasn’t her! And you two were involved, s-so you need to come with me and that’s final!”

“ _I_ wasn’t involved in that!” Tobio retorts.

“That was for _you_!” Hinata snaps back.

“Why the hell do I need you kissing other people for me?!”

“Because we’re grateful and you look like you’re ready to puke and I didn’t want you puking on her!”

“Why the fuck do I need to _kiss her_ at all?!” Tobio all but roars. Hinata is bouncing on his the balls of his feet, face-to-face with him, ready to fight despite his obvious, continued nerves.

If he’s well enough to be arguing at _that_ volume, then Tobio is certainly well enough to get checked over by Kiyoko. That settles it.

An hour later finds Hitoka and Hinata bowing and apologizing at embarrassingly loud levels and Tobio struggling to stay upright, all in front of a surprisingly amused Kiyoko. She patiently waits for the scene to calm before she breaks in, “I’m sorry, _what_ are you apologizing for?”

Hitoka gestures to Hinata and herself. “We… kissed. H-He kissed me!”

Hinata miserably nods as he fidgets with the glamor charm hanging from his neck.

“In gratitude. For Tobio,” Kiyoko clarifies and they both nod this time. Tobio ducks down a little further, although with how much taller he is, it’s a useless move. “Alright, then this must be corrected.”

Hitoka and Hinata wince. They deserve whatever punishment she deems fit, probably, and Hitoka will take it with as much dignity as she can muster—

Kiyoko leans down and kisses Hinata on the cheek.

“Now we’re all even, right?” Kiyoko asks. This time, Tobio is the only one who bobs his head, though he looks like he’s also just bitten into a lemon. Hitoka turns from Hinata—growing ever redder and less composed, and she’s sure she sees a few feathers sprout as his glamor shudders—to regard Kiyoko. “Can we discuss the curse? You _cured_ it?” And now she sounds impressed and proud, and not at all upset or frustrated or betrayed or heartbroken or any number of things Hitoka had been imagining.

“Y-Yes… I think so…?” she wheezes in response. Beside her, Hinata is redder than a tomato and is approaching beet.

“Tobio, may I see your arm?” Kiyoko asks and he approaches her like one would a wild animal. She rolls up his sleeve and runs her fingers down his pale skin, magic crackling along the slight friction. Nothing else happens; Kiyoko’s smile widens. “You really did it, Hitoka. I knew you could!”

Hitoka feels faint with the utter _praise_ in Kiyoko’s tone. Hinata slowly turns from red to purple and may be moving off the visible spectrum entirely.

“We… just need to tell Saeko n-now, I guess,” Hitoka mumbles, shyly, and Kiyoko nods, distracted. “I’ll continue to monitor Tobio’s condition, just in case—”

“You mean this could _still_ be a problem?” Tobio interrupts.

“We’ve never dealt with curses like this before, and Hitoka still cured it in a remarkable amount of time,” Kiyoko replies. Hitoka’s heart swells further. “You can never be too cautious, but if I had to make a decision, I’d say you’re clear of the black magic. So all that’s left is for Saeko to take the same cure and…” Kiyoko looks up from Tobio’s arm, glasses catching the light. She _looks_ serious, but Hitoka can tell that she’s not. “There is the matter of you, Hinata.”

“Y-Yes! No, I mean—I-I’m not a matter!” Hinata _squeaks_. His voice even cracks and he jumps to attention like he’s been stung.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Tanaka Saeko and myself were hired to bring you back to the crow tengu. Of course, initially we assumed you’d been kidnapped or got injured, but if you’ve run away…” She trails off meaningfully.

“I want to help stop people from dying!” Hinata nearly shouts, standing up impossibly straighter. He seems caught between wilting and preening beneath Kiyoko’s continue attention, and his eyes are squeezed shut to try to avoid direct eye contact.

“We returned the missing egg,” Tobio adds.

“And we’ll get him to talk to his family!” Hitoka also throws in. The three of them face Kiyoko as firmly as they can manage. If Hinata is set on staying, then Hitoka can only support him, because she’s seen firsthand just how stubborn he can be. Plus, she _knows_ Kiyoko; the woman does not take cruel jobs. If things get truly dangerous, then Hinata can return home, but so far, he seems to be taking decent care of himself. (He’s avoided more trouble than they have, at any rate.)

Kiyoko just smiles at them.

“Alright then,” she says, clasping her hands together, and turns on her heel to rummage around in the shelves behind her. “Tobio, I can give you a potion to get you feeling a little bit better, and I think you should avoid magic usage for a day or two, just in case. You may be a witch, but you _were_ just cured of a potent curse, so please be careful.”

The clinking of glass jars and thumping of plastic tubs nearly drowns out her words, and Hitoka wonders if she hears the front door’s bell chime in amongst the noise, too. Kiyoko hadn’t mentioned any appointments, but most of her customers are walk-ins. At least Hinata is still mostly glamored.

Kiyoko comes back with a clear blue jar of something darker colored and fizzy, of which she pours about two swallow’s worth into what looks to be a shot glass. Tobio takes it like it might bite him. But he drinks it without complaint. Almost at once, some of the color returns to his face and he seems a little more steady on his feet. Hitoka feels a weight lift off her heart.

“How much do I owe you?” Tobio asks, closest someone of his size and disposition can get to _meekly_.

“Just consider it part of Hitoka’s service,” Kiyoko replies dismissively.

Tobio and Hitoka exchange a half-panicked look. They hadn’t exactly discussed prices, and while Hitoka is just glad he’s alright, she knows Kiyoko would give her a terribly disappointed look if she told her that she had just spent several weeks agonizing over this just for it to be pro bono.

“We can discuss the details later,” Kiyoko says like she knows the meaning of the glance they just shared. She probably does. She’s not clairvoyant, but sometimes, Hitoka feels completely transparent in front of Kiyoko. “But it _is_ something we should talk about. And about Hinata…”

The tengu jumps a foot in the air, glamor magic shattering completely, when Saeko pops up behind him with a _very_ loud, “ _Gotcha_!”

“You’re lucky he didn’t gut you on reflex,” Tobio says, sounding rather shaken himself. Saeko just laughs, heartily and at their expense.

“I think I know how to handle a single, tiny tengu!” she declares and thrusts her chest out with pride. (Hitoka notices that she’s clearly not wearing a bra and adjusts her cardigan with a sad sigh.)

“M-Maybe,” Hinata replies, feathers fluffed up defensively as he shies away from her to hide behind Tobio, “but I’m not going back home yet!”

“Sure ya aren’t,” Saeko replies indulgently.

“Saeko,” Kiyoko says. She primly adjusts her glasses and tells the woman, “Hitoka cured the curse.”

“That’s what you said in the text! Good on you, kid!” Saeko cries and Hitoka is treated to an affectionate noogie she could probably have lived without. Saeko pulls off her glove with her teeth, other arm still around Hitoka’s shoulders, and wiggles her purple fingers. “Then can I ask you to work that magic on me next? Don’t even warn me about the side effects—I don’t wanna know.”

“You dropped the tengu job pretty fast,” Tobio remarks with a surprisingly critical cut to his voice.

Saeko cranes her neck back to give him an unimpressed look. The bend of her spine serves to push her breasts uncomfortably (blessedly, god she is _so gay_ ) closer to Hitoka’s face. “I’d rather get my hand back to normal right now, if it’s all the same to you, witchy. We can duke it out later behind the shop if it means that much to you.”

Color rises high on Tobio’s cheeks. “We can skip that…”

“That’s what I thought.”

 

\--

 

“This seems like something out of a comedy skit,” Suga deadpans with a wry grin. “This is so unusually cautious of you, Tooru.”

“I heard about what happened with Saeko. Plus, this is the first job I’ve been on since the whole amnesia thing started!” Tooru chirps back, undeterred.

“ _You_ don’t usually go on jobs, and I know you remember that.”

“I’m with Sugawara on this one,” Yahaba agrees, arms folded but smiling pleasantly. Suga isn’t complaining—he’d _never_ complain about backup on a job—but three professionals, a trainee and a half, and Tooru for a single poltergeist seems overkill. “Not that I’m complaining! We still get paid, and poltergeists are pretty tasty,” Yahaba hastens to add.

Tooru laughs nervously as Suga fixes him with a look of disbelief. Yahaba arches an eyebrow and fully turns from watching Kentarou circle around Tadashi. “About that,” Tooru guiltily begins, “Suga’s little intern is getting it.”

“…Ah.” Yahaba falls silent after that curt word, and as much as Yahaba respects Tooru, Suga wants to smack Tooru for testing it like this. “Then, standard rate.”

“Of course.”

Yahaba sighs, musters up a smile again, and moves his hands down to his hips. “So _why_ does the little human boy want a pet poltergeist? Sugawara, that doesn’t sound like something you’d condone, and you certainly don’t have amnesia.”

“It’s not for _him_ ,” Suga says just as Tsukishima arrives with their smoothies. Tooru accepts his with a thankful coo that makes Tsukishima grimace.

Yahaba takes in his presence with ever-widening eyes. The closest Tsukishima gets to him is when he hands over Suga’s usual pomegranate drink, and Kentarou’s head snaps up to glower at him. “Who are you?” he demands.

Tadashi glues himself to Tsukishima’s side without an introduction. Suga sighs around his straw and says, “He is the other member of our party. Please, play nice, boys.”

“Tsukishima,” Tooru adds when it becomes clear that he’s absolutely not going to introduce himself (more content to trade glares with Kentarou, it seems). “Don’t ask or think too hard about his spiritual identity. Now then, since we’re all here,” Tooru says and claps his hand against his cup, “we can get started! Half of us here have never dealt with a poltergeist before, so Koushi, if you’d please outline what to expect?”

Suga gives him an irritated look and pointedly slurps on his drink. Tooru waits him out, smiling, and with a roll of his eyes and half his smoothie gone, Suga finally explains. “Poltergeists are easy, but annoying. There are two ways to deal with them—banish them outright, or seal them in something.” Pinning his drink awkwardly against his side with his cast, Suga rummages around in his bag before pulling out an opaque glass jar. “We’re collecting this one today, which is what we normally do. The only tricky things about poltergeists are the noise and the fact that they can interact with the physical realm.”

“At least you didn’t become one of those,” Tadashi murmurs, and Tsukishima’s frown sours further. Suga tries not to laugh.

“If at all possible,” Suga says, tossing the jar to Tadashi and addressing the two hunters on Tooru’s other side, “I’d like Tadashi to be the one to take care of it.”

“So what, we’re just insurance?” Kentarou grumpily asks and shoots Tooru a particularly narrow-eyed scowl.

“He’s paying us either way, so why get bothered?” Yahaba replies with a hand on Kentarou’s arm. “And what better insurance than something to eat the wayward poltergeist in case of emergency?”

Tadashi, Suga, and Tooru all turn to look at Tsukishima. He makes a face before quickly shaking his head. “Don’t. This already sounds disgusting and I don’t want to think about it.”

“At least they’re not slimy spirits,” Yahaba says with a shrug. Tsukishima pretends to gag and Tadashi hides a snicker with his hand.

Tooru is the one to knock on the door, just in case the old woman who owns the house is home. Having a luck spirit on their side give them a break, however, and it seems the house is empty; Suga ducks under Tooru’s arm, unlocks the door with a single spell, and a mousy-colored dog slithers inside between their legs to lead the way.

“Attic, right?” Yahaba asks, pausing in the first doorway, ears pricked.

“Be careful,” Suga mumbles to the boys as he herds them inside. “Try not to touch or break anything on house jobs.”

“So you just break into people’s homes when they’re gone to banish spirits?” Tsukishima archly asks, and Suga can only shrug at him. What other option is there? A lot of times, he gets called in for stray spirits, but house hauntings are just as common, and he didn’t teach Tadashi all of those unlocking tricks just for him to become a delinquent.

“I smell _something_ up here, that’s for sure,” Yahaba calls from the stairs. Tooru gives him a hum to let him know he heard him, otherwise distracted by photographs hanging in the hallway. “Are you certain this old lady didn’t stuff a dead body up here, too?”

“I think I could pick out a murderer from my clients,” Tooru sniffs in response. He gives Suga a particularly lofty tilt of his head and adds, “Shouldn’t you be getting on that, Koushi? Go teach your adorable students how it’s done.”

“Just shut up and stay down here,” Kentarou growls as he pushes past all of them. He catches Tadashi’s arm as he passes, pulling him up the stairs behind him, despite the teen’s squawk of alarm. “C’mon, this is your job, so let’s get this over with.”

“H-Hey, be nice!” Suga calls, scrambling upstairs after them, Tsukishima on his heels.

The attic is an over-cluttered mess, dusty and musty and absolutely housing _something_. Yahaba and Tadashi both start sneezing from it as the group carefully picks their way further in. Afternoon sunlight slants in through the far window, casting everything in a warm, orange glow, highlighting the swirling motes each step kicks up.

Yahaba pops up behind a box covered in a sheet. His fur is more grey than brown now, covered in dust bunnies and cobwebs, and he squints at Kentarou. “It’s definitely a poltergeist, but it’s been left up here for an awfully long time. Any idea where it’s hiding?”

“H-Hiding?” Tadashi whispers through his fingers. He and Tsukishima haven’t really moved from beside the stairs and don’t look particularly eager to start digging through an old woman’s forgotten belongings. Suga hopes they both have a steep learning curve.

“Poltergeists haunt places and people, but in a lot of cases, they pick a particular object as a… home, I suppose? It’s a place for them to rest, hide, even animate depending on the object,” Suga explains. He lifts a musty sheet and finds a large, stained mirror and his own exhausted reflection. Bruise-like smudges beneath his bloodshot eyes, hair sticking up worse than usual, and probably about as dusty as Yahaba. _Yikes_. The mirror certainly looks like it’d be haunted, but he doesn’t sense anything from it, so he moves on. “Did Oikawa say anything specific about this job?”

“Of course not,” Kentarou grunts. He lifts a cardboard box off of another one and sighs at the collection of photo albums and old cards in the one beneath it. “This is going to take fuckin’ forever.”

“I can’t sniff out anything any better than you can,” Yahaba says, preemptively reproachful. The inugami pops back up beneath one of the low rafters on the side of the slanted ceiling, Christmas lights wrapped loosely around his neck and a ceramic gingerbread ornament in his mouth. “This _all_ seems like sentimental garbage to me. We’re going to be here for a few hours unless we have some way to spook it out or piss it off.”

“I could find it.”

Suga turns to raise an eyebrow at Tadashi, who pushes back his sleeve to show off the magnetic bracelet. “We don’t have anything of the poltergeist’s,” Suga points out over Yahaba’s questioning sound.

“But we have all this stuff that _isn’t_. I can probably work in reverse, and it’s worth a try, right?” Tadashi asks. Suga nods, beaming at him, proud but also impressed. Tadashi looks around and ends up picking up an old stuffed toy from one of the nearer boxes. A few runes in which his magic clicks like a lighter that won’t catch, and on his second attempt, it does. He sets the toy down again and scans the room.

He ends up turning in place, brow furrowed, and points at the second box down from Tsukishima’s elbow. (Of _course_ it’s by the luck spirit.) Suga doesn’t think anything of letting them unearth the potential haunted object until the poltergeist decides it _doesn’t_ want to be found.

With an earsplitting scream, the poltergeist launches itself out of the stack with an explosion of dusty knickknacks.

Suga hardly registers more than a blur of malevolence and static before the poltergeist collides with Tsukishima. He goes down with a yelp, Tadashi creates a burst of fire that probably isn’t helping matters, and Suga and Yahaba reach the spirit at about the same time. Yahaba’s jaws clamp down on its neck and he tears at it with rapidly sharpening claws. Suga pulls Tsukishima away and pries them apart with a crackle of static that numbs his hands.

The poltergeist continues shrieking and thrashing, but Yahaba, now more a wolf than a dog, has it pinned beneath oversized paws. He gives the spirit a few thoughtful chews, but it just screams even more petulantly, waving not-quite-right limbs fruitlessly in the air.

“Well, I think that shaved a few years off of my life,” Suga announces. “How are you two?” He turns to Tsukishima and Tadashi, catching the tail end of Tadashi grabbing Tsukishima’s hand in both of his, placed over his heart.

“S-Still beating, Tsukki,” Tadashi says with a weak smile. Tsukishima only looks shaken, staring at the thrashing poltergeist, and doesn’t respond.

Suga grins at the squeeze of Tadashi’s hands on Tsukishima’s. Everyone in one piece, poltergeist subdued, and ah, young love. A surprisingly successful job all around, if he does say so himself.

With another, sharper screech, the poltergeist manages to hurl a stack of CDs across the attic. Two peg Kentarou in the head, causing Yahaba to snicker, and the rest clatter uselessly to the floor. “Mind taking care of that thing before our headaches get any worse?!” Kentarou grouses, rubbing his temple.

The poltergeist flings a stuffed bunny across the room next, and it falls harmlessly on Tadashi’s head. Suga can’t help but laugh at the other hunter’s peeved expression—until he’s smacked in the face by a book. He rubs at his cheek, absolutely not amused anymore, and Suga doesn’t miss Tadashi’s quiet little snicker.

“I’ll show you some banishment spells later, but you should really take this one,” Suga tells him. “And that jar is already enchanted, but I’ll show you how to do that later, too.”

“Iff easier oo jus’ buy dem,” Yahaba advises around the spirit in his mouth.

“Or you can buy them,” Suga amends, rolling his eyes. “But we’ll talk about finding trustworthy people to buy from another time. For right now, let’s just get this thing sealed and get some peace and quiet.”

“A-fucking-men,” Kentarou growls.

Suga talks Tadashi through it: set the jar down, prepare it with an _adapt-spirit_ combination, and approach the poltergeist in question with a simple (if draining, if Suga’s being honest) five-part spell. He’s done dozens of these, maybe hundreds, before and after the accident both. It’s sitting back and letting someone else handle it, _that’s_ what makes this surreal. Suga, laughably, nearly can’t handle it.

He hovers the entire time, going so far as to step on one of the poltergeist’s flailing limbs—it’s sprouted more, now, angrily, like turning into a tentacle monster out of sheer spite will increase its chances of survival—but lets Tadashi do the work. Suga can tell the magic flows easier for him. And he’s relieved to realize that he doesn’t feel an ounce of jealousy.

The poltergeist is sucked into the jar with one last, indignant screech that cracks the glass windows in the attic. The jar turns dark and smokey, and Tadashi picks it up awkwardly with one hand. It’s a little too large, but Suga notices that his other hand is still tightly gripping Tsukishima’s, so he doesn’t say anything—until he realizes that Tsukishima’s fingers in his grasp are _black_.

Suga stares a moment too long, and when Tadashi holds up the jar to him with a grin so bright it’s nearly blinding, the freckled teenager notices. The smile falters and fails almost as fast as it’d come and Suga feels a stab of guilt for it.

With a snap of magic behind them, Yahaba stands up on two feet once more, stretching his arms over his head. “Well, that went pretty smoothly, all things considered. Are we all done here?” he asks with an incline of his head toward Kentarou.

“Why’re you asking me?” the blond gruffly asks in reply. It looks a little like Tadashi’s wondering the same thing.

“It should be fine,” Suga answers, cutting off the argument before it can start, although all he gets for it is another irritated look from the other hunter.

“You can do your own sensing,” Kentarou says anyway. Suga rolls his eyes (out of sight of him, he’s not stupid, nor particularly belligerent) and turns back to the still-seated pair on the floor.

They’re going to have to do something about that hand. Suga isn’t certain how far it’s spread, or what precisely happened, but he knows that soon they’re going to be discovered by a very curious inugami and hunter. And considering that it looks like Tadashi was even trying to keep it from Suga, he supposes that he ought to do the kind thing and let them have their privacy.

Even though he can help.

But maybe not in front of the others.

Suga isn’t sure how much of the situation is Tsukishima’s luck, but they’re saved from Suga having to lie out his ass by banging on the door downstairs. “Something’s here,” Yahaba says, voice suddenly a growl, eyes flashing.

“No _shit_ ,” Kentarou mutters.

He pushes past them all, halfway down the stairs, and Yahaba jumps down after him with a, “Wait, I don’t think it’s human—!”

Then they’re both gone, and there’s a confused and surprised shout from Tooru, and Suga just sighs. “…Shouldn’t we help? What’s here?” Tadashi asks, awkwardly, not moving from his seated position.

“That’d be Iwaizumi. That’s bought us some time, so—yes, I can see Tsukishima’s hand.” They don’t have much time for delicacy, even if Suga frowns at Tsukishima’s flinch. “I have a guess as to what Kenma did for you. If you’d let me, I’m sure I can help you fix that, provided it hasn’t spread too much further.”

With clear reluctance, Tsukishima releases Tadashi’s hand and rolls up his sleeve. The demonic magic has only spread to his hand, not even fully past the curve of his palm. Suga isn’t certain if he caught the poltergeist with that hand or if that just happened to be nearer the magic—or hell, even Yahaba—but at least he knows how to fix this.

“That’s not too bad,” Suga says with a reassuring smile. He kneels down beside them, carefully takes Tsukishima’s hand in his, and looks over the half-claws his fingers have turned back into. He looks pale at the very sight of it. “I know it’s not good news, but at least we know that you’re still susceptible to this sort of thing. So that means we can take preventive measures from now on.”

“I thought it’d be fixed,” Tadashi admits in a sad little voice.

“It was supposed to be,” Tsukishima adds, his own tone tight and cold.

“Magic is rarely permanent, especially if you’re not a static being,” Suga tells them. He traces runes along Tsukishima’s fingers, feeling the blackened magic beneath his skin, and wonders if he could talk Kuroo into speaking to Kenma about helping with this again. Or perhaps some sort of collaboration? Suga wouldn’t be picky, but he’d be happier if he knew a little better about how to handle this problem, too, instead of taking shots in the dark like now. “I’m going to need a little bit of your blood, so hold still,” Suga says and pulls out his little silver knife.

Tsukishima nods, jaw still tense. Suga pricks his thumb, writes one last _purify_ rune across the top of his palm, and pushes magic into it.

Almost immediately, he feels the drain— _too much_ drain. Suga’s eyelids flutter and he lets out one truncated curse before he crumples and the darkness envelops him.

 

\--

 

“My, how protective, Kyouken-chan!” Tooru coos, voice artificially sweet and high, at odds with his crossed arms and frown.

“He’s attached,” Yahaba says with an equally fake little chuckle. He pats Kentarou’s arm before ducking under it and coming up between he and Iwaizumi—but Kentarou grabs him roughly and shoves himself back between them. He holds the hunting knife up toward Iwaizumi, tip of the blade pointed at his throat. It’s a warning, not quite a defensive stance yet, but Tooru thinks this entire macho facade is unnecessary.

Endearing, yes, and honestly _very_ surprising. Who knew Kentarou actually cared about his wellbeing? Shigeru, yes, but he supposes miracles do happen from time to time. His charm must have finally worked.

Iwaizumi cocks his head to the side. His mind is a gnarled, half-shielded mess of confusion and post-transformation relaxation, so he hasn’t quite done anything about the knife at his throat yet. “These are your… other employees?” Iwaizumi finally asks.

“What the fuck are you,” Kentarou growls, voice more feral than anything Shigeru could create.

Iwaizumi looks up at Tooru, eyes seeking out answers, but Tooru is actually fairly amused by this entire spectacle. Shigeru leans over Kentarou’s shoulder, smile sharp but tone otherwise still conversational when he asks, “We’d like to know what you’re doing here, if that’s alright. And what business you have with our paycheck. Doesn’t seem like something of your persuasion would want much to do with a poltergeist.”

“I don’t want anything to do with a poltergeist,” Iwaizumi replies blankly. “Is that what you were doing here?”

“Get out,” Kentarou orders.

“If you have no business here, you really should leave,” Shigeru adds. He’s curling further over and around Kentarou, trying to edge over to the point where he can get between them should it come to an actual fight, but aside from enlarged canines, Tooru is very glad he’s still human in appearance.

Iwaizumi gives Tooru another look, this time one dropping more into _what the shit is this_ rather than _what’s going on_. The psychic finally decides to have pity. “This is Iwa-chan,” he announces.

The pair between them turn to look at him with hilariously similar looks of utter astonishment. “ _That_ is ‘Iwa-chan’?” Shigeru asks. Tooru nods with a happy beam. “I thought he’d be… human.”

“Oi, I’m right _here_ ,” Iwaizumi reminds them. Kentarou’s head snaps back around to glare at him once more.

“I hadn’t thought the infamous Iwa-chan would be…” Shigeru pauses. He steps back from Kentarou, and gives Iwaizumi one more lofty look. “So bedraggled.”

Iwaizumi’s hair is still dripping, not brushed or combed in the least, and his clothes—a ratty old uniform jacket from Tooru’s high school days and soft but equally worn jeans—are visibly damp and muddy in places. Tooru snickers behind his hand.

“So what is he,” Kentarou presses. He _finally_ puts his knife away, but now his guard is back up, and Tooru can feel him bristling even within the steel walls of his mind. “You’re not bound to him and that’s not a glamor.”

“He’s my bodyguard!” Tooru chirps.

“Yes, we’ve heard,” Shigeru replies thinly.

“You… talk about me?” Iwaizumi asks. Embarrassment comes off him in waves, if the tiny, pleased redness to the high parts of his cheeks weren’t obvious enough.

Shigeru looks between them a couple times, eyes wide, realization sparking within them. _Oh boy_. Tooru slips past them both and stands beside Iwaizumi, draping himself all over his bodyguard(/lover), just to put on a show. Even Kentarou seems to realize what’s going on with an uncomfortable fidget after that. “Iwa-chan, this is Yahaba and Kyouken-chan.”

“I’ve never heard you refer to anyone else that way,” Iwaizumi remarks lightly.

“Jealous?”

“Absolutely not.”

“He calls him that to bother him,” Shigeru says with a grin. “Grumpy over here is Kyoutani Kentarou. We’re Oikawa’s favorite employees and the ones with the highest success rate.”

“I thought Sugawara was your favorite,” Iwaizumi says, eyebrow raised, and Shigeru lets out a surprisingly honest laugh.

“Suga _is_ my favorite. But not my favorite hunter. Because he’s not a hunter, and I’m sure he’ll banish you if he ever hears you call him one,” Tooru advises, patting Iwaizumi’s wet chest. Shigeru nods along in agreement. “Anyway, we were just finishing up here! The poltergeist got captured, and then my two darling knights in shining armor came stomping downstairs to protect me. I’m very touched about that, especially you, Kyouken-chan.”

“Fuckin’ weeb,” Kentarou huffs. He turns from them both, making eyes briefly at Shigeru, and the inugami just smiles at him. An actual, kind smile, at least.

“Weeb?” Iwaizumi asks, confused again.

“He’s just so mad about my adorable nickname,” Tooru sighs.

“It’s okay, humans have weird slang,” Shigeru says.

“I _am_ Japanese,” the psychic points out.

“Fucking. Weeb,” Kentarou repeats, louder, and he grabs his things by the foot of the stairs. Shigeru sighs at him (also loud), but the blond doesn’t respond. “Give us our money so we can go.”

“Where’s the poltergeist?” Iwaizumi asks as Tooru fishes out his wallet. Most hunters deal with cash, even if it’s a pain to carry that much with him. He believes in his bodyguard(s), of course, but it still makes him a little nervous.

“Upstairs, with the boys and Koushi. They’ll be down when they get him awake again,” Tooru replies. He pays Kentarou with a smile, because he always does, and Kentarou just frowns at him, because he always does, too.

“It was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully we can see each other again one day when _someone’s_ not so pissy,” Shigeru says pleasantly.

“Yeah, sure. Hopefully I don’t interrupt your job next time.” Iwaizumi gives them a perplexed little wave as they file out and waits until the door clicks shut behind them before rounding on Tooru. “What the hell was that? How did they immediately call me out and _what_ was the taller one?”

“An inugami, and he’s bound to Kentarou,” Tooru replies easily. “They’re both pretty good with magic and magical creatures, so don’t take it personally if they get a little touchy. But I didn’t give you away! …Is it supposed to be a secret?”

“Considering I’m extinct, yes,” Iwaizumi replies, arms crossed and voice hard. Something in his aura twitches at the word ‘extinct’, and Tooru doesn’t like that.

“Did you find me out anything?” he asks, to change the subject, and drapes himself over Iwaizumi once more. He winds his arms over his shoulders, facing him, lowering his lashes and looking down at him with the coyest set of bedroom eyes he has.

“I told you,” Iwaizumi replies, utterly unimpressed, “I was going for a swim. Did you say Sugawara was _unconscious_ upstairs?”

“He used too much magic. It happens with him.”

“Like the death thing? You’re pretty cavalier about what happens with your friends.”

“You don’t get me information, you make my employees think you’re attacking me, and now you’re saying I don’t care about my dear Koushi!”

“Well, you _did_ forget about him—”

“You’re so mean!” Tooru cries, interrupting him. He pulls back, but doesn’t quite drop his arms, and instead plays with the wet hair just behind Iwaizumi’s ears. “I’m trying to be a good person and give them privacy while they scramble about and try to fix him. And I just wanted more information on my lead.”

“Saying ‘go find me the third egg thief’ is _not_ a lead or way to research, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi deadpans.

“I thought you could sniff something out. You always seem to comment on how I smell,” he pouts.

“Maybe if you didn’t use so much goddamned perfume—”

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t smell like wet seal every other day.”

Iwaizumi glares up at him, jaw tense and eyebrows low over his narrowed eyes. “I was a _swan_ today, jackass. Feathers smell completely different.”

“Than blubber?” Tooru helpfully supplies.

“If _you_ won’t check on Sugawara, then I will,” Iwaizumi snaps and pushes away from him.

He starts up the stairs, ignoring Tooru’s call of, “That might not be the best idea!”

So Tooru waits downstairs, listening with his ears and his mind as the boys react to a stranger coming up the stairs. To his disappointment, however, it seems neither can immediately tell that he’s not human. So no knee-jerk terror reactions, boo. He’d been looking forward to someone putting Iwaizumi on his ass.

He hears Iwaizumi express quiet, mature concern, and Tadashi’s confidence builds a little back up in his wavering mind. How cute. The sullen Tsukishima doesn’t seem so easily swayed, however, and is still scowling scarily by the time they come back downstairs. Iwaizumi is carrying an unconscious Sugawara, and Tadashi is carrying the little glass jar with the poltergeist inside.

All in all, a mostly successful job. For all of Suga’s snide remarks about them being over-prepared, of _course_ he still ended up as the only collateral damage.

Tooru holds out his hands. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “Hand him over,” Tooru insists.

“I got him. Are we headed back to his place or yours?”

“I can carry my own _friend_ , right, Iwa-chan?”

“Are you two actually serious?” Tsukishima asks. “Can we get going instead? We’re still breaking and entering right now—”

Tooru pulls his wallet back out, takes out the remainder of his cash, and thrusts it at the tall kid. That sure shuts him up. “There you go, your wages for the day. Good work, you two! We can take care of Koushi from here.”

Tsukishima stares at the money in his hands, then nervously shoves it at Tadashi, who fumbles both it and the jar for one heartstopping moment. He catches both with seemingly inhuman reflexes and a deep, relieved sigh. “This is… Um, this is too much,” Tadashi says faintly.

“We’re not a charity case.”

“Ooh, snippy,” Tooru says, not at all fazed by Tsukishima’s continued prickliness. “You’ll be glad to know that I don’t _do_ charity cases, then. That’s your payment for the day. Koushi insisted you two get his share as well.”

“We can’t—” Tadashi begins at once but Tooru cuts him off with a firm hand on his shoulder. That only serves to make the kid seem even more terrified of the money in his hand, however.

“Don’t count on this kindness all the time, now you two go home. Take care of that hand and put that money into your savings,” he tells them, and that cows them enough to get them both slinking out the door, tails between their legs.

“You just let two teenagers go with a lot of cash and a spirit in a jar,” Iwaizumi says archly. It’s clear he disapproves, but it’s equally clear that he’s hilariously new to all of this.

“They can handle themselves. Now give me my silly unconscious friend, Iwa-chan.”

“You grow a conscience at the _weirdest_ and most stubborn times.” He shifts Sugawara around until he’s carrying him bridal style, then he drops him in Tooru’s arms like a sack of necromantic potatoes. Tooru oofs with the sudden weight but it’s not like he hasn’t dragged him home before. And he has his pride, after all.

“Besides, now you’re free to go off and find me a lead,” Tooru says and happily leads the way back outside. “Lock the door behind you, please! I’ll be at home, so whenever you get that sweet, sweet information, just bring it back there.”

“You’re an ass,” is all Iwaizumi answers with.

 

\--

 

Yui is _hungry_.

That’s not new. And that’s what is so frightening about the gnawing in her gut. It hasn’t ever disappeared; she hasn’t ever _not_ been hungry in her memory since…

Since she got here. Everything’s a little hazy between what must have been her death and when she turned into an archangel, but she remembers the hunger. Kiyoko has been so good about bringing her things—Yui can tell how much it concerns and repulses her in equal measure—but it hasn’t been enough. And Yui can’t bring herself to ask for _more_ , because how can she?

She’s one of the most powerful beings in the entire realm and she’s stuck reading books and eating raw instant noodles and dead sigbin in the middle of a forest.

She _has_ been hunting, but she knows she shouldn’t. Every time her stomach rumbles, Yui can just picture Kiyoko’s horrified face when she caught her eating that junjudee. Or eating anything. Yui shifts her book to one hand and absently pokes at her jaw, wondering at what point she became accustomed to… everything. It’s all too much, but at the same time, it feels so natural.

She can’t actually remember what it felt like to be human.

Yui yawns, jaw cracking, and abandons her book. The weather is taking a turn today, back into snow, and she _really_ wishes she knew how to control that a bit better. Frozen ground beats muddy ground, and it’s not as if she gets really cold anymore, but she knows it’s just another thorn in Kiyoko’s side.

“Maybe… Maybe some exercise would help,” she tells no one in particular. Her own voice comforts her. Music hasn’t helped at all, nor has anything else, but at least she can rely on herself, right? Yui may be in the process of denying a lot of things, but she won’t ruin herself just to keep it on the down low.

She stows her book, stands up, and stretches her arms up over her head. Her wings splay out on either side of her, extending and shedding dripping, heatless fire, casting odd shadows around her feet. They’re lucky that the only things that have caught her out here so far have been lesser fae and the occasional nosy batutut. Yui wishes Kiyoko were using the luck she earned from that bakeneko of hers in more productive ways, however.

She doesn’t like flying, but she still likes jogging, even if it’s a little more awkward with her new limbs. A return to something human is good for her. Supposedly.

And _maybe_ getting out and about causes her to stumble onto something. And maybe her footfalls are exceptionally silent in the snow. And maybe, just maybe, she’s _really fucking hungry_.

Ten minutes out, Yui has carved a melted path through the snow and caught a squirrel. She doesn’t think about the poor thing as she snaps its neck, and she closes her eyes tight when she eats it in one bite. _Disgusting_ , a little voice says in her head. She wishes the voice didn’t sound so much like Suga.

But the fresh air and exertion are good for her. Not quite exertion—she hasn’t really lost her breath or sweated like she used to on the volleyball team in some time—but she clings to the idea of exercise anyway. It’s calming for her. It’s routine.

Halfway around her usual path, an old deer path she’s already taken often enough to have memorized even with all of the snow, Yui catches sight of something _weird_. Now, an archangel surviving off of nonperishable human food and raw spirits-slash-monsters while living in the middle of the woods alone doesn’t have a lot of room to call other things weird, but _certainly_ the sight of a _dragon’s head_ laying in the whiteness at the foot of a rocky mountain is pretty fucking weird.

Yui stops dead, wings dropping to the ground behind her, and _stares_. That’s definitely the head of a dragon. It doesn’t look particularly new, or particularly attached to a body, so that means… what? Someone has the corpse of a dragon somewhere nearby? She can smell the preservation magic from there, faint but securely wrapped around it, so that means someone’s claimed it. Probably for harvest, considering she can see that it’s missing most of its teeth and its horns.

Cautious but incredibly curious, she creeps closer. It looks like it’s been dead for a few days, maybe longer if the magic was put on it fast. Its eyes have been taken out, _gross_ , but her attention catches at a cut in its bottom jaw. More precisely, she finds herself staring at the raw red flesh revealed by the wound.

Her stomach growls.

Yui crouches down next to the head. She prods it, a few times, the charms on it snapping and hissing at her proximity before they all inevitably break. Now it smells like blood and flesh and something distinctly reptilian. She tries not to think too hard about what she’s doing when she reaches over and pries a single scale off of the dragon’s cheek. She pops it into her mouth, chews, and pretends it’s a potato chip.

Dragon scales and hide nullify and can even repel magic, and it fizzles in her mouth like pop rocks. Not much taste, though, but she’s also not certain she _has_ much of a sense of taste anymore. Yui pulls off another and eats it, too. Crunchy and fun to eat. And _something_ to eat, most importantly of all.

Half its scales are gone and she has blood on her fingers before she remembers that this is probably someone else’s.

But her stomach continues rumbling, demanding more food, even if the food is sitting strangely in her stomach. Who knows what a dragon would do to an archangel’s stomach? Well, that’s a concern for later, because the prospect of having a _full stomach_ outweighs just about everything else in the universe right now. Better a dead dragon than something—or someone—else.

With a murmur of a rune that doesn’t actually work for her anymore, Yui digs her fingers into the dragon’s skull beneath its eye socket, and starts tearing it apart.

Bone, scales, horn—all of it is easy enough to chew and swallow. The sight of the gleaming red flesh, preserved by the spell, is enough to get her mouth watering. _How vile_. But the nagging little voice doesn’t stop her. Yui is halfway done with the dragon’s head when she hears a voice and nearly chokes on her swallow.

She flares and coughs and pounds her chest. The voice isn’t distinct, and sounds like it’s coming from _above_ her?

She almost calls out, but then she remembers the whole Secret Archangel In The Woods thing again.

Yui breaks off part of the dragon’s bottom jaw, sticking it in her mouth as she rises back to her feet. Her eyes are on the rocky wall in front of her. There are caves all around the hills here, she knows, so that’s the likely source, but the voice hasn’t spoken again.

She doesn’t quite think of the voice as a potential threat, nor does she quite feel the same curiosity she did before, when she first spotted the head.

Her mouth is still watering.

Yui flaps up, shoving her own magic deep inside herself until it feels like she’s going to puke, and she can tell she’s no longer glowing, at least. She scans the trees and hills beneath her, looking for some convenient cave mouth, and to her surprise, she finds one. _Lucky!_ About time something good happened for once.

Yui floats down, listening hard, and touches down silently on the snowy rock. She doesn’t see any light or hear anything from inside, but she still presses inward. There’s some faint smell here, prodding at the back of her mind like the vaguest memory or instinct, and she follows it. She swallows the excess saliva in her mouth (and wonders halfheartedly if _that_ glows, too; she’s tired of all of the ominous glowing).

She places the smell as blood—quashed, old, and nearly erased by all of the magic within the cavern—at the same time as she stops dead in full view of someone leaning over the headless carcass of a dragon. The dragon may hardly smell due to the charms placed upon it, mixed with how long it’s been sitting in here, but the person, that’s new. Fresh. Alive. Full of magic and heat and absolutely less crunchy than a dessicated dragon corpse.

Yui is halfway to the person before he notices her. He turns, dark eyes reflecting the will-o-wisp he’d been using for light, and she registers a shaved head and feathers and an expression of basic, gut fear.

Her wings flare and burst into light behind her just as she leaps at him. Her belly feels so empty it may as well be a void, and there’s no sense left in her, no little voice screaming at her for this. (There had been, once. The first time.)

The man gives a shout and next thing she knows, she’s pinned to the ceiling with a stalagmite through her breastbone.

Only then does she register the _wings_ , not feathers, and the claws and tail beneath him. Tengu. Yui swallows, and it tastes coppery now, but she feels no real fear. She hardly feels any pain. But the blow and wound are enough to drag her into something a little more aware of the situation.

 _Kiyoko’s trying to court the tengu. He’s not crow, though…_ He’s not large enough to be an owl, either, and his wings are dark grey-brown, leading into a reds and pinks toward his chest. Yui blinks down at him and watches the blood drain further out of his face. _Songbird. He’s a robin._ So he’s _not_ what Kiyoko is trying to befriend or what Suga has already done so.

“Wh-What the hell are you?” the tengu asks, voice shaking but his gaze like steel.

Yui breaks the rock pinning her and pulls herself off of the bit impaling her. White blood drips down onto the cave floor, beating her down to where she lands roughly in front of him. Her body feels weightless, magic tingling in her fingertips, glow so bright the entire cavern is washed-out and stark. Her chest aches but she doesn’t feel anything side from the hot smear of blood pressing against her ruined hoodie.

And the hunger.

She’s _always_ so hungry.

She looms over the tengu, wings itching at her back as they break loose and arch out beneath her current set. He tries to cast more magic, but she catches his wing with her claws, cutting through flesh like butter. The wind spell he aims at her face knocks her head back so fast and hard that she’s certain she hears a _crack_. She doesn’t move, for a long second, and the only sound is his heaving breath in front of her.

It takes another _crack_ to yank her head back down. The archangel reaches back with her free hand, everything dripping pale flames, and his next panicked spells sizzle against her skin, shunted off to the side harmlessly.

She opens her mouth wide, too wide, and the tengu screams. The sound is abruptly cut off.

The archangel sits, cross-legged in front of the dragon’s body, and begins to eat.

 

\--

 

“Sugawara Koushi, _out_ of the kitchen!” Kiyoko all but shouts.

He grabs one last gingersnap and sprints out the door like the little gremlin he is. Kiyoko sighs and returns to her mixing bowl. It’s wisest to cook as much as she can ahead of time, but it means she has to devote time and energy to guarding her cookie hoard afterward. Ryuunosuke already had bruises on his hands from her wooden spoon. (Yuu has thus far been too quick to catch in the act.)

The back of her neck prickles with unseen attention. “Asahi, I _will_ find a way to smack you with this spoon as well if Nishinoya has tried to convince you to steal cookies for him.”

After a moment, with the faintest of whispers, Kiyoko can tell she’s left alone in the kitchen once more.

She pushes her glasses up onto her hair and rubs at her eyes. She’ll need to make more spirit sight draught as well, for the party. She’ll need… She counts through the invited people, trying to remember who needs it and who doesn’t. Saeko hadn’t mentioned anything about seeing spirits now, and Kiyoko hopes their relationship isn’t so ruined that she wouldn’t tell her.

So that’ll make one batch of spirit sight draught, one more batch of gingersnaps, two of chocolate chip, the actual meal for the party—she’ll need to ask Ryuunosuke to pick up the drinks. She didn’t want to have the shop closed tomorrow, too, but she’s not sure she’ll have time to deal with more people wanting last-minute gifts, mistletoe, or merriment potions. Time _or_ patience. (And Kiyoko prides herself on her patience.)

She hears the door creak open behind her and she grips her spoon tighter. “Do you need any help?” comes Hitoka’s hesitant question and Kiyoko can’t help her smile nor the way her shoulders finally relax.

“Not right now,” she replies. “But if you’d like, you could have a cookie while they’re still warm.” _Since everyone else has already helped themselves_.

Hitoka skitters into the kitchen and looks over the pile of gingersnaps, still cooling on the rack. She doesn’t take one, but instead says, “You know, I’m, um, pretty good at baking. I make a lot of the treats for coven parties, and I do a lot of cooking for my mom when I’m home. So I _could_ help you? If you wanted?”

Kiyoko hardly pauses, hardly thinks about the way her heart aches when she thinks about her last partner in this kitchen. “…That would be wonderful, thank you,” she says and the full-faced grin she earns in return is like sunlight breaking through an overcast sky. Kiyoko can’t help but return it to the best of her ability.

The tender moment is ruined by a knock on the front door, followed closely by a loud, excited shout. Really, she didn’t need to be a psychic to have seen that one coming, and Kiyoko sighs as she looks at the state of her kitchen. She can’t greet a guest with a mess, but she can’t leave these here, and she certainly can’t leave _them_ out there.

“I can watch this. Expecting someone?” Hitoka offers.

She glances up at the cutesy crow clock on the wall (a gift from Ryuu). “Yes, although he’s early. I’ll be right back, Hitoka,” Kiyoko says, and she gives her a kiss on the bangs as she passes to leave.

There’s already a commotion when Kiyoko pushes past stacks of boxes and bins into the entryway. (Tidying up is another thing on her never-ending list, apparently.) Looks like Suga had been the one to answer the door, with Yuu on his heels, and now one Ennoshita Chikara has both Yuu and Ryuunosuke draped all over him. The man is smiling, at least, though he looks exhausted and rather cold, wrapped up in too many layers and breath puffing out as he stands in the open door, luggage by his feet.

“You must be Ennoshita,” Kiyoko says and steps forward, offering her hand. Suga makes a questioning noise over her shoulder, but she ignores him for the time being. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Chikara chuckles and tries to shift around the two weighing him down. “The pleasure is all mine, trust me. Just, um, give me a moment while I detach these two—”

“Boys. _Down_ ,” Kiyoko says and Yuu and Ryuu may as well have teleported for how they hasten to follow the order.

Chikara laughs again, louder and more honestly amused, as he steps inside, shaking Kiyoko’s hand. Ryuu grabs his bags and carries them inside so the door can finally be shut. “You have them trained so well, I’m jealous,” Chikara says, shooting Ryuu and Yuu another grin over his shoulder. “I’ve known Noya for _years_ and it’s still a struggle to get him to listen to anything resembling reason.”

“Get down here so I can put you in a headlock,” Yuu demands without any real heat. Chikara just grins as he indulgently leans down so he’s eye-level with him. Yuu only thumps him on the back, grin even wider and brighter, and Kiyoko cannot remember the last time he smiled like that. “What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I was invited to a Christmas party,” he replies.

“Yule,” Kiyoko corrects.

“That’s a long way for a party,” Suga says, eyes on Kiyoko and arms folded. He, too, is smiling at least, but Kiyoko knows he sees right through her.

“I don’t mind the travel,” Chikara says, mildly, and Kiyoko decides she definitely likes the man. “I haven’t checked into my hotel yet, but I thought I’d stop in and say hello. Apparently it’s already a party here.”

“They’re helping with preparations. _Supposedly_ ,” Kiyoko says with a small, wry grin of her own. “I can give you a small tour while you warm up, if you’d like?”

“I’ll handle it!” Ryuunosuke volunteers.

Kiyoko glances back toward the kitchen. It’s not as if her shop is particularly large, anyway, and there will be more time for her and Chikara to get to know each other better at a later time. “Alright. Please don’t get into any trouble.”

She leaves them there, winding her way back to the kitchen, Suga on her heels. Kiyoko slips through the door with hardly a creak and puts her arms around Hitoka’s waist, earning a startled squeak. “O-Oh! You’re back, I mean, I _noticed_ , but—you scared me!”

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko says, pressing another kiss to her hair, just over her ear. Hitoka’s sounds are just too cute to resist sometimes. “Nishinoya’s friend is here, and Tanaka is giving him a tour. You may need to save us all from the upcoming magical disaster.”

“It wasn’t a customer?” Hitoka asks, craning her neck back. Kiyoko isn’t certain how, but she managed to get a smear of flour across the bridge of her nose, and it’s _too cute_.

Suga clears his throat from behind them, like he read the direction her mind was going. (So sue her, she’s having a nice moment with her sweetheart.) “You know he doesn’t know a thing about magic, right? And you just turned him loose with two excited hunters in a potions shop,” Suga says pointedly.

“…He doesn’t?” Kiyoko asks.

“No, he doesn’t,” Suga confirms.

“I was unaware of that little fact,” she says with a sigh.

“Wh-What are the chances that we can keep this a secret?” Hitoka asks with all the nervousness Kiyoko won’t let herself show.

Suga, the ass, counts off on his fingers. “We managed to drag Tadashi in, and Lev, and Chizuru before them. That’s just this past year. Should I keep going back?”

“Don’t forget Daichi,” Kiyoko reminds him. A flush rises high on his cheeks, at odds with his attempt at a pout. “If nothing else, Nishinoya should be aware that Chikara doesn’t know anything about magic. I’ll speak to them both tonight.”

“You’re leaving them alone until then?”

“You can go babysit them, if you’d like.”

Suga groans, long and loud and exactly what Kiyoko expected as a response. It turns out to be a clever ruse, however, as he uses his complaining as a cover so she doesn’t expect him to dart across the room and grab another cookie.

“ _Koushi_!” Kiyoko gasps, looking around for her spoon so she doesn’t just zap him with magic.

Hitoka has faster reflexes and manages to smack the back of his arm as he passes her again. He laughs; she ends up smearing some cookie dough on his sleeve before he vanishes out the door.

Kiyoko sighs and wraps her arms back around Hitoka. “Why do I bother,” she mumbles.

“Because you love us,” Hitoka replies warmly, and sticks another cookie in her mouth with a grin.

“You more than him right now,” Kiyoko tells her.

Hitoka’s face turns a delightful shade of pink, which dips into deep red when Kiyoko leans down to bite off a piece of the gingersnap in her mouth. 

 

\--

 

“Bokuto’s unusually antsy,” Kuro observes.

Kenma makes a sound to acknowledge he spoke but otherwise hunches down further into the soft mattress. Kuro sighs and steps out of the shadow near the door; Kenma doesn’t appear fazed. Progress, then. He’d sort of _missed_ his settled form, as weird as it sounds, although the ache in his hand in back now. His fingers are about half regrown, apparently not as much as Kenma had been hoping for, but Kuro is just happy that they’re not making each other bleed every five seconds now.

“I think he’s worried about getting payment for that dragon. That Naka-songbird guy still hasn’t gotten back to him about it, huh…” Kuro tries again.

Kenma sinks further into the plushness. Any further and Kuro would suspect he’s beginning to go _through_ it.

“He wants to give you the money for your share. He doesn’t want you to think—”

“I don’t think anything,” Kenma finally huffs. “I _told_ him it wasn’t a big deal…”

“If you ignore the fact that he’s super worried about what you think of him at all times,” Kuro reasons, and Kenma huffs again and proves that he _can_ , in fact, sink further into the mattress, “I don’t think tengu like the concept of owing people. They’re too proud, right?”

The witch goes back to grunting as a means of communication.

Kuro sighs heavily and flops down onto the bed next to him. It’s filled with down, mostly, something that Kuro is still getting used to but _loves_ in comparison to springy ones. But it means he can’t make Kenma bounce. “Are you hungry yet?”

The most minute shake of his head.

“I see,” Kuro says; he can feel the hunger stretched between them like something tangible. But the sickness lingers beneath it, and he knows Kenma would prefer an empty stomach to getting sick again in someone else’s space.

Even now, Kuro can see how Kenma can’t fully relax here. He wishes he could do something about it, but aside from Kenma allowing far more physical comfort than usual, nothing has worked. Any attempts by Bokuto or Akaashi outside of offers of food or polite questions about magic have been all but ignored. Kenma’s body may be gradually getting better, but the rest of him sure as hell isn’t.

And Bokuto’s growing anxiety isn’t helping matters. Akaashi, mercifully, has relaxed and seems to be taking the stance of Give Kenma As Much Space As He Needs—which is nice for now, but Kuro knows better than anyone that sometimes Kenma needs a bit of a push.

“Bath?” Kuro suggests, unable to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice. Kenma glances at him over the edge of his laptop. “It’ll do us both some good, let’s be honest here,” he adds.

Kenma makes a face, part uncertain and part indignant and part resigned, and closes the laptop. He checks out in the hallway, then tugs Kuro down the short corridor into the bathroom. There’s the now-expected multiple magical locks, and Kuro looks curiously over the large tub and pretends it doesn’t bother him. (It does.)

“So, how does this thing work?”

Kenma makes another face, and Kuro thinks he’s about to get chastised for not bathing on his own—but instead Kenma just looks at the weird faucet with that same face. “…I guess a lot of this magic stuff isn’t very easy for you to use, huh,” he murmurs. He waves a hand and water starts pouring from a previously unseen hole in the faucet.

“Demons don’t really come with a lot of magic of their own, so no,” Kuro repiles, pleasantly surprised by this small amount of attention. It’s probably not exactly what Kenma meant, but Kuro can’t help but parse it as a little protective, and that sends a little thrill through him.

The bath fills with surprising speed, water already steaming and warming the room, and Kenma starts undressing. His hair is a half-snarled mess after his shirt comes off, and Kuro would laugh if he didn’t have the same issue. The pair of them stand, naked, side-by-side and look at the bathtub.

It’s big, yes, but it’s _shallow_. Incredibly shallow. Kenma still looks like he’s been chewing on a lemon, and Kuro can’t help but think back to Akaashi calling him a puddle. _This is a puddle_ , he thinks, then pokes an inky tendril into it. The water is hot, just about unbearably so, and he wonders if it’s magic heat within it. “Are we just supposed to roll around in it?” Kuro jokes. He’s used to showers with Kenma, but they’ve squeezed into the hotel tub a few times together. At least that came up past their waists.

With a long-suffering sigh, Kenma steps into the water. He flinches at the initial sting of the heat and stands on one foot for a moment while he steels himself to add the other. “Kuro, get in.”

The demon whines. “It looks too hot.”

“It will cool off.”

“It’s magic water, no it won’t.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

“Before or after I boil?”

“Get _in_ ,” Kenma says, losing patience, and Kuro slinks into the tub next to him. He shifts from foot to foot, tail-like shadow lashing behind him like an irritated cat, and he gives Kenma a pointed look. Kenma slowly lowers his other foot into the water, one hand braced on Kuro’s bicep for balance.

The water is hardly over their ankles.

“Do they _really_ just…” Kenma trails off, and crouches down, drawing little swirls in the water with his finger.

“Just what?” Kuro prompts.

“…Splash around? It’s a bird bath,” he replies.

“Well, yeah?”

Kenma sighs yet again. “I guess you haven’t seen one yet anywhere. They’re for birds to come and bathe in, for houses with yards and stuff, and they’re just… this. Birds splash in them to get clean—”

Kenma should really expect it when Kuro takes the cue to splash him. He splutters and falls onto his ass, making another splash, and flicks the hair out of his eyes so Kuro can see his full glare. Kuro only shrugs innocently. It’d been too good to pass up.

Instead of splashing back, Kenma reaches forward, grabs him, and dunks him as best he can in the water. Kuro flails, coughing and splashing and feeling waterlogged when he shakes his wet hair out, but any annoyance he feels is thrown right out the window when he catches a little sound that could only be Kenma’s _laugh_.

The witch quickly covers his mouth, but his eyes are still crinkled at the corners, and Kuro feels like his heart has skipped a few beats. All of the beats. “Your hair,” Kenma says by way of explanation, and gestures a little with his other hand. “Half of it’s still sticking up in the back.”

Kuro runs a hand through his dark hair and feels the haphazard spikes still standing. “Wash my hair and I’ll wash yours?”

“Mm, okay, deal.”

“You’re getting more casual about these deals with demons.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Kenma says without any real anger. He settles into the bath proper, submerged skin pink, the water hardly coming up past his thighs. They don’t quite cover Kuro’s. Kenma leans against him, warm and solid and most importantly of all willing to give Kuro this kind of contact, whereas the past few weeks have been more than a drought.

He doesn’t dare comment on it, and Kuro cups his hands in the water to start trying to rinse out Kenma’s hair. It’s going to be quite the endeavor if this is all he has to work with, especially with the finger stubs. Kenma eventually helps him out, drawing water up with flicks of his wrist, gently letting it fall over Kuro’s shoulder and Kenma’s head, and Kenma relaxes further against him.

There are still the dark bruises beneath his eyes and the thinness to his body, but all in all, this is the most relaxed Kuro has seen him in months.

Pressing his luck, Kuro presses a kiss to the crown of Kenma’s dark roots.

He pulls back to find Kenma staring at him, gold gaze sharp and unreadable. Normally, Kuro would start sweating right about now, but this feels too intimate already; he doesn’t fear being rejected, for some odd reason. Kenma has already shown his trust this much.

“Is that going to become your new thing?” Kenma asks and closes his eyes again, finally. He tilts his head back against Kuro’s shoulder, throat completely bared and hair swept back from his face, and Kuro eyes his neck and wonders how Kenma would react if he were to try kissing there next.

“Do you want me to stop?” Kuro asks.

“…Not really,” Kenma replies and another thrill shoots through Kuro. “I guess I like it. Just surprised.”

Before Kuro can ask why or become more adventurous with his newfound permission, the bathroom door bangs open with hardly a jiggle as warning. Kenma jerks and Kuro startles; Bokuto has his hands over his eyes as he walks in and loudly announces, “I _still_ can’t get in touch with Nakashima and I’m really sorry about not getting you your money yet!”

Kuro realizes two things about their panic responses: Kenma had raised his arms, and Kuro had grabbed his wrist to pull them back.

Kenma had been about to _attack_ Bokuto and some part of Kuro had expected it.

He drops Kenma’s arms and moves physically between them, back to Bokuto. Disgust at himself sits heavily in his chest. “It’s alright, Bo,” Kuro replies, eyes still on Kenma (who won’t meet his gaze in return). “Did you really need to barge in here to tell us that?”

“I don’t want you two thinking I’m not honoring the deal,” the tengu replies in a small voice. “Akaashi said humans are probably weird about nudity, so my eyes are covered, but I also wanted to make sure you two were okay in here.”

“I’m a witch,” Kenma says with unfair condescension. He shrinks away from Kuro and covers his chest with his arms. “I think I can handle a bath.”

“But it’s tengu magic,” Bokuto replies. If he noticed Kenma’s tone, he doesn’t address it. “I’ll just leave you two, then? Let me know if you need anything! I’ll… just try to track down Nakashima, I guess…”

The door clicks shut, and Kenma still doesn’t relax again. He hardly drops his arms. Kuro frowns, not at him but Kenma seems to read it as such, and turns from him. “I take it human magic doesn’t work well with tengu materials?”

“I’ll get stronger locks,” he mutters.

“We could ask him to knock next time.”

Kenma gives him a look that says _what next time_ and Kuro sighs. He liked the bird bath.

 

\--

 

Tadashi taps his pencil against his notebook and looks everywhere except at the gnarled little _thing_ in the corner. Of course no one else can see it. It hasn’t really done much, and he doesn’t think it knows he can see it, but its presence is making him nervous. It’s the first spirit he’s seen inside school and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

There’s ten minutes left of class for the day, and the thing is steadily creeping towards the teacher’s desk. Tadashi’s tapping gets louder, though he hardly notices. _What do I do?_ Okay, so soon the students should start leaving, but it won’t clear out very quickly, and the teacher would likely stay for awhile. He’s not even sure what that thing is, too, much less how to take care of it.

He knows a couple of low-level banishments, and a few general confinement circles, too. The thing isn’t large nor does it look particularly powerful, so maybe either of those could work?

The indecision makes him chew on his bottom lip until it hurts. He’s not sure if he should leave it, come back later, ask Suga, _bring_ Suga, or what. He wishes he knew more about supernatural creatures and what could hypothetically come haunt a high school.

 _It’s the last week before break_ , he woefully thinks, screwing his eyes shut so he could pretend this isn’t his responsibility for two seconds. _Why couldn’t this have happened when no one was here?_ Why couldn’t he have been that lucky?

The final bell rings and Tadashi stays planted in his seat. Classmates slowly file out, too slowly for his liking. The creature has made it to the teacher’s desk, within arm’s reach of a girl who stopped to ask the teacher something, and Tadashi is sweating bullets. It bats halfheartedly at her skirt, but she just shuffles her weight to her other foot, not realizing what’s going on.

She leaves without further incident. The room is a little over half empty now; it’s not enough for him to really do anything.

The fire alarm suddenly goes off.

A couple of the kids—Tadashi included—give a start at the abrupt, blaring noise, and there’s shouting heard down the hall, followed by the distinct bark of the principal. The teacher sighs and starts gathering his things into his bag. “Come on, everyone out.”

The remaining students are herded out into the chaotic hallway, and it’s not too difficult for Tadashi to duck out and circle back around. He closes the classroom door behind him and casts mute and locking charms on it, just in case.

Alright, so he has to take care of this little gremlin thing. He turns around, prepared to face it, and instead finds a tan cat batting at it from the top of the teacher’s desk. Morisuke looks up at him, paw still raised, and seems to smile. “It’s not that difficult to get young boys to accidentally pull an alarm,” he explains, and smacks the creature again. “Seems like you needed help to take care of this.”

“What is it?” Tadashi asks. He’s semi-used to either Kei or Morisuke following him around, so he’s not too surprised to see the latter here now. Lucky break, anyway.

“A bogle, I think. They’re little domestic spirits, usually harmless or even beneficial. You don’t usually see them in schools, though,” he replies. “You could try feeding it to Kei instead of banishing it.”

The thing looks like the dirty lovechild of Dobby and a shar pei, and, as hilarious as the mental imagine of trying to get Kei to eat it is, he can’t in good conscience feed it to someone. And it’s a little too humanoid for him to think of it as food. “I think I’d rather just get rid of it,” Tadashi admits.

The alarm stops, so Tadashi knows they don’t have much time. Morisuke cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes a little. “He’s going to have to eat sometime, you realize?”

“Yeah, but…” He doesn’t want to tell him about the turn of the demon stuff. Suga had fixed it, so it was okay again, right? “He’s picky. And I don’t know how to cook… bogles.”

“I’m not sure how much cooking he’d actually need,” Morisuke mutters, and it makes Tadashi even less okay with this entire thing. “He can’t _not_ eat. He’s going to have to get over his squeamishness soon, though.” He raises his gaze from the bogle and Tadashi hardly suppresses a shiver at those cat eyes on him. “You, too.”

He briefly wonders if eating the same stuff as Kei would be a good show of solidarity—or just get him sick. He’s not sure he could handle it, _especially_ looking down at the gross little creature in front of them. Morisuke relents, flicking his ears back, and bats at the bogle once more. He hooks a claw in the wispy tuft on top of its head and yanks, hard enough to elicit a gravelly squeal.

Tadashi opens his mouth to ask if he’s _playing_ with it—and then closes it once he thinks a moment about it. _Cat spirit, right_. “You should probably back up a little,” he advises, grabbing the marker from the whiteboard. He squats down as close as he feels comfortable, then starts his writing. The bogle is distracted by Morisuke’s presence and doesn’t notice until the confinement circle goes up.

With too much air for it to be just a jump, Morisuke leaps from the desk to Tadashi’s shoulder and curls around his neck. “You’re getting better,” he says with a purr.

Tadashi feels his face warm. “Th-Thanks?” Now he feels self-conscious as he banishes a bogle. This is not what he had expected his life to become a year ago, or even six months ago: magically banishing a misplaced supernatural creature while a bakeneko purrs against his cheek.

He can’t help but think this is an improvement.

“But there’s still a lot for you to learn,” Morisuke adds, and there goes Tadashi’s lifted mood. Morisuke still has a purr in his voice, too, and it makes him seem a little meaner than Tadashi wants to believe. “Like about luck, for example.”

“Luck?” _Please don’t let it be poisonous to living humans, please don’t let it be poisonous to living humans_ —

“At home. I don’t think it’d be smart for you to get caught with me at your school.”

“I guess…” So he brings up something vague like _that_ and then lets him sweat? Great. Tadashi pulls the cat off his shoulders, grabs his bag by his desk, and tries to put him inside. It goes about as well as expected. Yet he can’t help but snort and try to restrain a smile at Morisuke’s sour expression. The bakeneko leaves with a _pop_ and Tadashi is left alone to his thoughts.

It’s the longest trip home _ever_.

He’s glad he doesn’t work today (although Suga had wanted him to practice some of his wards). He thankfully doesn’t have much homework either. By the time he’s unlocking his front door, he’s a nervous mess, trying to figure out why luck is suddenly _bad_ when it’s the thing that’s undoubtedly saved his life multiple times already.

Kei glances up to give him a cool, expectant look; he’s seated on the couch with a happy, loudly purring cat on his lap. He looks mildly miffed about the arrangement. “Welcome home,” he says, the question of why Morisuke is there lurking beneath his words.

“I was trying to persuade him to have a meal with me tonight,” Morisuke also says. That explains Kei’s cat-unfriendly disposition. “His stomach has done nothing but growl since I got here.”

“I’m fine,” he thinly replies.

“You, uh, wanted to talk to us? About stuff?” Tadashi prompts, changing the subject. He can see how grateful Kei is for it.

With a sigh, Morisuke rolls off of Kei’s lap and stretches. His long tail goes up to tap against Kei’s collar. “I’m not sure either of you know how luck works. And, given a lot of recent events, I figure it best to educate you.”

“Educate us on what?” Kei asks. Tadashi sits down next to him, knees drawn up to his chest and toes wiggling in front of him.

“Luck,” the cat repeats, enigmatic, and he jumps up onto the coffee table in front of them. He curls his too-long tail around his paws, almost all the way around his body, and fixes them both with sharp eyes. “Luck is not inherently good or bad. And some things that aren’t really good can be considered fortunate. I don’t think Tadashi should be exposed to so much luck anymore.”

“What do you mean luck is… _bad_?” Tadashi asks with a pair of blinks. Luck has been paying his bills. Luck has been saving his homework assignments when he’d been too exhausted to finish them in time. Luck has been keeping his head above water for months now.

Morisuke sighs again, ears laid flat against his skull, and finally turns away from them both. “That dragon you two stumbled onto—dragons are valuable, and you needed something for Kenma, right?” They both flinch, unaware that Morisuke had known the details about that little adventure.

It sets Tadashi’s mind to wandering, however—he probably had a point. The dragon ultimately turned out to be a good thing for them… and it had nearly killed them, too.

“And there is the matter of when you both got taken by that matagot,” Morisuke continues seriously.

“How was _that_ —oh my god.” Kei cuts himself off with his abrupt realization, but Tadashi still doesn’t get it. They’d both nearly died. Suga _had_ died.

“It was an act of luck, no matter the harm to you two. Kei almost got sacrificed by that witch, yes, but it led him to taking back the tengu First egg and disrupting the man’s plans entirely.”

“Okay, but that still… I mean, I guess it was lucky I didn’t die…” Tadashi trails off when he sees Kei frown out of the corner of his eye.

And it suddenly clicks.

 _Shit_. It was _lucky_ that he almost died. He had an incredibly near-death experience because the matagot happened to find them and almost squish them in another dimension. He, the one who had been searching for a method to see spirits, had a near-death experience that granted him the ability to see them without the potion.

 _Luck_ had almost _killed_ them.

Multiple times.

Tadashi claps a hand over his mouth as he examines everything in the past half a year with a new eye; he has already been through this once before, but then it had only been the good things. Now, it’s _everything_ , and he wonders about all of the horrible things that may be indirectly his fault.

“You aren’t to blame for any of this,” Morisuke says firmly and punctuates it with a _whap_ against the table with his tail. “This is just how luck spirits are. You’ll get used to it. But I think it’d be safest for you two to lay off the luck for a little while. Kei, you don’t need to generate your own at all hours of the day—look at me. I’m not shedding the stuff all the time, am I?”

Kei squints at him, but Tadashi can tell that he’s not mad. He’s uncomfortable. It takes a long beat of silence, but finally Kei flatly replies, “I don’t know how to really stop at this point.”

It makes sense, but Tadashi still groans. Kei had spent all that time trying to make his own instead of stealing it, and now he has to _stop_. Add in the issues with demon-ness and ghost-ness, and Tadashi isn’t certain how Kei can stand to be on that existential see-saw. He’s sure he would’ve screamed and given up long ago.

“You learned, so you can learn again,” Morisuke says, surprisingly mercilessly.

“Do you have any advice?” Tadashi asks, eyeing Kei as he chews on his nails. He feels anxious on his behalf at this point. He half-wishes he could read minds, because Kei’s face is a mask. “We have… I mean, there’s a lot going on right now, and trying to fumble through another new thing blindly is a little… much.”

“You could go back to manipulating others’ luck, I suppose that should slow your own… But you wanted to do this, Kei. See it through.”

“That’s a lot easier to say than it is to do,” Kei replies perfectly neutrally.

It’s difficult to read a cat’s facial expressions (though Morisuke himself isn’t), but his furry features soften. “I know it is. But plowing on ahead is your best bet at stabilizing into something, isn’t it? I can’t tell you how to do this any more than you could tell me how to balance without a tail. You just have to _do_ it.”

Even after Morisuke leaves, after one more offer of hunting for them both, Kei remains closed-off. He hardly speaks outside of denying his hunger and soon strips to change into Tadashi’s too-small pajamas; Tadashi is left with little choice but to head to bed early as well. He’s not leaving Kei alone to sulk right now. He doesn’t have much advice for him, either, but the least he could do is be there for him. Right?

Tadashi slips into bed next to him. Kei remains stubbornly on top of the blankets, although to Tadashi’s surprise, he doesn’t turn away from him. He faces him, gaze downcast, fingers twitching against each other near his belly. It looks surprisingly contemplative, and yet Tadashi is _still_ surprised when Kei forces out a near-silent, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Tadashi whispers back. He snuggles deeper beneath the covers, as best he can with a giant lump next to him. He’s like an oversized cat.

“What do you think, Yamaguchi,” he says flatly, a little snappishly, but takes a quick peek up at him as if to gauge the damage done. Tadashi just blinks down at him.

He reaches over and pulls Kei’s glasses off. “You shouldn’t be in bed with those.”

“I could make new ones. …Probably.”

“As if you need more strain right now.”

“…I’m still sorry,” Kei repeats, and Tadashi realizes that this is a Thing That Needs To Be Explicitly Addressed.

He folds Kei’s glasses and sets it on the stand next to the bed. He isn’t sure what direction he wants to take this conversation until he’s actually speaking. “I’m not.” The words surprise him almost as much as they do Kei. “I mean, I’m still alive, and I know that’s because of the luck, too. I just don’t want to get back into that cycle of guilt and regret, Tsukki. It’s not your fault. You were trying to protect me.”

“Us both,” he dryly corrects.

Tadashi smiles and takes his hands so he stops fiddling with his fingers. Kei is almost warm. “No one can fault you for it. Not me, not Yaku, not anyone else. We’ll figure out how to deal with this _together_ , alright?”

Kei opens his mouth to reply, and Tadashi cuts him off with a squeeze to his hand.

“Together,” he repeats, brooking no arguments. “All of it. The purification shit, and feeding you, and all of the magic, and the luck, and—and whatever else we have to.”

“I know something else we have to figure out,” Kei says softly. His eyes are downcast once more, on their hands, but Tadashi can see his irises faintly gleaming gold in the dim room.

“We can add it to the list.” The ever-growing list that Tadashi isn’t sure they can actually finish. But someone has to be the optimist, right?

“I really want to figure out why you’re sticking with a ghost with an identity crisis and too much of a good thing. _Stubbornly_ sticking with him, I may add.”

“… _I’m_ the stubborn one?” Tadashi scoffs. He wiggles closer, gives his hands a squeeze again, and nudges Kei’s face up until he can press his lips against his. Kei freezes, just for a split-second, and Tadashi powers through the knee-jerk insecurity before it can take root. But then Kei makes a little sound against him, maybe even a tiny laugh, and he lets go of Tadashi’s hands in order to wrap them around him.

It’s nearly impossible with the blanket separating them, and Tadashi ends up as a burrito in Kei’s arms, pulled onto Kei’s chest, but their lips rarely part throughout all of the squirming. Tadashi frees one hand from his new burrito hell so he can cup Kei’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheek as they pause, maybe panting harder than they should.

Kei’s breath tickling against his face is something Tadashi takes a special joy in.

There’s also the way Kei is positively glowing, looking up at him like Tadashi is something irreplaceable and infinitely valuable. It makes Tadashi’s heart skip a beat in a way he’s entirely unused to—and wants to repeat forever.

But it’s also a bad thing. Tadashi snickers and leans down to press a peck against the corner of Kei’s mouth. “I like you, but you should probably stop that.”

“Stop what?” Kei freezes again, halfway up to trying to steal another kiss.

“You look like a nightlight. I can _see_ the luck you’re shedding all over my bed.”

The gold around him shuts off like a light, but even in the new darkness of the room, Tadashi can see Kei’s face is now scarlet.

 

\--

 

“Leaving early is so _unlike_ you, Sawamura,” Issei says with disapproving frown that Daichi sees through in a flash.

“Your bad habits must be rubbing off on me,” he grunts in response.

“What sort of example are you leading for our employees…”

“You’re not even on the _clock_ and you’re harassing the workers here. What sort of example is that?”

“He has a point,” Issei’s boyfriend says around the straw in his mouth. (Daichi isn’t sure why Managers’ Boyfriends With Smoothies is such a frequent occurrence in the bookstore.) Daichi can’t remember his name, but he’s seen the man often enough to recognize him, even in the ridiculous cat-eared hat and pink raincoat. “You do seem to do a lot of harassment here.”

“At least I don’t hire—” Issei starts with an uncharacteristic bite, but then just as quickly cuts himself off. Daichi turns to him, eyebrow raised.

“Hire…?”

The Boyfriend takes a slurp of his drink and pointedly looks away.

“Do you have a problem with Shirofuku?” Daichi asks. He knows Issei is not a petty man, and he wouldn’t raise this concern with Daichi without cause. Even if only one of them is working and he’s _trying_ to be on his way out.

“Yeah, do you,” the Boyfriend echoes with a huff of a laugh.

“Something that can’t wait for the next manager’s meeting?”

“If you don’t say it, I will,” the Boyfriend adds and jabs his elbow into Issei’s side. This doesn’t seem to endear the man to the perplexing situation; it loses Daichi further. He doesn’t think too highly of workplace gossip, and he’s not sure he particularly likes the idea of Issei going to others when issues should have been brought up with Daichi first.

They’re interrupted by Manager Boyfriend With Smoothie #2 making his entrance with a loud slurp and a louder _smack_ to Daichi’s ass.

Daichi knows his face is _scarlet_ and he can’t raise his eyes to meet his coworker’s. Neither Issei nor his puzzling boyfriend have burst outright into laughter. Small miracles. “Hi, Suga,” Daichi mumbles and Suga wraps his arms around his neck.

“Hey there, Mr. Stud Muffin. Are you ready yet?” Suga croons against his cheek, in between little kisses, and Daichi wonders if he’s come here straight from Tooru’s. He normally only gets this obnoxious when he feels like competing. The cast on his arm, beneath his sleeve, is an insistent weight against his throat and as much as it pains him, Daichi pulls Suga’s arms off of him.

Suga frowns, just for a moment, and takes a step back to preserve Daichi’s personal space.

Daichi rolls his eyes, sighs, and grabs Suga’s castless arm. He wraps it around his waist and lets Suga dig his cold fingers in underneath his shirt. “I wasn’t expecting everyone to want to see me right now, so give me a few more minutes. Matsukawa, did you—?”

“No, no, ask him,” Issei says quickly and nods at Suga.

This confuses Daichi more. Same with Manager Boyfriend With Smoothie #1 as well, and he looks between Issei and Suga a few times, not quite putting it together. At least Daichi isn’t totally alone here.

“Introduce him to Yukie sometime,” Issei adds. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, and turns to leave.

“Bye, Mattsun, Makki!” Suga calls cheerfully.

The Makki boyfriend does another quick look between Issei and Suga, but gives Suga a little wave over his shoulder as they depart.

“You know them?” Daichi asks. Well, that’s not at all surprising considering how often Suga hangs around the bookstore, but he hadn’t realized they were on some sort of nickname basis. He wonders if he should be jealous. Issei had made more than one teasing remark about how pretty Suga was back when Daichi was still a flustered-slash-worried mess around the man. (Well, _more_ of a flustered-slash-worried mess, anyway.)

“They’re Oikawa’s friends, too,” Suga replies. He gives Daichi’s hip a squeeze and leans his weight against his shoulder once more. “Who’s Yukie?”

“Our new hire. Apparently there’s office drama already and I don’t really want to be dragged into it.”

“Hm.” The sound is inappropriately thoughtful, but Suga doesn’t give Daichi time to ask about it. “Well, let’s get going!”

“I still have to grab my things—why are you so excited?”

“When _aren’t_ I excited to see you?” Suga asks and Daichi feels his face heat up all over again. “That’s a really good color on you, by the way.”

“Are you just riling me up so you can embarrass me further in front of your friends?” Daichi asks, feigning grumpiness, and pulls off his lanyard. Suga reluctantly releases his grasp. “Stay here, don’t break anything, and I’ll be right back. We can get going if you can manage to wait another two seconds.”

“Excuse me if I’m looking forward to a home-cooked meal,” Suga calls after him.

Daichi changes in the bathroom, hangs his lanyard on his peg on the wall, and double-checks that he has his keys and phone in his coat. Akira, sitting in the back room, hardly bats an eye at his entrance. “Are you going to finish your shift?” Daichi asks, knowing it’s an uphill battle he doesn’t really have the time for right now.

“Are you going to keep your boyfriend waiting?” Akira asks back and continues scrolling on his phone.

“Kunimi—”

“The store is empty and you’ve done all of the closing stuff early. I’ll be fine for half an hour.”

“…Just be careful locking up,” Daichi tells him, because he knows Akira is a good worker (when he can be assed to try) and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the store. “Have a good weekend, see you.”

“Bye,” Akira says without looking up.

Suga has (somehow) almost finished his smoothie by the time Daichi reappears, but any thought of addressing whether or not he can get brain freezes is thrown out the window when Daichi sees how Suga lights up with a grin at him. _For_ him.

 _It has to be something in the air_ , Daichi thinks, ducking his head to try to hide his face in his coat’s collar. _I haven’t seen him so happy in awhile._ He knows Suga has been looking forward to tonight and dragging Daichi further into Magical Bullshit Hell, but he can’t help but think there’s something else to it.

Suga walks on his right side so he can lace their fingers together as they walk. Their breath fogs out in the cold night, and the sky overhead threatens snow, although it hasn’t actually done anything yet. It’s finally feeling like winter, properly, and he prays that there’s not any more inappropriate heat waves this late in the year.

“Gum?” Suga offers. Daichi is about to say yes, until he sees that Suga is just offering his chewed piece between his teeth, and he grimaces and shakes his head. “I want a kiss anyway,” he declares and tugs Daichi over to seal their lips together. They stumble to an awkward stop when Suga refuses to let it be a quick peck; Daichi can taste the mint of his gum overtop everything else.

Well, that explained why he was chewing gum before the meal he was so excited about. “What have you been drinking?” Daichi asks as they finally pull apart.

“Tooru and I did shots of something, um… _Mamajuana_? It was fruity and that’s about as much as I cared.”

“And why were you pre-gaming before a Christmas party?”

“Yule,” Suga corrects reflexively. He pokes Daichi’s nose, causing him to frown, then tugs at him to get them walking again (as if it was _Daichi’s_ fault they stopped in the first place). “We decided that we’re going to need it for tonight. Don’t worry, we only got one each before Iwaizumi smacked us. Man can sure pack a punch, that’s for sure…”

Daichi makes a mental note to thank him, and also wonders if Suga is aware of how hard _he_ can hit. “Suga, are you okay? Is this going to be something like a terrible family dinner?”

“No, no no no! Kiyoko’s great with this sort of thing! It’s just… Asahi stuff,” Suga hedges and Daichi knows enough to leave it at that.

Suga rubs against him like a spoiled cat during the entire train ride, causing more than a couple odd looks, but he’s still happy, and, well, it’s not like he’s drunk. Daichi has seen the man drunk and this is far from it. Tipsy Suga is still something, though, and all of the fluffy feelings he’d had about this shindig tonight begin to melt away.

But they arrive at The Crow’s Cup anyway, and Daichi wonders if he shouldn’t have brought something, or dressed nicer, or somehow prevented Suga from showing up with alcohol already in his system. Daichi has no illusions about tonight; he’s probably going to see the triumphant return of Drunk Suga. But something about Kiyoko makes Daichi want to avoid disappointing the woman at all costs.

Kiyoko greets them at the door, dressed in a lovely sweater and a knee-length skirt, and the warm smile she gives Suga reassures Daichi. “Thank you both for coming—you both look very handsome tonight. You especially, Suga, I’m not used to seeing you out of hoodies and old jeans.” There’s a teasing tone in her voice, but despite that and despite Suga having most of her attention, Daichi can’t help but preen at the compliment.

She takes their coats and Hitoka pops up, in a navy polka-dotted dress with a star clip in her hair, with a tray full of multicolored plastic shot glasses. Daichi raises an eyebrow. “They’re for Asahi!” Hitoka chirps.

“Please, take one,” Kiyoko says kindly, but in a way that lets Daichi know that this isn’t something he can politely decline.

He’s seen the way Suga moans and groans over drinking potions, but when he takes a green cup and sniffs it, he finds that the dark liquid just smells mildly sweet. He glances over at Suga out of the corner of his eye, just to make sure he’s not being set up for something, but Suga has already slid around Hitoka with a cry of, “Sunny!”

Rather than risk losing his date, Daichi throws it back like a shot and hardly tastes the strangely smoky aftertaste. He, too, slides around Hitoka and her tray and finds Suga in the main room, trying to unhook his cat’s claws from his sweater. Daichi is surprised; he hadn’t been aware that there was this much room in the shop, but with most of the tables moved away (and some of the shelves, Daichi suspects), even with a pair of couches hauled in, it’s not as squished as he’d feared. Everything is decorated with twinkling lights and candles, with tinsel hanging high enough not to be a temptation to certain pets, and music is playing from a laptop on the far desk.

Suddenly, Sunshine is smushed against his chest and Suga is kissing him, again. This isn’t a quick peck, either, but it’s closed-mouth and doesn’t leave Daichi _too_ breathless. “Um?” he asks with a blink.

“Second mistletoe victim!” Ryuunosuke crows, throwing an arm around both of them and his weight on them as well. Sunshine jumps out of Suga’s arms with a meow.

Okay, so the place is decorated with pretty generic holiday things and that includes several sprigs of the plant strategically hung up around the main room and hallways. Daichi isn't sure what kind of party this is supposed to be. 

“Who was the first?” Suga asks in amusement.

“Me and Yuu!” he replies proudly. Ryuu then leans down and gives both Daichi and Suga a smooch on the cheek; Daichi can already smell the wine on his breath. Maybe Suga had the right idea, after all. “Just you guys wait, I’m gonna catch Kiyoko yet.”

“You can’t just stand under the mistletoe all night,” comes another voice, one Daichi is not expecting, and he cranes his head around to find Ennoshita Chikara resting on one of the couches. One leg is crossed over the other and he’s nursing a glass of wine like he’s in some sort of classy vintage poster, and Daichi grins at the little wave Chikara gives him. “Nice to have you two here to distract him. Not that Kiyoko isn’t admirably good at it, but…”

“Okay, but why the hell are you here?”

“I got an invite.”

Suga only shrugs at Daichi’s look, and Daichi gets out from beneath Ryuu’s arm in order to claim the spot by Chikara. The Sane Spot. Sunshine jumps up next to them, meowing again, and carefully steps onto Chikara’s knee. He jumps down again soon after. It’s only after Daichi settles in that he spots Asahi near the door that Daichi presumes leads to the kitchen, and it’s very strange to see the ghost for the first time since the Dreamlands episode.

Daichi nods at him when Asahi catches his eye, and the man startles, glancing around before shyly waving back, clearly not used to the attention. Yuu laughs at it and nearly slops his drink onto his lap.

Daichi wonders how much he’s had already, too.

Suga has lapsed into cat vine time (with a surprisingly enthusiastic Kiyoko) by the time Tooru and Iwaizumi arrive. They shake snow out of their hair and Hitoka fetches the potion tray; Tooru takes one, but Iwaizumi does not. There’s a rosy flush to Tooru’s face, and Daichi wonders if it’s from the cold or not. “Be gentle with me tonight, dearest Kiyoko?” Tooru asks in a low, nearly flirty voice, and Kiyoko only blinks back at him.

“I’ll try to the best of my abilities. Just don’t get too extreme.”

“It’d be easier if you were sober,” Iwaizumi grouses. He glances upward, finds the mistletoe, and hightails it out of there just as Tooru glances up to see.

In a move so smooth it ought to be illegal, Tooru scoops Kiyoko up and dips her beneath the mistletoe. (Ryuunosuke and Yuu both let out outraged growls.) In a move just as smooth, Kiyoko catches Sunshine as he comes over to investigate the newcomers and presses him up against Tooru’s face as he leans in for a peck.

Suga has to set down his drink—Daichi didn’t actually see him get it—because he’s laughing so hard.

“That counts as too extreme, Oikawa,” Kiyoko says coolly and when she pulls Sunshine away, there’s blood dribbling out of his nose. She pulls a napkin from nowhere and presses it kindly to his face; he just as kindly does not drop her and they both straighten. “I’ll get you a washcloth, follow me.”

Iwaizumi sighs heavily and plops down on the couch, forcing Daichi to scoot toward Chikara. “How’s Sugawara?” he asks without preamble.

“A happy drunk, for now,” Daichi replies. “He and Oikawa are that worried about tonight?”

“Something’s got them both on edge. I think mine is the whole…” He trails off with a weird little gesture toward his head. Daichi nods.

“Did Sunshine scratch him?” Chikara asks with a tilt of his head. He glances down at the sulking cat with a little more wariness than before.

“Sunny’s a good cat, he probably just got that from one of their psychic fights. I don’t really understand them much myself.”

“Psychic fight?” Chikara repeats blankly.

“Oikawa—Tooru, and I’m Iwaizumi—is clairvoyant, and Kiyoko is precog, isn’t she?” Iwaizumi asks, and Daichi shrugs again.

“Ennoshita Chikara,” he replies. He still has a distant, confused tone and something about that starts ringing alarm bells in Daichi’s brain.

Suga and Ryuunosuke are on them so fast that Chikara accidentally spills some of his wine on Suga’s sweater. Suga is sprawled out horizontally over all three of them, and Ryuunosuke is perched on the arm of the couch and leaning heavily on Chikara’s head. “S-So, Chika, you never told me how your flight here was?” Ryuu says, too loud.

“I _did_ tell you, and I’m so sorry, Suga—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Suga says quickly and, without moving from his position off of them—Iwaizumi seems _very_ unsure about the Suga legs wiggling on him—he strips off his sweater and tosses it at Ryuu’s face. The wine hadn’t made it as far as the button-up underneath, and Daichi is momentarily distracted by how the shirt has ridden up, exposing a fair portion of Suga’s back.

The realization thus comes belatedly.

He knows for a fact that Suga can magic away stains without batting an eye, and has done so practically in public before. He also knows that blank, puzzled expression. It used to be what he’d felt around Suga all the time.

“Ohh,” Daichi mumbles, and Suga gives him a look over his shoulder, _yeah_.

“Let me get you another drink, _cara_ ,” Ryuu offers. Chikara, obviously equal parts confused and amused, lets him run off with his mostly-empty wine glass as Suga tries valiantly to show him more cat vines. [3]

Dinner starts with more booze than should probably be allowed, but no further magical outings. Kiyoko insists that the first-timers go first, which, in practice, means Tooru tries to sneak into the kitchen while Daichi shuffles in behind Iwaizumi and wonders just _what_ this food actually is. It looks appetizing and smells heavenly, but now he’s second-guessing everything (and envies how blissfully ignorant Chikara must be).

Seeing how smoothly and coldly Kiyoko shuts down Tooru is something of a marvel, however.

Suga must think it a delight as well, based on his laughter (as he, too, tries to sneak into the kitchen; Kiyoko actually smacks him with a serving spoon for it).

Somehow, Suga ends up seated on the couch next to Daichi with his food, leaning against Iwaizumi with a leg thrown over Daichi’s thigh. Of course _he’s_ comfortable here; he knows everyone and knows about magic and is approaching pleasantly plastered. Daichi isn’t feeling quite so on-edge by now, at least, and Suga’s presence is always welcome.

The food is good. Ryuunosuke and Yuu loudly (and repeatedly) declare this throughout the meal, with the rest of them offering slightly more dignified thanks, and it’s all delicious and wonderful so long as Daichi does _not_ think about what he may be putting into his mouth. He pictures Kiyoko cooking something like the sigbin they ran into, and he can’t help but shudder.

Tooru snickers into his hand.

They’re finishing off their first plate—well, Yuu is on his second and Asahi is looking a little awkward without any food—when the front door bangs open. Kiyoko and Tooru are the only ones who do not jump, and Kiyoko kindly fetches Yachi a new spoon to replace the one she’d dropped when Tanaka Saeko comes in. She’s covered in snow and slush and clomps in with her boots to wave at everyone before kneeling to unlace them. “Whew, sorry that took so long! I wasn’t expecting more than one tonight. Is there still food?”

“Nishinoya hasn’t inhaled everything yet, so there’s still plenty for you,” Kiyoko replies.

“More than one what?” Ryuu asks, mouth full, when his sister comes back into the main room, just to make a beeline for the kitchen.

“It was a couple of—uhh,” she eloquently cuts off, eyes on Chikara. He blinks up at her, and she blinks down at him, momentarily taken aback. Her sharp eyes slide over the rest of the company, taking stock, and when she circles back around to Chikara, she breaks out into a wide grin. “You must be Ryuu’s _friend_!”

“His what,” Chikara says flatly as Ryuunosuke gives a squawk of alarm. It’s a brilliant distraction, actually, more so because it seems to genuinely work rather than push off suspicion until later. Saeko perches delicately on the arm of Chikara’s chair, and she leans forward like she’s wearing a v-neck instead of a turtleneck. Chikara sends a panicked look first to Ryuunosuke, then to Yuu, but the former is no help and the latter is biting his lip to keep in laughter.

Saeko doesn’t get out much more than, “What are your intentions toward my precious baby brother?” before Ryuu hauls her off to the kitchen.

“ _Intentions_?” Chikara mouths at Daichi.

Daichi shrugs and Suga snickers against his shoulder.

“She’s still such a gift, I see,” Tooru remarks, raising his voice to be heard over the clearly audible bickering from the kitchen’s direction.

“That’s one word for it,” Suga replies. “Are we expecting anyone else tonight?”

“No, certain parties refused my invitation and a few others couldn’t make it,” Kiyoko says and sips at her drink. She actually holds her pinky out; somehow, Daichi is not surprised.

“Time to start the drinking games then!” Yuu declares.

Saeko re-inserts herself into the conversation, leaning out of the kitchen doorway, with a, “Hell yeah it is!”

Kiyoko’s sigh can be heard even over the cheering from the drunk squad. Daichi feels like joining her, or perhaps joining them and hopefully make this evening less awkward for himself. Or maybe he should be focusing on getting Chikara drunk enough that he won’t remember the inevitable magical revelation that Daichi knows _someone_ is going to let slip.

“Never Have I Ever! We’ve played that before at these things, right?” Tooru asks, a tad too eagerly, and Suga nods with eagerness to spare. He gets up, leaving his food and drink, and repositions himself on Tooru’s lap with a beam.

“We’re on one team!” Suga sings.

“I don’t think there’s _teams_ ,” Asahi points out.

“W-We _could_ have teams,” Hitoka says, glancing up at Kiyoko beside her, “it would just make it a little trickier to win…”

“What even are the rules?” Iwaizumi asks with growing concern.

“You’ve never played?” Chikara asks, brows raised in surprise. Iwaizumi shakes his head. “I feel like you should get a free round just for that.”

“I think we’re all pretty well ahead of him,” Daichi points out and finishes his own drink. He already feels like he’s going to need this.

“Oh, do you not drink?”

“No, I… It’ll just take a little while for it to hit me, I’m sure,” Iwaizumi says awkwardly. He looks back at Tooru, seeming a little lost, then with a firm frown, he scoots over until he’s well into Daichi’s space. “We’re teammates now.”

“This _isn’t_ a team game!”

“Plus Suga’s cheating! He’s got a mind-reader!” Yuu exclaims.

“Yeah, but between the two of them, what are they going to come up with to catch any of us?” Saeko asks as she finally rejoins them with food. Yuu and Asahi both laugh at the scandalized expressions on their faces. Even Daichi can’t help but to snort at Suga’s.

But Suga’s plaintive insistence is enough to sway Kiyoko, and the worst game of Never Have I Ever ensues. To no one’s surprise, Suga and Tooru are out very quickly, and to even less surprise, Iwaizumi turns out to be pretty bad at it. In contrast, Chikara is _ruthlessly_ good at it, even though he ends up stuck on a three-person team with Yuu and Asahi. (Kiyoko and Hitoka end up winning, since without Suga or Tooru in the game, everyone else takes stabs in the dark with them.)

Daichi has lost track of his drinks and at some point Suga had replaced his second beer with something fruity and mildly spicy. He’s _very_ glad that his boyfriend had also returned to the couch, although some rapidly shrinking sober-ish part of him tells him that he probably shouldn’t be letting Suga straddle him like this. They’re not even kissing—Daichi wishes they were—but he wants to stay wrapped up around each other like this forever.

He hears Saeko say something, and Daichi processes that it’s about them, but he doesn’t particularly care right then.

A moment later, he _does_ care as the busty blonde presses in close to them and wiggles an arm between them to haul Suga back by the chest. “Hey, spare some consideration for everyone who _doesn’t_ have someone to suck face with tonight, will ya?” she outright growls.

Suga turns to face her, pulling away from her arm, and ends up tipping backward. Saeko catches him with her other arm and steadies him with a flat look.

“Okay, I’m cutting you off,” she adds.

“Sunny wouldn’t cut me off,” he shoots back.

“Good thing I’m smarter than your cat then, huh?”

“I’ll take him.” The three of them look up to find Asahi smiling uncertainly down at them. He puts a hand down on Suga’s shoulder to steady him as he awkwardly clambers off of Daichi’s lap, and Daichi doesn’t particularly like the suddenly somber look on his face. It’s also very strange to watch Suga interact with someone who should not be tangible. “Koushi, Kiyoko said she wanted to speak with us…” Asahi murmurs and Suga’s frown deepens.

“…Tomorrow is going to be a bitch and a half,” Saeko says as Suga totters off. Daichi cocks his head, and she elaborates, “Last I heard, Asahi is planning on passing on tomorrow. So that’s why Suga an’ Noya are wasted. It’s why _I’m_ getting wasted.”

“Oh.”

“Suga didn’t mention that part?”

“He just said it was soon,” Daichi mumbles. He’s not exactly hurt that Suga didn’t share this information, but he’s unexpectedly shaken by the sudden announcement. He’s only met Asahi once before, but going through the Dreamlands with someone isn’t something you tend to forget. He makes a note to try to talk to him before the night is up—and keep a better eye on Suga.

 

\--

 

Asahi had thought that getting cornered by Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi would be the biggest surprise of the evening.

He and Yuu have done several jobs for Tooru in the past, almost all of them successful and well-paid, although he wouldn’t say they were the best of friends with the man. (Truthfully, he still thinks Yuu harbors the tiniest of grudges against Tooru on Suga’s behalf from their not-breakup.) And, despite how their last job with him had went, somehow Asahi hadn’t drawn the same connection they had.

“Thank you so much,” Iwaizumi repeats, bent over in a bow _far_ too low, posture stiff.

“We can’t really repay you,” Tooru adds, gentler, sadder. They’d already had an echo of this conversation, after the initial event, when Tooru was insisting on giving them too much money and he kept asking weird questions about their past. “But… I know this is all sort of our fault.”

“No, the contract was ending, anyway,” Asahi says with a firmness he certainly doesn’t feel. His heart sort of feels wobbly and fragile—well, more fragile than usual, anyway. Some part of him almost hopes they’re repeating this because Tooru has forgotten.

“You helped save both our lives,” Iwaizumi maintains.

“C-Could you please raise your head again?”

Iwaizumi straightens, but he still doesn’t meet Asahi’s eye. “The cost could have been so much higher, and I just wish… I wish it hadn’t played out like it did. This shouldn’t have happened.”

“It was going to happen anyway,” he repeats faintly. He isn’t sure what else to say. He’s touched by their sincerity and gratitude, but it’s embarrassing, and heartbreaking, and if Tooru starts crying again _he’s_ going to cry.

Yuu saves him and they’re distracted by apologizing to and thanking him. Again. He puffs up his chest and runs through the same dismissals Asahi has been practicing all night, but Asahi knows him well enough to see the raw hurt in his eyes. This is going to be a sore spot for awhile, for everyone.

 _But it’s better than being used to start the apocalypse_ , he reminds himself and slinks away, escaping through a wall, into the back room. There’s no one in here but there are a couple of forgotten cups of spiced wine on a wire rack next to several bundles of various dried herbs. He almost wishes he could clean up after everyone. Kiyoko has run herself ragged trying to prepare this and then babysit everyone, and he doesn’t want to think about what sort of state Yuu or Suga are going to be in tomorrow morning.

She’d pulled them aside earlier and cast a couple of mute charms on the kitchen while they spoke about the logistics of it. It was like planning a funeral. (They’d unanimously agreed on a _no_ to that. They’d already had one for him.) The talk itself was actually easier than he’d anticipated. When, where, do you realize that Suga and Yuu are still going to be drunk, etc. It was detached. Clinical. And more emotions is _not_ what Asahi wants right now.

Throughout the night thus far, aside from that one conversation, Yuu and Suga have given him a surprising amount of space. Granted, they’re slowly migrating toward him as the night wears on and their blood alcohol levels rise, but Yuu has been acting admirably—perhaps suspiciously—normal. With everyone being able to see and speak with Asahi, he’s content to let him handle things as he wants, and he only made two cracks about that tattoo design. There’s not much in the man’s behavior to point toward anything particular happening the next morning.

“Asahi, a moment?” He looks up at Kiyoko’s soft voice. She has Sunshine in her arms and a mistletoe-topped headband bobbing comically on her head. Saeko had placed it there earlier and no one had managed to snag a kiss from her yet.

“Sure.” He can hear an escalating game of rummy in the main room, and he thinks he could pick out Yuu’s specific shout, so he hopes that means Tooru and Iwaizumi didn’t hold him up too long.

Curiously, Kiyoko leads him out of the shop and upstairs. There are old wards etched into the hallway here, and the party downstairs is muffled by the magic. Even more curiously, Kiyoko pauses outside of her bedroom and casts further charms. Asahi pinpoints another _mute_ spell, but he can’t identify the other, stronger magic. A chill goes down his spine.

She leads him inside and sets Sunny down on her bed. She locks the door behind them, physical and magical locks, and places a _very_ strong magical barrier on it. Asahi swallows, growing more nervous by the second; she hasn’t warded the entire room, so he could leave, but she hasn’t said anything about what she’d wanted him for yet. He’s not sure what other logistics need to be figured out—it’s not as if he has an existing will or anything to leave to anyone.

“I’m sorry, it will still be a moment,” Kiyoko says quietly, checking her phone for the time.

“Um, can I ask what this is about?”

“There’s someone… something you ought to know.”

 _Someone?_ Asahi thinks, more confused than ever. Hitoka and Suga are both downstairs. It’s not like he has many other friends after he died, and Kiyoko holds precious few people dear to herself as well. It seems very late for her to reveal some last chance for him to come back from this, and he also thinks it would be rather cruel of her to try. He’s made peace with this.

There’s a flash of bright light accompanied by a crackle of raw magic, and Asahi discovers that the biggest surprise of the evening, by far, is the reappearance of Michimiya Yui in his life.

She’s a little taller, a little thinner than before. She doesn’t look particularly clean or well-fed or put-together, but she breaks into a radiant smile when she sees him. Tears prickling at his eyes, Asahi starts forward and she holds her arms out.

He latches onto her at the same time he processes the _wings_ half-folded behind her.

But they can _touch_ and she’s warm and somehow here and she’s already crying into his shirt. Asahi knows she’s a crier, but she usually slunk off somewhere private; weeping together now like babies seems intimate. He doesn’t even want to question this. The contact alone makes any amount of confusion worth it all.

With his eyes squeezed shut, it takes him a little while to notice the steady increase in light, but when he cracks open a bleary eye, he finds that her wings are glowing softly and curling around them both like an even grander hug. Yui seems to notice when he pulls away a bit, and with a sniffle and a laugh, the glow abruptly dies. “S-Sorry, that’s, uh, that's new,” she says, with her usual cheeky grin.

“I can’t believe this—? You _are_ Yui, right?” He doesn’t think Kiyoko would do this for any other reason, but this all seems so impossible.

“The one and only!” She steps back to arm’s length from him and folds her wings again, as best she can. Yui glances over to Kiyoko and gives her a small, shier smile, too, and then her expression drops back into delight all over again when she notices the cat. “ _Sunny_!”

Soon enough, Asahi and Yui are seated on the bed, a very happy cat seated in Yui’s lap. Kiyoko is on the chair, content to let them have their space, although Asahi keeps catching her wiping at her eyes.

Yui awkwardly explains what has happened—she seems to have some gaps in her memory, and Kiyoko quietly fills them in during the talk. They confirm that it was Yui who Kiyoko stole the angel’s grace from, which is why she’s now winged and seated in front of them. “I don’t really remember being an angel anywhere, and I guess I really never was a ghost. Truth be told, I’m still getting used to the whole… _archangel_ thing. It’s super weird. But I’m catching up on my reading, and Kiyoko stops by from time to time. I’m pretty happy that I’ll be able to help stop this whole end of days thing—serious, I die and leave for a couple years, and the whole world goes to hell!”

He wants to joke about how she shouldn’t have died, then, but he remembers the reason _why_ she died and the words stick in his throat. “I guess… Things just weren’t the same without you.”

She seems to catch onto his mood and ruffles her hand through the back of her short hair. It’s a familiar, nervous gesture to see from her. “I guess not. I want to apologize for that, by the way. Kiyoko told me what happened to Koushi, and we figured out what happened to me, and it was just… kind of shitty that it turned out that way.”

“You two didn’t need to do that for me.”

Yui doesn’t answer him. She looks down at Sunshine instead; the cat seems overjoyed to be reunited with her and doesn’t seem to be bothered by the wings or the heavy stench of magic.

“Koushi doesn’t know, does he?” Asahi asks, directing the question at Kiyoko. She shakes her head; he’d been afraid of that. “Kiyoko—”

“What do you think this would do to him?” she asks in return.

“He deserves to know,” Asahi replies, voice hard, “everyone deserves to!”

“Deserves to know that I’m the thing fucking up the weather and eating all of the monsters you guys track down?” Yui jokes. It’s not very funny.

“Deserves to know that you’re _back_ , what you are and what you’re doing and—and you know him. He’d figure out some way for you to—to I don’t know. He’d figure something out.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. The last time he tried to figure something out—”

“I _know_ that!” Asahi exclaims, too-loud.

He unclenches his fists only when Yui reaches over to place her hand over his. She’s still so warm, warmer than human temperature. “…We already went over your contract with Noya. I’m sorry, but we couldn’t replicate that for you. It was only meant to be temporary,” she tells him softly.

“I’m fine with tomorrow.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Asahi replies, tired of the question. Tired in general. Yui pats his hand, then returns to petting Sunshine.

“I didn’t mean to bring you two together to give you any sort of false hope, or dredge up any bad memories,” Kiyoko says. Her face is white and she wrings the bottom hem of her sweater. “I am so sorry, Asahi. I only wanted you to know the truth and for this to be some source of comfort.”

“It’s fine,” he says again. Yui picks up Sunshine, transfers him to her lap, and scoots over so that she can rest her head against Asahi’s shoulder. She wraps a wing around him and the magic in the point of contact makes his skin prickle.

“We have a plan, you know,” Yui tells him matter-of-factly. Kiyoko nods. “To stop the apocalypse. We wanted you to know that no matter what, we’ll stop this.”

It’s the first he’s heard of any sort of concrete plan, and the thought does make him relax a bit. Suga may still be running around like a chicken with his head cut off and Tooru may be a bloodhound looking for a lead, but at least _someone_ may know what they’re doing.

“But we can’t tell anyone,” Yui adds. Asahi raises his head and gives her a flat look. “The whole archangel thing is a problem, and Kiyoko needs to lay low in hopes of catching Ushijima unsuspecting before he gets that far. I’m just the last resort, and he can’t know that we’re both against him.”

“In all of the visions I have gotten about this apocalypse, the worst of them all have one thing in common: Ushijima successfully summons that god into our realm. So what’s what we’re aiming on stopping—or preventing,” Kiyoko says.

He _is_ glad to hear that they have a plan if things get that bad. He doesn’t want it to get that far, and he wants to believe that it _won’t_ , but he’s happy to hear it all the same. He just can’t help but think of Yuu and Suga downstairs, unknowing of the woman next to him right now. He can’t ask Kiyoko to tell them, not if she has already made the decision not to; neither of them are cruel people.

Asahi wishes none of this had to happen.

 

\--

 

“Where's Noya?” Suga asks with a wide yawn. He sways on his feet, shuffling from side to side as he rubs at his arms to stay warm, but there’s a decidedly intoxicated tilt to his posture. Kiyoko hasn’t said anything, but she’s given him a few reproachful looks already in the dawn light. “He’s not taking his sweet time to be petty, right…?”

Yuu may be childish at times, but he wouldn’t do anything like that. But he also wouldn’t be late in the first place. Asahi fidgets, nervous and looking particularly harried, and keeps shooting Kiyoko narrow-eyed looks that Suga can’t identify.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Finally—

The group collectively stops short and _gapes_ at Yuu making his way up the hill, in a white robe and _floating_ rather than walking. He grins at them and throws himself bodily at Asahi, who catches him purely on reflex.

“Nishinoya Yuu, what did you _do_ ,” Kiyoko asks faintly.

“I left the money for the stuff on your counter, as best as I could estimate it.”

“You could have died!” Suga bursts out. “Astral projection is not something you do on impulse—”

“ _Please_. I’ve been fuckin’ planning this for so long, I did my research, okay—”

They’re cut off from a fight by the sound of Asahi crying. Yuu’s feet still dangle off the ground, bare and pale in the weak morning light, but his face softens and he wraps his arms more firmly around Asahi’s shoulders.

Suga and Kiyoko wait for him to cry himself out, although Suga gets a little sniffly as he does, and he can’t blame it entirely on the cold. He’d suspected Yuu would do _something_ , but he hadn’t expected the man to perform an astral projection for this. It’s better than any darker alternatives.

Soon, Yuu and Asahi open one arm each, and Suga stumbles over to them with a hardly contained sob. Both of them are cold, but _solid_ , to him at least—right now, at least he still has them both, and they have him. The last time they’d all been like this, clinging to each other and sobbing, had been the first time Suga had come back.

And now, this will be the last.

With that in mind, Suga steps back and Yuu releases his vice grip on Asahi. He wobbles in the air, not used to ghosting, and Asahi almost smiles at it. Kiyoko steps up beside them; they face Asahi as he calls forth his Door. “I-It won’t be the end,” Asahi says, wavering but simultaneously firm. He doesn’t look at them and instead places a hand on the Door’s frame. “There’s next year’s _Danse_ , and… and a long, _long_ time from now, we’ll all see each other again.”

Death not being the end used to be a source of comfort. Yuu nods firmly, tears streaming down his face, and Kiyoko just inclines her head once, respectfully. Suga’s own smile feels wooden. They’ll pass on after death and see each other again… when they die.

 _If I die_ , Suga thinks.

“We love you, Asahi,” Kiyoko tells him. “Don’t forget that.”

“And we’ll save the world for you!” Yuu adds thickly. He plants his fists on his hips and tries his damnedest to maintain a fierce expression. “We’re going to make sure no one else dies in this—and we’ll all see you next Halloween!”

“No more stupid mistakes,” Suga promises, “and we’ll all behave. Well, Noya and I will. If you can, watch over us, but we’ll be fine.”

“We _will_ be fine,” Kiyoko repeats with a firmness Suga wished to fuck he possessed right now.

“Take care of each other, and be careful. A-And don’t be too sad over this, and make sure to g-give Ushijima hell, and…” Asahi breaks down again. He no sooner opens his arms than Yuu leaps at him and climbs him like a snotty koala again.

“I’m going to miss you,” Yuu says into his hair.

“I’m going to miss you too…”

Suga feels like he’s intruding on this part, and Kiyoko places a hand on Suga’s crossed arms. She pats the sleeve-covered cast, and after a moment, he unfolds his arms to wrap one around her waist to pull her against him. Yuu has dropped his voice into soft, wavering murmurs, and Suga does not try to eavesdrop.

After a few moments, Yuu lowers himself to the ground again and latches onto Suga’s cast arm, like he’s an anchor to keep him away from Asahi. Suga doesn’t particularly like the simile, considering he too wants to throw himself at the spirit, but what else can he do but stay strong for them both? At least for a little while longer. At least until he’s out of sight once more.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to think of something like that as well,” Kiyoko says, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeve. “I’ll give you the biggest hug the next time I see you.”

“A Kiyoko hug, I’m jealous,” Yuu remarks.

Kiyoko wordlessly opens up the arm not next to Suga, and he floats around to snuggle in next to her. He’s phasing partway through her side, but no one says anything about it.

“I’ll miss you,” Asahi says again and wipes at his eyes with the back of his wrist. “Everyone. I’m glad you were here to… see me off, though. Th-Thank you.”

“Of course,” Suga replies.

“Thank you for not letting me be alone,” Asahi says with the first genuine smile Suga has seen from him in some time. He echoes the promise from so many years ago, for the last time.

He turns to face the Door and stands there for a moment, silhouetted by its soft light. Then, it swings open at his touch, and he takes a hesitant step into it. Yuu makes a hiccuping sound; Suga presses his sleeve to his mouth to prevent any similar noises. Asahi squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath that he hasn’t needed for years.

Azumane Asahi steps through his Door and becomes engulfed in light. It swings shut behind him, after just a moment, and remains there for half a heartbeat before shattering and fading into motes of magic.

Suga isn’t certain who buckles first, but all he knows is that he’s sobbing, letting it out like he’s been holding in these tears for an eternity. Yuu is on him again, halfway through Kiyoko, clutching onto the only tangible thing to him right now. He’s sobbing right into his ear, but Suga can hardly hear him over his own shuddering breaths, and they sink to the cool grass.

He feels warmth beside him a moment later. Kiyoko kneels beside them, her own frame shaking, but they’re unable to hear her over their own cries.

It’s what Asahi wanted, but Suga still feels that sharp pang of loss, of _failure_. Yuu growls, “It—It’s not f-fucking fair—!” and Suga nods into his shoulder. “Why did it have to be him! Wh-Why the fuck did it have to be _him_?!”

No one has any answer for him, not now nor when he first asked, almost four years ago. It had never been fair.

 

\--

 

“How are they doing?” Yui asks.

“As well as can be expected,” Kiyoko replies with a shrug. She wipes at her eyes—exhaustion has stepped up its game, it seems, taking advantage of her grief—and goes back to her stirring.

“How are _you_ doing?” Yui asks, not for the first time.

“…As well as can be expected,” she repeats after an incriminating pause.

Yui’s heart aches, for her friends as well as for what she couldn’t help. She can’t speak with anyone else about this, can’t offer or seek comfort, and Kiyoko is as closed-off as ever. Yui had spent _years_ with closed-off Kiyoko, the prim and proper and businesslike Kiyoko, trying to worm her way under those layers, and had succeeded. But now she’s left, back at square one (or maybe two) with guilt and sorrow eating at her in equal measures.

She doesn’t know how to talk about Asahi—she’s not good with grief, and Yui has the sneaking suspicion that there’s something increasingly _off_ about her emotional reactions to things and that’s only terrifying her further—and she doesn’t know how to talk about anything else, either.

 _What are we going to do if Northot gets summoned? Can you really handle this plan? What are you seeing in your visions? When will you tell Koushi about me?_ As usual, her mind stutters to a stop whenever she thinks too hard about Suga.

Despite the circumstances, it had been a blessing to be able to speak with Asahi. Yui is lonely, distressingly lonely and _bored_ and still fucking hungry, and she fears she’s losing touch with humanity.

“…Have you spoken much to Koushi afterward?” Yui asks, choosing her words carefully, keeping her tone neutral.

Kiyoko gives her a sidelong look and does not respond.

“Look, I… I know Koushi—”

“I do too,” Kiyoko says curtly.

“I know, and I know you’ve—I know I’ve been gone for the past few years,” Yui amends, “but I _know_ Koushi. I know you want to give him space, Kiyoko, but you’ve left a grieving necromancer alone with all of our research and not much to lose. If I could—”

“He wouldn’t.” Kiyoko’s voice is hard and cold. Her hands have stopped stirring and she’s gripping the spoon so tightly that her knuckles are white. “I know him, too, Yui. He wouldn’t do that again. He knows his magic is…”

“He’s nothing if not resourceful, and I’m worried. Yuu doesn’t know much magic, but Koushi knows loopholes, and there’s just… We did a lot of research on Doors and death. Could you _please_ talk to him? For me?” Yui asks gently. She doesn’t touch Kiyoko, but can’t help but shy closer, wanting to. Her wings curl around them both until she catches herself.

But that’s good. She can prod Kiyoko into being there for them, and they can be there for her in a way Yui isn’t certain she can be. As long as they talk and avoid further disaster…

A disaster like eating a tengu.

Yui swallows and rubs at her stomach.

Kiyoko doesn’t notice.

 

\--

 

 

“So you’re saying you don’t trust me,” Suga says, arms folded tight across his chest. He doesn’t fucking need this right now. Or in general, but especially right now—he doesn’t understand how Kiyoko could even _ask_ that of him. Yes, she worries, and she worries about him specifically, but Asahi hasn’t been gone a week yet and he’s _already_ getting the necromancy talk? What about Yuu and his nearly-botched astral projection?

It’s insulting, and it’s _cruel_.

“It’s not that,” Kiyoko says, a hand on his cast, and Suga jerks his arm away from her. “I _do_ trust you, Koushi, but right now—”

“Right now you just want to ensure that I can’t make any repeat mistakes, right? Like I haven’t learned from them?”

Alright, maybe he’s being a little cruel, too. But Kiyoko started this, and he’s upset for multiple reasons, and maybe he _does_ need an outlet for all of this negativity. He hasn’t really spoken to Yuu much, nor has he let Daichi fret over him like he clearly wants. Suga _probably_ shouldn’t be alone. But it’s still his own choice.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Kiyoko replies evenly. Her eyes are hard but her body is still open, soft, ready to reach out again.

“Can we not have this argument right now?” Suga asks and slips past her to grab his coat. The temperature has had another upswing, and now everything is melting and warm and gross again, but it’s still cool enough after the sun has set that he would like to avoid shivering.

“This isn’t an argument,” Kiyoko tells him, “this is me voicing my concerns to you. Like an adult. And I’d appreciate not getting _into_ an argument over this. And where are you going?”

“I have a job.”

“You have a broken arm in a cast.”

“Tanaka and I are taking Tadashi out tonight. He needs the practice and this needs to be taken care of—”

“Take care of yourself, too, sometimes!” Kiyoko exclaims and catches him by the uninjured arm as he tries to slip past her once more. Her gaze is still shuttered, hard, almost cold, but there’s a glimmer of genuine hurt in those blue eyes that he only recognizes from years of experience. “I refused to let anyone magically heal you from that so you would take a _break_. Please, Koushi, give yourself a breather. You died, and then Asahi passed, and—and what else needs to happen?!”

“Monsters aren’t going to stop because I do,” Suga replies. He can’t meet her eyes anymore. “I need to make sure Tadashi can handle himself, and Tanaka can’t handle this one alone.”

“What job is it? The vampires? The missing weather spirits?”

“…The wendigo,” Suga answers like it hurts him. It probably only reinforces her point, come to think, but he can’t let Ryuunosuke handle a wendigo on his own, and like hell either of them are asking Yuu for help.

“You’re taking a teenager to hunt a wendigo,” Kiyoko says with a blink. “Sugawara Koushi, you are taking a _teenager_ to hunt a _wendigo_. You have a broken arm and shoulder and you haven’t been outside in days and you are going to end up killing yourself again! Is that what you want?”

Suga’s head snaps up and he _glares_ at her. He’s almost insulted by the insinuation, but he’s far past hurt at this point. “So now you don’t trust me to do my job, either? I _can_ keep them safe, and I _will_. Someone has to.”

“Koushi, I am just _worried_ about you!” Kiyoko rarely raises her voice, and even more rarely in cases where she’s not snapping at Ryuu or Yuu for their various shenanigans, and Suga can’t help but flinch at the near-shout. She seizes him by the front of his jacket, not with force, but with desperation. “Please! …Please. Just let me worry about you.”

Suga can’t even pry her hands off of him, not with his cast. He steps backward until his back hits the wall, and it’s enough distance between them for Kiyoko to drop her hands. “After Yui died, I trusted you enough to let you see our research,” he tells her quietly. “You’re a strong witch who had just lost her girlfriend. And I let you look at all of those notes and maybe-methods of trying to raise a Door. I knew you wanted the closure. I knew you wanted to know that we’d looked through all of our options and we didn’t make some dumb mistake.”

“I know, I know.”

Kiyoko pushes her glasses up onto her bangs and rubs at her suddenly wet eyes. Suga’s own eyes sting at the sight of it.

“I have to get going. Just trust me, okay? I’ll be fine,” he mumbles and slips past her, chased out of his own apartment. Not the first time it’s happened, not even the first time by Kiyoko, but he doesn’t really need this right now.

The evening is muggy and disgusting out, a match for the unending slush and mud the city has once again found itself in. It seems to match his equally foul mood. Suga isn’t sure what to think about Kiyoko trying to insinuate he’d be stupid enough to try _again_ to do something like before; he and Yui both _died_ from that. It didn’t work, and it caused the rift between himself, Yuu, and Asahi that they ultimately couldn’t fix. How the hell did she think he’d try that _again_?

Well. Perhaps he might. If he _could_ make a permanent, nonspecific Door, then… No. It wouldn’t work. Probably not.

 _Even if I had the magic_ , he thinks sullenly. He hops onto the departing train just before the doors slide shut, and his work phone buzzes in his pocket as he shuffles over to a corner of the car. He pulls it out to check, and is only a little surprised to see it’s from Kiyoko.

‘ _I’m sorry._ ’ is all it says. That’s fair, though. He doesn’t respond right now, not trusting himself to be a big enough person to let this be. Sometimes, she’s mature to a fault, and he isn’t sure he can ever compare.

Still, Suga works up an almost-smile when he meets Ryuu at the station. Not that the other man buys it for a second, but at least he claps Suga on the back and doesn’t try to prance around the issue. “How you doing, man?”

“I’m not still drunk,” Suga replies honestly. _I think, anyway_.

“Good. I guess. I think Yuu’s still trying to be drunk, but he’s been playing a lot of _Silent Hill_ and screaming at the monsters on it.”

Suga is infinitely thankful for Tanaka Ryuunosuke and his presence in both his and Yuu’s lives. And especially because Suga doesn’t have to try to tiptoe around Yuu himself right now. He’s not sure he’s capable of tiptoeing. “I can sympathize,” Suga replies. “We’ll probably be screaming a lot at this thing tonight, too.”

“Hell yeah we are! When’s the kid showing up?”

“He should be here soon. Where is the wendigo?”

“It was last spotted in that swamp just south of 57.” Ryuu leads him over to his sister’s pickup, and Suga forces another thin smile. Oh, tonight is going to be just a _joy_.

Tadashi shows up about ten minutes late, out of breath and underdressed for the weather. He catches his breath in front of them, hands on his knees, and gasps out, “Tsukki’s… not coming tonight…”

“Why not?” Suga asks; Ryuu just shrugs.

“I don’t think… he’s comfortable with going out on jobs anymore,” Tadashi says, vaguely, and Suga understands what he means. The poltergeist incident must have spooked him. Suga doesn’t blame him, but he hopes that he doesn’t let that be a permanent step back from the world of the supernatural. It’s best for him to get over any fear earlier rather than later.

“Well, we don’t need Casper tonight, since this thing’s corporeal,” Ryuu replies. He thumps the truck and jerks his thumb for them to both climb in. “I don’t think Yamaguchi needs a gun—”

“No, he doesn’t,” Suga says flatly. Tadashi looks pointedly out the window.

“—but I have a 9mm in case he wants one,” Ryuu firmly finishes. Tadashi still doesn’t reply. “Have you given him the talk on what to expect?”

“Just the basics.”

“Alright, so the fucker we’re dealing with tonight is a wendigo, right? Nasty things. They eat people, and they’re pretty aggressive about it, which is why these cases are usually pretty urgent,” Ryuu explains, eyes on the road and at least one hand on the steering wheel at all times despite his rather creative gesticulations. Suga, seated in between the two in the front seat, just taps his fingers nervously on his knee and tries not to think about the vehicle.

“They… _eat_ people?” Tadashi says in something close to a squeak.

“A lot of things eat people, but yeah, wendigos definitely do too,” Ryuu replies thoughtfully. “Anyway, they’re tangible, and can’t really do any magic or spooky shit. But they’re fast as shit, too, so watch out.”

The car ride isn’t long, perhaps twenty minutes outside of town, where the neighborhoods are far less frequent and there’s more and more emptiness. The trees are sparse here, unlike other areas, and it’s mostly flat; with all of the alternating snow and melting, the lowland is even wetter and swampier than usual. Suga can smell the rot and water even before they open any doors.

The few trees here are scraggly and still bare, twisted, skeletal silhouettes among the tan of the dead grasses and reeds. There are large patches where there are none of those, and Suga guesses that that’s just water, so hopefully they don’t have to go swimming tonight. Wendigos usually stick to more forested areas, too; Suga isn’t certain why one is so far out when there’s perfectly thick forests to the north and east.

“Everyone got their boots on?” Ryuu asks humorlessly when his first step out of the truck lets him sink several inches into pure mud.

“This is gross,” Tadashi hisses as he jumps out with a _splat_ sound.

“Maybe we’ll be able to hear it coming?” Suga asks optimistically. Without trees to climb up into, they’ll be dealing with it coming from straight-on, so that’s one lucky break tonight.

Suga eyes the freckled teenager beside him. Lucky. Right.

Ryuu asks again, quieter, if Tadashi wants to use a gun and Suga politely pretends not to listen in. He doesn’t even hear Tadashi’s answer this time. Suga rummages through his messenger bag, checking his supply of rowan ash and dead man’s blood—he’d like to avoid using a fresh source, if at all possible.

Suga normally wouldn’t go on a job like this, since monsters aren't exactly his forte nor are fight-heavy missions, but wendigos don’t like spirits _or_ necromancy, so tonight should actually be easy. Once they find the damned thing. Suga probably won’t be a target himself, not unless the wendigo is particularly stupid or starved, so he decides to stick close to Tadashi while Ryuu splits off with his own flashlight and gun.

Tadashi carries the flashlight, and Suga traces a basic protection ward against Tadashi’s forehead before they slop down into the ditch and then into the swamp proper.

There are a few startling bird calls, and it takes a little while to get used to the _shh_ of the dry reeds brushing against each other, but soon they realize that it’s eerily quiet. Suga’s least favorite kind of quiet, goodie. They can’t really make smalltalk, either, and with all the mud around, Suga is sure that this is going to be less a case of tracking the thing and more a case of simply trying to lure it out to them.

 _At least it’s not in a forest_ , he thinks, trying _damn_ hard to remain optimistic as he sinks down past his boots into the mud. The reeds all around them are growing progressively higher, too. What started as waist- and chest-high things are beginning to smack Suga in the fast as they push through them. A few are taller than even Tadashi. They may not be at risk of attacks from above, but visibility in front of and all around them is rapidly dwindling to zero.

“S-So, uh, what do these things _look_ like…?” Tadashi’s voice breaks the relative quiet and Suga nearly jumps. He would’ve, if he weren’t cemented down into the mud.

“Humanoid. Mostly. Pretty ugly, usually skinny, sharp teeth and claws… I don’t really know a lot else,” Suga replies in a strained whisper. He hasn’t seen one up-close before. He doesn’t really _want_ to.

Tadashi opens his mouth to respond but then suddenly he’s _not there_ anymore.

Suga blinks twice as he registers the _whoosh_ of the reeds around them.

It takes a full second before Tadashi screams.

“ _Tadashi_!” Suga’s screaming next, fighting through the muck, following the noise as best he can. His heart is in his ears, almost drowning out everything else, and he’s fucking terrified he’s somehow following his own echoes at this point. He thinks he’s still shouting.

There’s a trail of broken and bent grasses and Suga has gone maybe ten yards through them when he sees the first splash of scarlet among them. He wants to throw up. He can’t hear much over his own harsh panting, and he wishes he could think of some way to move fucking _faster_ through the swamp. Maybe Ryuu has heard them. Ryuu _has_ to have heard them by now, they’re making a terrified racket. They’re certainly going to find out if anything _else_ is in the area.

 _But Tadashi’s lucky_ , Suga tells himself, desperate to fight against the anxiety bubbling in his chest. He just needs to catch them—

And then what?

Suga can’t just catch them, he needs to fucking save the kid. He continues slogging through the mud, tripping over himself in his haste, digging through his bag with most of his attention. He’s only going to get one shot at this, that’s for sure, but Ryuunosuke is here with them. He’s dependable; he wouldn’t let Tadashi die.

Suga finds Tadashi pinned into the mud with the wendigo on top of him, in a clearing made by their own thrashing. Tadashi’s head is barely above the stagnant, black water, and he’s coughing and gasping like he’s already drowning in it. There’s blood, smeared across the dry reeds as well as dripping off of the wendigo’s sharp shoulder, and Tadashi lets out one last, pained wheeze before he’s dunked again.

Suga smears rowan ash mixed with dead man’s blood all over his palms. He can’t write a circle here, but he can use his own body for the canvas he needs, and half the runes are drawn on his ruined jeans by sheer memory. Tadashi’s legs flail and splash uselessly, too far from the wendigo’s thin body to catch it.

It’s probably the fastest casting Suga has ever performed, but it still seems like it takes ages—time counted down with bubbles coming up through the murky water—before he pushes his magic out into the necromancy. He’s used to not using himself as the summoning point as well as having a solid place to stand, so when the shade bursts forth in front of him, he’s shoved flat onto his ass.

The wendigo shrieks at once and cowers, inadvertently pressing Tadashi further into the mud beneath it. The shade slithers toward it, intangible, black slime dripping off its arms as it reaches for its target, and it latches on by the time it settles far enough to unhinge its jaw. Too many teeth, all like needles and half-glowing in the night, are revealed and one of Tadashi’s legs kicks up through the shade. His body jerks upon contact and Suga fights his way over to them to pry them apart before the shade can do more harm than good.

A gunshot rings out; Suga’s ears are left ringing. The wendigo howls, suddenly bleeding from a hole in its head, and the shade wavers before dripping down onto both the wendigo and Tadashi like it’s throwing up its own self.

Suga shoves the shade away through sheer adrenaline. The wendigo collapses and it’s only then that Suga sees the gun in Tadashi’s hand, mostly hidden in the mud.

Finally cooperating in a useful manner, the shade drags the dying monster away from them both. Tadashi bolts upright, sucking in air between raspy splutters, and Suga can’t help but throw his arms around him. He didn’t even realize he was crying. “You’re alright, y-you’re alright, right?” His voice comes out choked, thick.

“What the fuck is _that_ thing?!” Tadashi demands through his coughing.

Suga ignores the wet sounds of the shade chewing behind them. He ignores everything but the warm, solid, _living_ body in his arms.

God, he’s a damn mess right now, and he knows it. He doesn’t actually know if Tadashi knows about Asahi, and he doesn’t know if the context would help the situation or hurt the tattered remains of his pride further. Right now, as much as he hates himself, he just wants to cry over someone living instead for a little while.

Suga isn’t certain what the shade is doing, but it’s not bothering them, and eventually, Tadashi comes up to uncertainly rub at Suga’s back while he cries himself out. The chill is beginning to seep in, and Tadashi is shivering. Suga himself largely feels numb.

But it isn’t until there’s another gunshot that Suga lets the situation go. He turns, wiping his face with his sleeve, and finds Ryuunosuke debating whether or not to put a second bullet in the wendigo’s head. He doesn’t seem to like the presence of the melting shade, either. “How the hell did you manage to create one of those things when anything more magical than a sneeze is usually enough to knock you out?” he asks, arms crossed, handgun still held loosely in his hand.

“And what was it,” Tadashi murmurs. His voice is soft but there’s an underlying firmness that lets Suga know that he’s not going to ask again.

“That was a,” Suga pauses, sniffing, considering ways to explain it. “A…”

“It was a shade,” Ryuunosuke says for him. Suga gives him a reproachful look. “They’re the type of nasty shit that necromancers can cook up. _Normal_ necromancers. Suga, how did you make one?”

“I guess some kinds of magic still come more naturally to me than others,” he replies unhappily. He can’t keep the edge from his voice, and that’s unfair to Ryuu. But he doesn’t deserve Ryuu’s ire to begin with, so all’s fair, he supposes.

He hasn’t really explained to anyone his theories on his own magic, but he thinks Kiyoko has guesses. And he’s not certain how much she shares with Ryuunosuke. The man may irritate her and on the surface it may seem superficial at best, but Suga knows firsthand that there are few people Kiyoko trusts more than both the Tanaka siblings.

She probably trusts them more than she trusts him right now, Suga bitterly recalls, and that solidifies the fact that he doesn’t really want to explain himself to Ryuunosuke, fair or not. “It will fade off on its own, you don’t have to waste a bullet on it,” he adds, because he knows the way Ryuu is eyeing it.

“I-Is the wendigo dead?” Tadashi asks. His grip momentarily tightens on Suga’s arm.

“Very,” Ryuu snorts. Casually, without looking, he points the gun over his own arm and pulls the trigger again. Suga jumps at the loud report. The wendigo’s body gives a little jerk from the force of it, but that’s all. “One good thing about wendigos is that you usually don’t have to double-tap.”

“Another good thing: you can use necromantic magic on them and you were lucky enough to have such a magic user on your team. Don’t look gift horses in the mouth,” Suga can’t help but add.

“So, it’s dead. …The job’s over?” Tadashi asks hopefully.

Both Suga and Ryuunosuke nod. “I’ll call Kiyoko and let her know. She already knows I’m out here, anyway,” Suga mutters, and he does not look forward to that phone call. “I’d appreciate it if neither of you told her about the shade.”

“Secrets don’t keep friends,” Ryuu says, the barest hint of a tease in his voice, but even that is too much for Suga right now.

“Fuck off,” he says, and regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Ryuu’s expression darkens, just a minute twitch downward of his brows and his mouth twists into the beginnings of a scowl; Suga can’t look at him and instead tugs Tadashi up with his good arm. “Let’s go, Tadashi. We need to bandage those cuts and get you cleaned up before anything gets infected.”

Tadashi looks between them, chewing on his bottom lip, and after a long moment, he hands the gun back to Ryuu. “Th-Thanks,” he tells him in little more than a whisper.

The ride home is the second worst car ride of Suga’s life.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean you didn’t take the books from him?” Yui asks in sharp, high disbelief. “Kiyoko, he’s a risk! A big, sad, grieving, necromantic _risk_!”

“Yui, I _trust him_ ,” Kiyoko replies. “I don’t want to have that argument with him again. Or with you.”

“I trust him too! And I trust that he has the complete capability of being blinded by his emotions!”

“That’s not trust,” Kiyoko just sighs.

Yui makes a concentrated effort to unclench her fists and tuck her wings back in. She doesn’t need to be growing more. (It’s getting more and more difficult to stop.) “I’m worried. We both are. No one’s letting Yuu near any firearms, so I don’t see why you’re letting Koushi near necromancy.”

“They’re both grown men. We can’t make their decisions for them,” she tiredly replies.

“I sure as shit can!” Yui says and fluffs up in her irritation. “And that’s not a _decision_ , that’s—”

“I trust them,” Kiyoko continues. “…After you died, Koushi gave me everything. I’ve seen all of the research you two compiled. The notes, the other experiments, everything.” She raises her head, eyes still averted, and finishes, “He gave a grieving witch access to all of that. He trusted me, and he wanted to give me closure. And it helped. So how can I not trust him when our situations are reversed?”

“Because we already messed up once,” Yui tells her.

But she can see that Kiyoko’s already set on this, and it breaks Yui’s heart further. She doesn’t know why Kiyoko can’t just _see_ that Suga will fall into the same old trap as before. But Kiyoko is the one who can talk to him, can interact with him and try to reason with him. Yui isn’t.

She draws her wings around herself, arms folded within her cocoon. Kiyoko places a hand against the bright feathers, but Yui hardly peeks out at her, too lost in her own worry. “Yui, I’ll still speak to him. Perhaps Tooru or Daichi could do something. I’ll try again to get Yuu and Koushi to speak to one another, too…”

That would help, she supposes, but it wouldn’t be enough. Yui wants to remove temptation altogether.

And if Kiyoko isn’t going to do it for her, then she supposes she has little other choice but to do it herself.

 

\--

 

Kuro successfully balances the laptop on his chest even with the slowly-waking Kenma squirming next to him. The nest bed may not transfer much motion, but the shape of it does mean that Kenma has rolled right up next to him, and it’s clear he doesn’t really want to wake up. Kuro doesn’t particularly blame him, since he knows firsthand how long it took for his tossing and turning to die down last night. He can probably count the hours of sleep Kenma got on one hand.

“…Did you sleep?” are the first words, slurred and sleepy, out of Kenma’s mouth.

“Nah,” Kuro says around the tickle in his throat. He coughs into his fist, new fingers twinging with the movement, and wonders when he’ll be able to lie. “Who needs sleep when you have,” he glances down at the most recent wikipedia page, “the Middle Eastern theater of World War I?”

Kenma doesn’t comment. Kuro’s read weirder things in the past couple days; Kenma stays in all day, and when he’s not on his laptop, he usually shoves it in Kuro’s direction and tells him to read. Kuro isn’t complaining about filling in his human knowledge, but he’d rather liked asking Kenma about everything.

“How did you sleep?” Kuro asks.

Kenma makes a groggy, grumpy sound into Kuro’s shoulder. “You’d think tengu could cast a better silencing spell…” he mutters and curls up tighter. His stomach growls loudly and he curls further.

“Ah, yeah,” Kuro replies. He’d hoped Kenma had been asleep by the time the incriminating noises had started. Kuro himself was a little jealous—he wishes he could get Bokuto to make noises like that—but he doesn’t want to begin to think about Kenma’s reaction to it, as prickly as he and Akaashi have been. (He really, _really_ hopes it hadn’t been some sort of territorial thing.) “Breakfast?” he asks brightly, changing the subject.

Kenma raises his head just enough to let Kuro see a bleary sliver of golden eyes.

“Are you actually hungry?” Kuro adds hopefully.

“I guess,” Kenma mumbles.

“Breakfast time then! Akaashi’s already up, so Bo probably is, too. Let’s go get food!” Kuro closes the laptop, sets it carefully off to the side, and then eagerly pounces on Kenma. The witch groans and whines, but he can’t escape, and he pushes with sleep-weak limbs as Kuro scoops him up and manages to get both upright. It’d involved growing a tail to help balance, but those are getting easier for him, so that’s a good thing. Kenma being hungry is another good thing.

“Down,” Kenma says around a yawn.

It does not process as an order.

“ _Down_ ,” he repeats, and it still doesn’t. Kuro sets Kenma down anyway, because he may be a demon but he’s not _rude_ , and wonders if the decay of the command part of the contract is a good thing or not. He certainly doesn’t mind, but he assumes Kenma will, and Kenma doesn’t really need another thing to stress over right now.

Kuro does place a quick kiss against Kenma’s cheek, though, despite the way Kenma initially flinches from the contact. “Good morning,” he tells him.

Kenma pushes him away fully and rubs at his cheek like Kuro had licked him. (There’s a thought.) His eyes aren’t even open yet, and he fights another yawn instead of responding.

Kuro more or less leads Kenma out toward the kitchen, the latter still looking an awful lot like he’s sleepwalking; it seems like Akaashi is dealing with a similar situation. Bokuto is sprawled out, half on the countertop, drooling and looking, for all intents and purposes, very much asleep.

Akaashi and Kuro share a look of This Is What We Got Involved With. Kuro likes to think it’s a fond look.

Bokuto seems to suddenly register their presence when Kenma gives another, cuter, sleepy little yawn. He blinks a couple times, raising his head enough to wipe at his mouth, then breaks into the warmest smile Kuro has ever seen in his life. _That’s_ a fond look. Kuro is pretty sure his face is suddenly feeling rather warm itself, and he averts his eyes.

Bokuto pushes himself off of the counter and leans over to give Akaashi a nuzzle-turned-kiss on the cheek. Akaashi only tilts their head to give him better access; Kuro wonders if this is a morning ritual that they’re just now privy to. He is, yet again, envious of the open affection.

But, to his surprise and delight, Bokuto comes over to him next and Kuro happily offers his cheek.

Bokuto slumps against him with a snore at the exact same time that Kenma flops against his back. Kuro stumbles, one hand braced against the wall, shadowy tendril waving for balance.

He isn’t quite disappointed, but he’s a little miffed to be put back into the pillow position, and now by both of them. But Akaashi lets out a tiny laugh and quickly covers their mouth with their hand. Kuro wonders if this is the morning for miracles.

“It takes him awhile to get going in the mornings. Sometimes,” Akaashi whispers.

“With the workout he had last night, I can’t blame him,” Kuro shoots back. Akaashi’s face goes scarlet and they put their back to them to hide, pretending to busy themselves making tea. “Hey, Bo, mind getting up now? We’re hungry and awake.”

Kenma makes a snore-like sound that points to the opposite. Kuro can’t help but roll his eyes. But at least Bokuto stirs again, blinking blearily up at him, then gives him that smile again. “Mornin’,” he says, voice raspy with sleep, and he finally leans up to give Kuro the same little nuzzle-then-kiss.

He finds himself grinning, then wondering when the kiss part got added onto it. He also wonders if Kenma would be averse to it eventually becoming something he would tolerate, too.

Distracted as he is, he doesn’t notice at first when Bokuto ducks around him to find the dozing Kenma.

“Wait, Bo, maybe don’t—” He can’t explain Kenma’s reflexes and maybe why it wouldn’t be a good idea to get that close without warning, but the damage is done. Bokuto ducks down to Kenma’s level and Kenma jerks to awakeness from the proximity.

Kuro isn’t sure if it was more of a slap or a punch, but he can smell the magic, can _see_ it still crackling around Kenma’s fingers. Bokuto staggers back, holding his cheek, more shocked than anything else—Kenma looks similarly torn between shock and sick fear. Kuro is frozen between them, not sure what to do or say.

Bokuto pulls his hand away and there’s a trickle of blood from where his mouth caught on his teeth. He takes a breath—Kuro braces himself and he’s not sure for what—and Bokuto lets out a harsh, “ _Ow_!”

Kenma bolts at the sound. Kuro is still frozen, for one heartbeat, but Akaashi is not. The other tengu starts forward, and the movement toward them sends Kuro firmly into the flight part of fight or flight.

But he’s too many steps behind Kenma. The front door is still open, and Kuro races after him, not sure if he’s pursuing his witch or fleeing from the tengu.

He knows _why_ Kenma did it, and he figures he even knows why Kenma ran. But they don’t know that. And tengu are proud and snippy and strong and he doesn’t know how he can fix this. Kuro nearly catches Kenma, too, but then the witch jumps—

Kuro is abruptly reminded that they’re four fucking stories off the ground.

Kenma lands lightly on the street below, barefoot and half-dressed and reeking of witch magic now, and continues running. Kuro reels from the height, vertigo hitting him like something physical, only worsened by the growing distance between him and Kenma. He’s fairly certain he’s going to puke. And maybe pass out and drop off the front porch, and then he’ll die, and then _Kenma_ will die because the contract certainly isn’t decayed enough to save them from that.

There’s a commotion from inside, and Kuro pauses. It’s Bokuto and Akaashi. They will _understand_ , surely, if he just explains himself. Bokuto has been nothing but sympathetic to Kenma thus far, and Akaashi may be prickly but they’re still a good person at heart.

“Akaashi, _wait_ —no—” he hears Bokuto say and Akaashi’s low, undoubtedly angry voice follows.

Unlike almost everyone else he knows, Kuro hasn’t ever really been _afraid_ of the tengu. But right now come damn close. Kuro squeezes his eyes shut, grabs the edge of the balcony-thing, and swings down to the next floor down. There’s still a drop, but it’s manageable, even if he has to do it several times. By the time he reaches the ground, he’s nearly hyperventilating and his empty stomach is churning.

(There are no tengu who pursue him.)

Kuro does not look back as he follows the hook in his chest to where Kenma is. He’s stationary, not as far as Kuro had initially thought, which is good since Kuro can’t seem to catch his breath despite the relatively short sprint. Around one last corner, down a smaller side street and in the shadow of a large overhang, Kuro finds him: Kenma, clutching his chest and panting, has been cornered by a winged woman who’s leaning way too far into his personal space.

Kuro almost throws himself at her before he realizes that he doesn’t know what’s going on and that those _aren’t_ tengu wings. The woman has normal, white, feathered wings, but they are separate limbs from her arms; the only other time Kuro has seen wings like that is on that archangel.

When he gets close enough, he dives into Kenma’s shadow, only to reappear between them. Kuro still can’t catch his breath, wheezing pathetically, but he’s still taller than the woman. She isn’t glowing, features perfectly visible; she has soft brown hair, freckles, and surprise written across her face.

She’s definitely not Yui.

“What’s going on here,” Kuro forces out, then coughs.

The woman looks between Kenma and Kuro a few times. “Are you two… contracted?” she asks, and Kuro’s gaze hardens despite the way his knees feel ready to give out. He’s too light-headed, nerves thrumming, and he _still_ wants to grab Kenma and just run. “I was wondering why a witch was wandering the tengu realm without an escort, and now you are…”

“Tengu friend,” Kuro spits. He doesn’t want to think about whether or not it may be true anymore. “Now back off, lady.”

The woman purses her lips and give Kenma one last look. “I’ll be reporting this to the guards,” she tells them, not meanly but not kindly, either. “Let me know if you need any assistance.”

She spreads her great wings and with a single beat, lifts off and soars off. Kenma hardly waits until she’s gone before collapsing to his knees, and Kuro flops down beside him, still panting. Kenma shuffles over to him, and Kuro can see now that his eyes are wet, although his expression is clear. Just a little pained. “Y-You’re having a panic attack. _Breathe_ , Kuro,” Kenma tells him, breathless himself.

He’s _what_? Kuro doesn’t really understand, but with Kenma’s hands on his cheeks, he finds his presence grounding. Knowing where Kenma is and being on solid ground both help, and so does not running anymore, but Kuro thinks that it’s taking too long to calm down, anyway.

Kenma pulls him against his chest, running his fingers through Kuro’s dark hair, murmuring soothing things between his coughs. Kuro can smell the magic when Kenma casts the ignore-me spell over them both. Kenma’s own magical scent is almost a comfort thing now.

They _still_ aren’t caught by any furious tengu.

Kuro gradually calms down and catches his breath. Each deep inhale feels more like a sob than anything else, and every other one stutters like a hiccup, but at least he doesn’t feel ready to pass out now. “How do you deal with these,” Kuro mumbles and presses his face into Kenma’s chest.

“There’s a difference between anxiety and panic attacks,” Kenma replies. He sounds better, too, and with guilt Kuro wonders how much of that had been pushed over onto him.

“You’re wearing your thing,” Kuro says.

“That valkyrie approached me because I couldn’t run.” Binder plus secondhand attack? Kuro’s lucky they didn’t both pass out; the guilt settles in for the long haul in the bottom of his stomach. “She’s going to report us. We have to go, Kuro.”

“Go _where_?” Kuro asks, raising his head so he can look Kenma in the eye again. The witch doesn’t allow it, however, eyes skating off to the side. “Kenma, we need to go back and explain to Bokuto what just happened. I’m _sure_ he’s not mad—”

“ _No_ ,” Kenma interrupts. He gets back to his feet, extending a hand down to help Kuro up, although he still doesn’t look at him. “We just need to find a door to a goblin market—”

“ _Leave_?! On our own?”

“We’re not going to be welcome here anymore!”

“If we talk to them—”

“I _can’t_ go back there, Kuro!” Kenma bursts out. He drops Kuro’s hand and scrubs at his eyes, mouth twisted down into a scowl. “I can’t pay them back. They keep doing things for us, and I _can’t_ pay them back—what else am I supposed to do?”

“They don’t care about that,” Kuro replies, dropping his voice into something he hopes is soothing.

“They want to make me a tengu friend for a couple of glamors. They let us stay there, they’re fetching my things, they’re _covering_ for us—Kuro, we _can’t_ pay for that.” Kenma finally looks up at him, and Kuro is almost happy—but he sees that Kenma is reading something in his expression. Kuro doesn’t have the faintest idea _what_. “…There’s only so much I can offer, Kuro. I can’t handle people asking for more than that.”

“Kenma, you _know_ Bo didn’t mean it like that—”

“I _know_ ,” Kenma says quickly. “But that’s why I—I can’t explain that to him.”

“So it’s better to just run?” Kuro asks. He’s getting a frustrating case of déjà vu here, but he knows if he pushes this wrong, it’ll only result in Kenma running from _him_ , too. “Where will we go, Kenma?”

“You can stay here,” he replies in a very small voice. Kenma shuffles his feet and does not look at him; Kuro realizes they’re both standing here in little more than their sleep clothes with little else. Half their stuff is poisonous, and the other half is back with the tengu. “They still like you. I’m used to being on my own.”

“Kenma, you’re _not_ stupid, so I know you’re not dumb enough to actually propose that,” Kuro says, finally exasperated.

But he’s shocked that Kenma doesn’t argue with him. Kenma steps forward, wraps his arms tight around Kuro’s middle, and burrows his face into Kuro’s shirt. Kuro can feel the wetness bleeding into his fabric at once. “I-I don’t want you to go back to them,” comes Kenma’s muffled voice, and Kuro wraps his arms back around the witch. “I can’t be there and l-let them do all of that—but I can’t lose you, too.”

And Kuro only _now_ sees that Kenma genuinely doesn’t want to go. He’s known Kenma has cared about Bokuto and Akaashi, in his own Kenma way, but Kuro hadn’t expected Kenma to admit to it like this.

Least of all, he expected Kenma’s own fears to override that growing attachment.

Kuro traitorously wonders how much fear it would take for Kenma to turn from him, too—but the thought is interrupted as quickly as it arrived, by Kenma tightening his hold further. “We need to go,” Kenma says, voice high and thin, sounding like he’s actually crying. “We need to get to the goblin market, b-but it’s smarter for you to stay here.”

“I’m not leaving you, Kenma. Never.”

“I don’t want you to,” Kenma confesses. “I’m sorry. I-I’m sorry, Kuro, I don’t want you to put up with this—”

“Hey, I’m not putting up with anything. We’re in this together, remember?”

“Together,” he repeats, slowly, like he’s tasting the words. Kenma leans his head back, chin resting on Kuro’s sternum, and blinks up at him. His cheeks are still wet, but he doesn’t look like he’s crying now. Kenma pauses, a long moment, and Kuro tucks a lock of his two-tone hair behind his ear. Kenma’s voice is nearly a whisper when he finally speaks again. “Can I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to try to bribe me into staying around,” Kuro replies, as much as he’d fucking _love_ to answer Yes a thousand times right now. Kenma deserves nothing but Yes, but Kuro deserves a kiss because they both _want_ it. Not because Kenma’s terrified and they both might get eaten by tengu shortly.

“I’m not,” Kenma says, eyes now downcast, although it doesn’t seem to be an admission of guilt. “I’m just… tired of waiting. Everything else is a mess, but you’re not.”

“I was literally _just_ hyperventilating in your lap ten minutes ago—”

“I want you to stay with me, and I’ll stay with you. That’s it. And if we’re not going to kiss, then we _should_ get moving, to try to find a realm door—”

Oh hell no, Kuro is _not_ losing his opportunity. Before Kenma can begin tugging him back down the road, Kuro leans down, cups his face in both hands, and presses their lips together. Kenma makes a noise against him, surprised, but relaxes again at once, winding his arms up around Kuro’s neck to keep him down at his level.

Kenma tastes like salt with the barest hint of the chapstick he favors, and Kuro wants to do this forever, even if Kenma keeps his mouth closed and his cheeks are bright red and— “Put me back down,” Kenma mumbles against his mouth. Kuro blinks down at him—when had he picked him up?—and reluctantly sets him back down. “A-And no tongue. Not yet.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, just… We need to go. W-We can do that again later.”

Kuro doesn’t _feel_ like a momentary comfort and Reassurance That Kenma Isn’t Alone, which is good, but his thoughts still stray back to Bokuto and Akaashi when Kenma begins pulling him down the street. He wishes he knew what Kenma was thinking, beyond the whole Terrified Fleeing Witch thing, which admittedly Kenma is _too_ good at.

Kuro wonders if he should have dug his heels in more. He doesn’t want to leave the tengu, but he wants to leave Kenma even less, and he can’t make them talk that out if Kenma is going to be panicking and Bokuto is going to be as jittery and pushy as usual. Kuro does not want to even _think_ about Akaashi in this mess. Alright, maybe a little space would be a good thing right now. For a little while. He hopes.

They’re accosted by the guards on duty when they finally find a portal out, but they seem to be happier when they figure that Kenma and Kuro want out and are not smuggling anything. They get a little too friendly with their claws, and keep giving him dirty looks, but oh well.

It isn’t until they’re stepping out into a bustling marketplace that Kuro realizes that he’s not wearing his amulet. Almost immediately, several people turn to stare at them, and Kenma’s shoulders rise until they’re up around his ears. They can’t cast the ignore-me spell again. Kuro herds them both to the nearest, quietest spot, beneath a palm tree and a bench with a sleeping oni on it.

“You didn’t think this one out very well,” Kuro can’t help but say, and Kenma gives him a sour look that’s a million times better than the expressions he’s had thus far today.

“Go into my shadow, and I’m going to cast a suppression charm on us both. It should be enough for us to get out of here in one piece.”

Kuro doesn’t like Kenma using even more magic right now, but they have little choice. They’re committing to this, after all.

Kenma does squeeze his hand before he disappears into the darkness, at least. Kuro feels horrible for these conflicting feelings, but there is some small part of him that’s soaking up all of the newfound affection like a sponge. He just wish it hadn’t cost Bokuto and Akaashi…

Kenma skulks through the market, Kuro tugged along in his wake, shoulders still hunched and body language screaming _go away_. “Only my phone,” Kenma mumbles, hands in his pockets, and Kuro wants to sigh. They’re still getting the occasional odd look, and Kenma’s getting jittery because of it.

Kuro is about to say to hell with any potential risks—perhaps not the best decision of the morning—and begins to sense that this isn’t the usual goblin market that they frequent; he also belatedly remembers that Kenma has a distinct _lack_ of a sense of direction. The few signs he sees are in languages even he can’t read, and the population of the market isn’t what he’s used to, either. There seems to be an awful lot of fae.

“ _Shouyou?_ ” Suddenly, Kenma is off like a shot, and Kuro nearly tumbles out of his shadow. The name sounds familiar, but he doesn’t actually place it until he sees the copper curls and black feathers.

No, not quite feathers.

Kenma pulls up short in front of a tiny tengu chick, feathers and hair equally fluffy, who is batting her big eyes up at them. “Oh. You’re not—” Kenma tries to backpedal.

“You know my brother?” the little girl squeals and grabs Kenma’s hand. He tries to pull it out of her grasp; she doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Your… brother. Um, yes.”

“D’you know where he is?!”

“I think he’s in the human world…? We’re actually trying to get back there, so—”

“Good! You can take me to him!” she decides and starts dragging. Kuro can feel Kenma’s heels literally trying to dig in, but she still doesn’t seem fazed, let alone aware of the pull. “I _knew_ he was in the human realm, I just knew it! But Father Takeda said I couldn’t go and look, and Keishin is just a big bully who wouldn’t even let me _ask_ anymore, but that’s okay because I hired the nice ladies and now _you_ can go help them! It’ll be twice as fast!”

“Someone’s talkative,” Kuro mumbles. The chick hums as acknowledgement, but otherwise doesn’t address the demon in Kenma’s shadow. Kuro supposes that’s probably a good thing.

“You’re a witch, right?” she continues, craning her neck back to look up at Kenma. It’s not like Kenma is particularly tall, either, so Kuro almost wants to chuckle at the sight. “D’you know Shimizu?”

This time, Kenma roots himself to the spot with magic; the little girl stumbles when she can’t drag him any further. “Shimizu Kiyoko?” Kenma asks quietly. She nods enthusiastically.

 _From bad to worse_ , Kuro inwardly groans. He wishes, just once, they could catch a break and have the break _actually_ be a break instead of making everything infinitely worse. He doesn’t know how they can get back without help, and Shouyou’s little sister is too convenient to completely ignore. (Not to mention the danger of pissing off _another_ tengu today.)

The little girl opens her mouth, but she’s scooped up by a blur of black feathers and long, _long_ hair the same vibrant shade of orange. “Natsu! _There_ you are! Oh my god, you can’t just go wandering off like that! You could have—” The tengu woman pauses, registering Kenma’s presence; her wide eyes are bright, striking blue, the only real difference in the strong similarity between them.

“He’s helpin’ me!” the little girl, Natsu apparently, cries, her voice muffled by her mother’s(?) wings. “I’m gonna hire him to—”

“Natsu, you are _not_ hiring any other human mercenaries,” she scolds, then casts a cool, less ruffled look over Kenma. “I’m sorry if my daughter was giving you any trouble. Can I help you?” she adds with a very pointed look down at Kenma’s shadow.

“He knows Shouyou!” Natsu exclaims.

The woman’s demeanor changes at once. “You know where my son is?!”

“N-Not right now,” Kenma says, quailing before her sudden (and familiar) exuberance. Natsu pries her way out of her grasp and flutters to the ground beside them, bouncing on her clawed feet. “I just—I-I know him, and he…”

“He made Kenma tengu friend,” Kuro pipes up, because it’s clear Kenma isn’t going to say it.

“Why?” the woman asks blankly, excitement finally faltering.

Kenma averts his eyes and gives a little shrug. “I… helped him?”

“He can help us find Shouyou!” Natsu repeats.

“I don’t know where he is currently…”

“But he told me that Shouyou’s in the human realm! For sure!”

“ _Could_ you find him again?”

“…Maybe?” Kenma replies. It sounds like a guess. His shoulders are beginning to hunch up again.

Kuro can sense his agitation, growing by the second, and they don’t need a repeat of anyone’s panic attack right now. “Look, miss, we’re very lost, and _we’re_ trying to make it back home ourselves. I can’t guarantee we’ll know exactly where Hinata is when we get back, but we can try to find him and turn him your way for you,” he says, raising himself up out of the shadow, unsettled, in order to speak.

The woman doesn’t make eye contact with him. Natsu, however, does and leans down into his space with big eyes. Kuro can’t help but veer away from her interest. “I’ll take your status on faith, but Shouyou has not officially declared you, um, Kenma. So I don’t think it very wise to have that… thing out in the open like that. Settled would be one thing, but—”

“Kuro is not a thing,” Kenma cuts in. She blinks in surprise at the interruption. Kenma nudges Kuro back down, and the demon sulkily goes, if only to avoid further trouble. “I’ll try to find Shouyou for you. Can you show us the way back to the human realm?”

“Ah, yes, let me get an escort for you.”

Before Kenma can tell her that that is _definitely_ not necessary, the woman is dragging him through the crowds like her daughter before her. Natsu bounces along beside them, flapping her fluffy little wings, excitement sparkling in her eyes. She’s really cute, Kuro supposes, and figures all tengu were downy and soft like that when they were young.

He wonders what Bokuto looked like before he can help himself.

They arrive at a tengu stall—the sight is familiar, even if this is the wrong market. There’s a _very_ grumpy, _old_ tengu seated behind it, his feathers greying to match his hair, and he gives Kenma a scowl right off the bat. “Oh, stop that,” Shouyou’s mother scolds and smacks the table. “Where’s Futakuchi?”

Kuro can’t place why the name is faintly familiar until he sees the old tengu wave over a particular kitsune. Futakuchi blinks a couple times, recognizing them but confused, but he comes over and offers a little incline of his head.

“I’d like you to escort these two back to their spot in the human realm,” Shouyou’s mother says, one hand on each of Kenma’s shoulders, making him jump. “Safely and quickly, fox.”

“What else would I possibly do to them?” he asks, feigning innocence.

 _Sell us angel blood_ , Kuro thinks, but holds his tongue.

“What are you doing?” the old tengu asks gruffly.

“A favor for a favor. They say my son made him tengu friend, and that means aiding and—”

“Hinata Sorano, if you drag _one more_ being into this mess your son’s created, I’ll petition to have you and your lot cast out,” he snaps.

Her expression does not waver, however, and she just begins pushing both Kenma and Futakuchi down the cobbled street. Once they’re out of earshot, she goes back to a beaming, bright smile. Natsu giggles at her hip. “He just blows a lot of hot air, don’t mind him.”

“I never do,” Futakuchi replies. Sorano cuffs him upside the head without the smallest twitch in her smile.

“When you see Shouyou next, please try to get him to come home. Even if you can just get him to a goblin market, I’m sure I can get someone to drag him home from there. We’ll completely excuse any manhandling or minor violence—I know how he gets, and sometimes a firm hand is needed.”

“Just pick him up and carry him! Even you’re bigger than he is!” Natsu adds. Kenma’s frown darkens, just a tad, and the kitsune snickers into his hand.

They bid farewell to Shouyou’s mother and sister not long after, and Futakuchi waits until they’re in another market entirely—this one still foreign-feeling, but at least not so hot—before he dissolves into carrying, barking laughter. “How do you _do_ it? For the life of me, I can’t figure out if it’s completely by accident or if you’re the greatest tengu manipulating mastermind I’ve ever seen!”

“Hey now,” Kuro warns.

“Oh, I mean it all kindly,” he says dismissively with a swipe of his many tails. “Usually they can hardly tolerate each other, much less other clans. I just don’t understand how you’ve got so many different tengu so keen on you.”

“Not anymore,” Kenma mumbles.

 

\--

 

Yuu is aware of Chikara’s attention on him, but he’s able to ignore the weight of his stare in favor of _dogs_.

This part of the building is full of barking and loudness, all wagging tails and lolling tongues and sweet, sweet pups. Yuu’s fists clench in his pockets. This… may have been a mistake. A beautiful, horrible mistake full of the most precious creatures he’s ever seen.

He wants to adopt every single one.

It’s not a _big_ shelter, thankfully, but there’s still more than two dozen dogs here and a handful of puppies, plus a few other animals in another part of the building. It’s a _lot_. Yuu isn’t certain how he’s supposed to choose. He’s not even sure how to start whittling down the list.

“Any thoughts?” Chikara asks wryly.

“I want them all,” Yuu bluntly replies. They shuffle past one pen with a big, shaggy lab mix in it, who offers a little _whuff_ as they pass.

“You haven’t had a dog before, have you?” Chikara asks.

“Well, no, but I’ve spent enough time with Saeko’s dogs that I’m not _completely_ in the dark.”

“Still, maybe try for one with basic training, then. A starting point,” he recommends. Yuu nods, accepting the logic of it, even if logic is the least cared about thing in his world when he’s surrounded by dogs. “So, probably not a puppy, then. Older dogs usually don’t get adopted as easily…”

That helps to make up Yuu’s mind. A little, anyway. “I want the most unwanted dog.”

“Okay, but what do you mean by—”

Yuu turns on his heel and marches back to find one of the workers before Chikara can finish. “I want the most unwanted dog you have!” he declares, and is met with only a blank expression.

It takes a little while to sort out what he means by unwanted—Chikara acts helpfully as a translator, since Yuu has about zero patience lately—but eventually, the shelter worker draws up a list of their dogs on a clipboard and walks them through the kennel. “Most adult dogs are a little harder to get adopted, and the older, the more difficult. We had a three-legged terrier mix a couple weeks ago, too, and she was here for an awfully long time before she found a forever home. Right now, we’ve had a couple dogs for awhile…”

There are two in pens side-by-side they stop at first. Yuu crouches down in front of the chain link door of the first, holding out his hand; the fluffy multicolored dog inside comes over to sniff and nose at him. Her name is Susie, she’s an English Shepherd, and she’s nine years old. The worker explains that she’s sweet, just a little older, but still has plenty of playfulness and energy left.

Yuu has already decided—this is why he hadn’t gotten too close to any of the dogs yet, he knew he’d fall in love at first proper sight—when he sees the way Chikara is playing with the neighbor dog. He and the worker already have that door open, and the dog is happily climbing all over him, licking at his face and trying to get his hands.

 _Uh oh_.

Susie, in her own pen, stares up at Yuu with big, beautiful, brown eyes. (Fucking _shit_ , he doesn’t need big sad brown eyes right now.) Yuu knows he needs to go home with her.

“This is Heinrich, and he’s a pit-boxer mix. Pitbulls still have a pretty bad reputation, but he’s had basic training, and he’s not quite three, so he’s still plenty young and acts a lot like a big puppy,” the worker happily explains, scratching the other dog’s rump as he wags his tail against her.

Chikara catches his expression about two milliseconds before Yuu opens his mouth. “Yuu, no—”

“Do they get along well with each other?” Yuu asks.

“Almost all of our dogs are well-socialized, and most neighboring groups of dogs get used to playing and eating together. These two in particular have been with us together for almost a year—”

“I’ll take them,” Yuu says. Susie’s ears perk up like she knows the meaning of the words.

“Yuu, this isn’t a store. You can’t just decide to buy two dogs at once,” Chikara replies around the enthusiastic dog in his lap.

“We like to see multiple adoptions, and we generally recommend that dogs have regular playmates, whether it’s in the same household or not,” the worker offers. Chikara sighs. “But adopting a dog isn’t a light decision to make.”

“I’ve already decided I’m getting one, and I have the space for two. They can be friends.” Yuu stands up, both dogs now tracking his movements, then Heinrich eagerly hops over and begins wagging his tail so hard his entire butt wiggles. Yuu can’t help but grin down at him as he scratches his ears. “Alright, paperwork time!”

They hook temporary leashes to the dogs’ collars and walk them out to the front of the shelter with them. After a couple of sniffs, neither dog seemed to mind the other, much more interested in the trip they’re taking. “It’s a good thing I didn’t show you more dogs, huh?” the shelter worker jokes as she pulls out another couple of clipboards.

That gives Yuu pause. Chikara, once again, seems to realize what’s going on a moment too late. “Yuu, _no_ —”

“Yuu, _yes_. What other animals you got?”

Chikara’s sigh is muffled by the hand he’s pressed against his face. The dogs on either side of him just continue wagging their tails.

But today is the first time Yuu’s been able to smile so much since Asahi passed on.

 

\--

 

Daichi gives Suga’s hip a squeeze, arm slung around him, fingers flirting with the edge of his pocket. “I’m glad we got to do this tonight,” he says, carefully, and Suga at least gives him a tired smile in return. This is the first time Daichi has seen Suga since Asahi passed on, and the man looks like a wreck. It makes his heart clench. “Alright, the movie was dumb, but I actually like theater popcorn. You can’t try and tell me you don’t, either, since you inhaled most of it.”

“Maybe you just can’t say no to me,” Suga suggests, his own tone almost breaking light. He leans against Daichi’s side and Daichi wants to pull him even closer against himself.

He’s still trying to figure out how much Space Suga wants—and how much he needs. He’s starting to figure out that those amounts are probably not the same. He’s done well this far, a week since Asahi passed on, only sending the occasional text (and two voice mails, because fuck it, he _missed_ him and was really fucking worried). But Daichi doesn’t like walking on eggshells.

Daichi watches the way Suga walks, the way he drags himself up the stairs to his floor. Exhausted Suga is the norm. This, he recognizes, is different. He’s never lost a close friend, so he isn’t sure how well he can empathize, but he sure as hell can sympathize. Yuu hasn’t been doing much better, though he can hide it better. And he’s far more open about his alcohol intake the past week.

Suga had a glass of wine with dinner and Daichi can still detect a sway to his step. He only got sour-faced when asked about it, so Daichi let it lie.

It takes two tries for Suga to get his key on the door. Daichi assumes it’s exhaustion or maybe still the damned booze, until he sees how hard Suga is frowning at part of the door frame, just above the handle. Daichi leans over him, seeing the tiny little marks etched into the old wood, and Suga murmurs, “Some of my wards are broken.”

Daichi knows enough about magic to know that that means something like an alarm system, but he’s still largely confused until Suga pushes open the door with a silver knife brandished in his free hand. “Where did you get that?” Daichi asks, stepping away again.

“Shh,” Suga replies, creeping into his own apartment, but he stops dead as soon as he flicks on the light.

He may keep it a weird mix of cluttered and spartan the best of days, but Daichi realizes that this is a _mess_. Most of his books have been pulled out of his bookshelf, some of them still open, a few ripped. One of panes in his window has the glass cracked, both the couch’s pillows are missing, and two picture frames were knocked off the wall.

“Sunshine!” Suga shouts, sudden and desperate, and Daichi jumps at the sound. “ _Sunny_ , where are—” The cat streaks out of the bedroom, already meowing up a storm, and Suga kneels just as Sunshine leaps into his arms. It’s the friendliest Daichi has ever seen the cat. “Oh, thank god,” Suga sighs, into his black fur, and Sunshine is _still_ meowing insistently.

“No one else is here, right?” Daichi asks as he’s already moving toward the hallway. He took Suga’s knife from him, but he doesn’t hold it at the ready. He peeks into the bathroom to find it empty, and the bedroom is, too, although in a similar mess to the living room. “They’re gone, whoever they were.”

He doesn’t know where Suga kept his valuables, or what kind of valuables an ex-necromancer freelancer would even _have_. He doesn’t know whether to help him look through the mess, or just try to straighten things, or go straight to the cops.

 _Hello, yes, my legally dead boyfriend’s apartment was broken into and a lot of magical shit was probably stolen._ Okay, maybe call the… magic cops.

Daichi sighs through his nose when he realizes that Suga probably _is_ a magical cop, for all intents and purposes. “Okay,” he tells himself, because Suga’s still standing in the living room clutching his cat, and he doesn’t know anything about break-ins any more than he knows about friend death, but he needs to Do Something for Suga before he screams.

Daichi goes back into the bedroom and grabs the overnight bag by the foot of the bed. It’s still full of the wrinkled, dirty clothes Daichi had accidentally left here last time, and he tosses those onto the bed for later. It looks like his dresser and closet were largely untouched, thankfully, and he grabs some pants and a couple of sweaters before going into the bathroom and grabbing the necessities from there, too.

When Daichi comes back into the living room, Suga is crouching down by the pile of books, a darkly contemplative expression on his face. Sunshine is perched on his shoulders. The cat looks down at Suga, then gives Daichi a plaintive, seeking look, and meows. Daichi doesn’t speak cat.

“What are you doing?” Suga asks, after a double-take at his boyfriend.

“Cat food,” Daichi mumbles, edging past him, into the kitchen. That, too, seems untouched. (There’s a disturbing amount of glass bottles in the trash, however.) “You two are staying at my place. I don’t know how you want to proceed with this, but I do know you’re not staying here tonight.”

Suga does not argue. He stands up, making Sunshine wobble and meow even louder, and tears his eyes away from his books. “Whoever it was had some amount of magical talent. A lot of my wards were undone, not broken. So… Yes, I’ll call Kiyoko and…”

He trails off. Daichi hardly registers it, so intent as he is on trying to figure out how to Fix This and Make Sure Suga Is Okay (now in second edition)—but he eventually catches Suga’s oddly blank expression.

“…It smells like angel in here,” Suga says, after a long beat.

Daichi doesn’t know what that exactly _means_. There’s the whole Suga-angel issue, and he’s pretty sure there’s something going on with an archangel, or maybe Kiyoko dealt with that, or something. He’s also pretty sure that they’re bad. Probably. Everything seems pretty bad right now. “Is your apartment going to explode?” he asks, hefting the bag and wondering if Sunshine would be okay getting stuffed in it during the trip back to Daichi’s.

“What? No.” Suga jars out of his own thoughts, private (as usual) to Daichi, and casts one last, annoyed look at the mess of books on his floor. “I’ll… call Kiyoko later. I’m pretty sure I’d be fine here for the night—”

“If only for _my_ peace of mind, then,” Daichi butts in.

Suga relents as quickly as his stubbornness had resurfaced, and he grabs Sunshine’s carrier from the hallway closet. (Much better than the duffel bag.) Instead of protesting further, Suga just says a quiet, “Thank you,” as they shut the door behind them again, Sunshine meowing pitifully in his carrier.

It’s the first time Suga will be spending the night at Daichi’s. It’s inappropriate of him, but Daichi really wishes it were under better circumstances; hell, he’d be okay with Suga going back to the virility charms and silly, suggestive jokes. Daichi lets them lapse into silence in the train car. It’s blessedly late enough that they can find a spot for Suga to sit, Sunshine on his lap and his bag by his feet, and Daichi stands between his legs and worries over every exhausted line on his face.

It’s killing Suga, slow and cruelly, and Daichi doesn’t give a damn if Suga gets better after dying. He just wishes he knew what the fuck to do. With any of this.

They make it to Daichi’s apartment and Sunshine has returned to his usual grumpy self. He doesn’t take kindly to Dinah’s presence, either, even if the jackalope is thrilled to see him. Daichi lets her out of her cage and she glues herself to the cat without further ado. Suga, in turn, glues himself to Daichi’s bed, sprawled out like a starfish. “At what point am I allowed to just die,” Suga groans, muffled into a pillow.

“It’ll be okay,” Daichi replies, because he’s not sure what _else_ to say. He sets their stuff down on the floor by the pets, perches on the edge of the bed, and begins rubbing circles into Suga’s back.

“I’m just so… so tired, Daichi. Tired of feeling like this and tired of making everyone else put up with this—with _me_. ‘M just tired of it,” Suga sighs.

“I’m not putting up with anything. No one is. And I’m pretty sure it’s late enough we can just go to bed.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it.”

“I know,” Daichi says soothingly, “but you like sleep.”

“…Well. Yes.” Suga flops his head back onto the pillow just as Sunshine jumps up onto the bed. (Dinah starts whining immediately.) “Help me take off my pants? I’m already half asleep.”

“You’re always half asleep.”

“Three-quarters asleep.”

Daichi nobly resists making jokes while Suga flails fairly ineffectually at the button of his jeans. Daichi pulls, and that works better, and Suga does an impressive worm-like dance to wriggle out of his sweatshirt. He leaves the t-shirt on underneath, scoots up enough so his feet aren’t hanging off of the bed, and immediately falls asleep.

Daichi picks up the cat, preventing him from stepping on his boyfriend, and sets him back down by the over-friendly bunny. He tucks Suga’s clothes into the overnight bag, pulls Suga’s phone out from his pocket, and puts it on silent.

Both animals follow him out into the living room. Daichi half-wishes he’d grabbed a pillow of his own so he could scream into it for a little while. He’s pretty sure he can’t actually, literally _fathom_ how much bullshit Suga puts up with on a daily basis. Daichi’s putting up with bullshit through him and it’s nearly ended him a few times. Just yesterday Tadashi had mentioned something about a _wendigo_ , too, and Daichi has read enough shitty horror novels to know exactly what one of those is.

Magic loses a lot of its sparkle and charm when he finds out how large the toll is. It doesn’t help that Suga piles on as much work onto himself as possible. Daichi suspects a collapse is coming. He doesn’t want there to be.

So, adult that he is, he calls the _other_ one who piles as much work onto themselves as possible. “Kiyoko? It’s Daichi. Something happened and I’d _really_ appreciate some advice.”

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi goes from dark, tumultuous nightmares, searing light and teeth like razors, into the softness of a bed of clouds with all the abruptness of a bucket of ice water. The silken sheets rustle and waver as he shifts, chest heaving, looking around for the source of his sudden security.

He finds the baku sitting in a tree, wreathed in marigold. Miyanoshita smiles down at him, kind and warm like the sunlight he feels but cannot see. All of the light now is soft and muted. Harmless. “I should get double points, I caught both of you at once,” she says.

“In nightmares?” Iwaizumi asks, hating the thought of Tooru’s own night terrors.

“Yep. That’s why I’m here, though, right? You’re welcome,” she tells him with a flick of her tufted tail.

“Thank you,” he replies. He shrinks down within the softness of his bed. He still isn’t sure if this is lucid dreaming, or if it’s just some strange, shared space they create together, but he’s glad for it. Everything is comforting here, calm and quiet, reminding him of the new life he’s supposed to be adjusting to. The blankets pooling around him smell like Tooru.

Fuck, he hopes Miyanoshita doesn’t realize that.

“Oikawa had been getting better for a little while, but I guess progress isn’t always straight line,” Miyanoshita says. She hops down from the tree, landing perfectly, and more marigolds sprout up from where her bare feet touch the vague floor. “But he always just reverts to a lucid dream when I yank him out of nightmares. And then, those peter off, too. You make _these_ places.”

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi mutters.

“I like them. They’re confusing, but really nice. I’m getting used to the taste, too.” She plucks a flower and slurps it down like a noodle. It leaves a gooey, orangish stripe on her chin. “Think it has anything to do with those Dreamlands?”

He sincerely hopes not, but he doesn’t see what other possibility there may be. “I guess spending so much time in a place like that tends to leave psychic scars,” he says, surprisingly not bitterly, but certainly not happily.

“There are worse options.”

“Probably.”

Iwaizumi rolls onto his side, pulling blankets with him, and wonders if he can fall asleep inside this dream. It’s not as if he’s tired here, but everything is pleasant enough that he feels the need to bask, to nap in it. He idly wonders if this is his own subconscious trying to comfort him.

Miyanoshita plops down next to him with hardly a rustle of the blankets. She’s grinning, but not looking at him, something unfocused in her gaze instead. “So, Oikawa had an idea…”

“Oh. _Good_ ,” Iwaizumi groans. This is going to end terribly, he already knows it. “What kind of idea?”

“Dream-sharing. Luckily for you both, you have a baku on your side, so it should be pretty easy. It usually comes with lucid dreaming, but this is close enough, right?”

The thought of Tooru seeing this giant pile of comfort things is embarrassing; he would probably know what it all means far better than Iwaizumi. “Why?” he asks, mulling over the thought, against his better judgment. It seems intimate, not to mention confusing. But… he sort of _likes_ intimate and confusing with Tooru.

“He probably just wants dirt on you. That strikes me as the type of angle he’s working.”

“What if you brought me into his dream, instead? That’s the actual lucid one,” he suggests. Miyanoshita replies with a thoughtful nod. Iwaizumi doesn’t think it’s a good idea to mess around with something outside of a baku’s knowledge, either, so he decides that Tooru is the safer option.

And if he can get dirt on Tooru, or even get a better handle on how he’s dealing with things, then so be it.

“He should still be lucid dreaming right now, but let me check in with him.” She fizzles out of existence in his dreamspace and he relaxes back into his blanket nest. He intends to doze for awhile longer (and maybe ponder sharing this sense of comfort with Tooru _eventually_ , when he can make sure he scrubs all of the incriminating parts of it out of his brain), but it feels like no time at all before she reappears in the tree. “He’s set! Right now, he’s on a beach, but if we give him too much time, he may start changing things to tease you. He’s, uh, that sort, right?”

“He is _definitely_ that type,” he says flatly and, with regret, he leaves his bed. The ground feels faint beneath his feet, indistinct and hazy, and that is certainly reminiscent of the Dreamlands. It’s slightly more solid in the flowers beneath the tree, at least.

Miyanoshita gives him a warm, pleased smile. “You two suit each other in weird ways.” That brings an odd amount of heat to his face, considering how innocuous the remark had been, and he can’t quite meet her eyes when she hangs from her knees from the branch and extends her hand down to him. “C’mere, grab on. Don’t let go until we get there, alright?”

“Right.” He takes her hand, squeezing, and the space doesn’t fall away immediately. When it does, it melts gradually, until they’re left with the vague sort of in-between static that Iwaizumi is _definitely_ familiar with. He swallows down the slight alarm. Miyanoshita hadn’t warned him about emotions clogging up the space, but like fuck he’s taking risks.

She leads him in a vague direction. It doesn’t really look or feel like they’re moving, but there’s a bright spot on ahead, the only source of color in the greyness. Her tail _thwacks_ against his legs every few steps, the only thing he can feel outside of her hand in all of the nothingness.

He thinks this is a liminal space, but it still reminds him too much of the Dreamlands for him to be comfortable. Maybe he’ll drag Tooru into his dreams next time so he doesn’t have to repeat this part.

The bright spot expands before them, and Iwaizumi can see a beach laid out, colors a little too vivid to be realistic. It’s empty, unmoving, but radiates the smell of salt and the warmth of a summer sun. “At least he’s not going to dunk us into a blizzard as a joke,” Miyanoshita murmurs and places her hand against the spot. It ripples like liquid beneath her touch—just to freeze like glass a moment later. “Huh.”

That single, perplexed syllable is the only warning they have.

The dream pops in front of them, flooding the area with too many sensations at once. Miyanoshita screams, trying to pull Iwaizumi toward her and away, but the pressure is sudden and crushing, overwhelming them both. They both tumble through the rapidly filling space. Iwaizumi’s ears pop as he dizzily tries to right himself while keeping hold of the baku.

The feeling is gone as suddenly as it had come. They’re left, dripping with sound and color and sand, on the non-floor, both of their chests heaving. “Oww…”

Iwaizumi’s head snaps up and he finds Tooru sprawled next to them, curled into a ball and wincing like he’s having another migraine.

Tooru cracks open an eye. “You broke it,” he whines. Iwaizumi is too relieved to see him in one piece to care about much else right now.

“I don’t know what went wrong,” Miyanoshita wheezes, her free hand pressed to her sternum. She sits up with a groan, shakes her head, and lets go of Iwaizumi’s hand in order to massage her temples.

The floor breaks beneath them the moment they lose contact.

Their plunge is a little more normal this time, as far as Iwaizumi can use the word. He doesn’t understand what’s going on—ready to chalk all of this up to The Most Terrible Idea Oikawa Has Ever Had and human dream bullshit—until the three hit the ground with _oof_ s. This is definitely solid now.

The pressure is back in his skull and sinuses, and he coughs a couple times as he catches his breath. He’s not quite winded, but the air here is strangely thick, and it’s difficult to breathe properly. It’s a lot like…

Iwaizumi opens his eyes and finds off-color rocks, a faded sky, and a curious nightgaunt peering down at him. This isn't his brain's pale imitation of the Dreamlands anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( what do you get when you cross a baku, a skinwalker, and a clairvoyant? 
> 
> _HUGE_ thanks to the three who helped me ( _forever_ ago) decide on asahi's fate!
> 
> 1Tочно нет! = "Absolutely not!" [ return ]  
> 2Tu es trop bizarre. = "You're too weird." [ return ]  
> 3Cara. = "Man." [ return ] ))


	21. Tendou Satori Is Surprised To Find Himself This Attached

The nightgaunt reaches with long nails aimed at Iwaizumi’s eyes when it’s hit with a sleep spell. It flumps forward, nearly gouging Iwaizumi anyway, and he rolls out of the way with a curse.

“What the hell is going on?!” Miyanoshita demands. Her voice is high yet firm, and when he sits up to look at her, he finds that she has also teeth and claws of her own at the ready.

Tooru isn’t doing as well.

He’s curled into the fetal position, shoulders tight, crumbling the ground beneath him.

“ _Shit_.” He’d only heard what sort of trouble resulted when Tooru was last here. Iwaizumi rolls to his feet and grabs the unconscious nightgaunt. He rips off its tail, ties its bony wrists together, and heaves it as far as he can throw it.

He’d almost forgotten how everything worked in the Dreamlands. And yet, he’s ashamed at how swiftly it’s coming back to him. Miyanoshita’s eyes are as large as saucers when she sees the nightgaunt nearly disappear into the hazy distance, but he has little time for her awe or confusion. He can explain on the way.

Iwaizumi grabs her hand and turns to help Tooru up, just as the psychic manages to shatter the ground beneath them.

Water drops the size of their heads fly up, breaking their fall, dripping together upward into a bubble, carrying them with them. He is _not_ drowning tonight, not getting lost in the sky either, and not because of Tooru’s dumb self, so Iwaizumi flings himself at Tooru and uncurls him by force.

“Hey, listen to—” he begins, but it’s obvious Tooru hardly hears him. His eyes are glassy, mouth partly open, blood streaming down his nose and dripping into the water surrounding them. “Oikawa, _listen_!” Iwaizumi shakes him, but that hardly gets a stir. They’re about to fall into the biggest part, and the way it’s shimmering, Iwaizumi begins to worry about it being something worse than water.

“Do _something_!” Miyanoshita squeals from behind them.

“Stop breaking the fucking world, dumbass!” Iwaizumi roars, patience snapped. He braces himself, rears back, and headbutts Tooru.

The water above them pops with a crack of thunder, drowning out Tooru’s yelp, and then they’re falling downward again, at least.

Tooru whimpers again when they flop onto the ground—now grasses as soft as silk—and Iwaizumi rubs his tender forehead. “That’s so rude,” Tooru sulks, sounding halfway normal, even if his voice is too loud.

The not-water from above rains down on them and it sizzles grass and skin alike.

Iwaizumi pulls the grass up into a hardened umbrella above them. “Welcome to the Dreamlands,” he deadpans as the other two scrub at their burned skin. “The less you think here, the better. That goes _double_ for the jackass who brought us here.”

“What did I do!”

“Whose idea was it to share dreams?!”

“Please, could you two have the lover’s spat later?” Miyanoshita breaks in before either can gain momentum. Tooru huffs; Iwaizumi just continues staring at the rain. “I want answers, and then we can start to figure out what went wrong and how to get out of here.”

“The Dreamlands are another realm. It’s affected by thoughts and dreams, so bringing a psychic here is a stupid-ass thing to do.” He does not add anything about the last time Tooru had been here. Tooru flinches anyway, and the rain stops, replaced by harsh sunlight and wisps of steam. “We need to get out of here before this implodes.” He’s not sure if this refers to the space around them or Tooru’s head. He doesn’t wish for either.

“Okay, but how do we leave, then? You know a way out?”

“Actually—”

Tooru’s head droops, and in the same moment, the ground beneath them changes abruptly into what can only be described as goop. They splash into it, struggling to stay afloat, and Iwaizumi flails for Tooru before the man slips under entirely.

Iwaizumi concentrates. _Come back to me_ , he prays, hoping all his instincts haven’t totally left him. He has no hope of fighting Tooru’s panic here, but it doesn’t mean he’s powerless; he focuses on the thought of wings. He’s had so many pairs, and just because he doesn’t have any pelts with him does not mean he doesn’t remember how they feel.

It’s less the wings and more the flight that finally frees him. He kicks off the remaining sludge sticking to his feet, twisting in the air, and finds Miyanoshita, in baku form, slipping under. He nearly gets stuck again, inadvertently somersaulting through the air when he thrusts his arms back in to grab her, and they flip back over when she comes free with a _pop_.

She clings to him like a terrified cat, claws extended and fur on end, but Iwaizumi hardly notices as he twists back around to look for Tooru.

The ground beneath them is solid again, crystalline, hard blue like glass. The sky overhead drips pale yellow and begins to heat like the desert summer he’s missed so much. There’s not even a tuft of that stupid perfect hair left to show where Tooru had disappeared to.

 

\--

 

Tendou finds Wakatoshi arguing with himself.

Wakatoshi sighs through his nose, mouth snapping shut half a heartbeat too late to stop the matagot from cocking his head to the side. He’d wanted to avoid further incident with Northot’s possession—he hesitates to call it _embarrassment_ , but it’s hellishly close. He has faith that he can still come out of this ahead, but the journey thus far has been frighteningly unprofessional of him.

He’s normally so much better with jobs.

He wishes Tendou and Shirabu could have seen that.

“Brain bug bothering you again?” Tendou asks, ears folded down in mock sympathy. Wakatoshi assumes it’s mock. He’s still figuring out how many human emotions he can ascribe to nonhuman spirits. Shirabu certainly seems to act more in line with what he expects, but Tendou consistently surprises him. Not always in a good way.

Northot’s laugh curls around him like smoke. “It isn’t anything to worry over. My employer wishes to drag this out, despite its best interests.”

“ _I wish to see this trick of yours, yhafh’drn_ ,” Northot replies. Wakatoshi’s eye twitches. “ _Come, let me see these thoughts put into action._ ”

“It seems to be under the impression that I can open realm doors at will,” Wakatoshi adds for Tendou’s sake.

“That’d be a useful trick. Think of all of the things you could steal if you could just travel wherever, whenever…” He trails off with a wistful look and swish of his tail. Wakatoshi notes that it still seems to be broken, or, at least, kinked. “Ah, we could go between goblin markets so much faster. I bet it would be a day trip to shove you into the Seine.”

“I thought you wanted to _show_ me the Seine.”

“So why does _The Thing That Should Not Be_ think you can make realm doors?”

“ _Give voice to your thoughts. I wish to hear you reveal your plots to your dear ones_ ,” Northot hisses above his repetition of its title.

“…It doesn’t matter,” Wakatoshi says, to Northot’s vocal delight and Tendou’s visible disappointment. “I still need to figure out a few things, anyway. The fact remains that I cannot make any on my own, much less open a portal to Tartarus without help.”

“Is that where the nephilim are?” Tendou asks, and Wakatoshi is reminded of how recently Tendou came into his life. The last time he went hunting for nephilim, Kageyama had been with him.

It'd been different, working with another witch. There were certain advantages, but Tendou also came with his own advantages, so Wakatoshi is sure this isn’t a net loss. (Wakatoshi definitely does not miss Kageyama’s attitude or his familiar. The boy’s youth worked against them more than once too, but Wakatoshi does not fault him for his age. He likes to think he’s not that petty.) (Most of the time.)

Instead of answering, Wakatoshi asks, “Is wealth really that important to you? I know you want gold, but…” But Kageyama had had his own reasons to want power (and money); Wakatoshi is at least self-aware enough to realize that it’d be rude to compare them aloud any further.

“I haven’t quite worked out the details of what I want, outside obscene amounts of money,” Tendou easily admits, casting his eyes to the side. He almost looks at Northot’s hazy figure. “What _isn’t_ there to want when you have a god indebted to you? But I’m also very curious about what _you_ want.”

“This isn’t something to undertake lightly. People could die because of this.” Northot huffs at his ‘could’. “We already have to find two more spirits to sacrifice.”

Tendou shrugs, completely unperturbed. “They were going to die anyway because of you, right? Me being here doesn't affect anything. So it’s not really _me_ killing them.”

Wakatoshi would be insulted if he hadn’t already come to terms with the cost of his actions long ago. It was really only going to be the sacrifices for the summoning, and he was using the types of spirits who would normally be taken out anyway. (Certain annoying luck spirits aside.) “Then, you’re not bothered that _I’m_ killing others?”

“Like you haven’t done it before?” Tendou scoffs.

“ _How much is a single life worth to you now?_ ” asks the many-horned figure in his peripherals.

Wakatoshi grumpily doesn’t answer either of them.

 

\--

 

Daichi is talking, but Suga doesn’t process it. He’s warm, for once, cocooned happily in all of the blankets on the bed. Sunshine is still sleeping against the back of his knees, too. It’s _nice_. And he doesn’t have to think about anything else if he’s asleep, right?

But slowly, things start to penetrate his hazy brain.

Things like “I spoke to Kiyoko” and “away for a few days” and “could be good for you”. Well, mostly the first one, because Kiyoko is the _last_ thing Suga wants to think about. There goes his happy mood. He hates being mad at her, no matter how justified he is.

Suga blinks open an eye, peering up at Daichi, noting that he’s already gotten dressed and shaved. There’s pale winter sunlight in the room, but he can’t tell what time it is. The apartment smells faintly of bacon. “…Whaddid you do?” Suga mumbles through the blanket half-covering his face.

“Oh, awake now?” Daichi asks with a smile. He prods Suga’s shoulder, firmly, then leans down to give him a peck on the hair. “Good morning, starshine.”

“God, you’re old.”

“Grumpy in the morning?”

“Time?”

“Almost ten,” Daichi supplies, and Suga groans in outrage. “You don’t want to know what all I’ve already done this morning, then.”

“No,” Suga grumps. “…What’d you do to Kiyoko.”

“We spoke last night, and again this morning.” (Suga wishes he felt a different kind of apprehension at the thought of his best friend and boyfriend talking behind his back.) “And, long story short, she agrees with me. You need a break from this. An actual vacation.” Daichi taps Suga’s cast through the blanket—it feels abruptly like a ball and chain. If Daichi starts believing in Kiyoko’s version of well-meaning, they might have issues in the future.

Especially considering last night.

Through a herculean effort, Suga props himself up to better regard Daichi. “What did Kiyoko say about last night?”

“I talked her out of going through everything last night, since you were already passed out in my bed,” Daichi replies, eyebrow raised. “She offered to help you re-ward everything. Because you need her for the witch stuff? I’m not clear on the details, but you can sort them out later. We mostly spoke about getting you out of the city for awhile.”

The last part doesn’t process since priority is given to Kiyoko’s offer. Suga frowns at the pillow and wonders; Kiyoko is a remarkably composed person, but she’s not a particularly good actress. And she’s not a liar.

But he can count the number of people who could use _angel_ magic on one hand. Kenma would probably die if he used that much, and he’s not even in their realm right now, anyway. Suga can’t actually use it himself—or, at the very least, hasn’t _yet_.

He _sincerely_ hopes no one else is this kind of threat. And the timing of it; the only things stolen were his research books.

 _Does she want to keep me out of trouble?_ Suga wonders. “Wait, _out_ of the city? Where? _Why_?”

“I always visit my family for the end of the year,” Daichi replies, and Suga _gapes_ at him. “It’d just be for a few days—they live a couple hours away, it’s like a five hour drive. We can stay in a cabin at my aunt and uncle’s place.”

Meet Daichi’s _family_? In a fucking _cabin_? Suga, born and bred city boy, getting dragged out into the boondocks to meet his relatively new boyfriend’s _family_ and stay with them for a few _days_.

And it’s a _drive_.

Right. Suga swallows and pretends his heart isn’t thumping its way up his throat. “Um.” Real smooth. He swallows again, tears his eyes away from Daichi’s earnestly hopeful expression, and studies the wrinkles in the pillow that he just wants to fall asleep on once more. “…Why?” he ends up repeating.

“For a break.”

“And you want… _me_. To meet your family.”

“I’ve brought friends home before. Ennoshita’s stayed with me over the new year before,” Daichi reassures, but it has the opposite of the intended effect, since Suga fixates on the ‘friends’ bit.

He can’t comfortably ask Daichi about his family life since he more or less doesn’t exist to his parents anymore. He doesn’t want to volunteer that information right now, not the dirty specifics, and not when Daichi is so kindly offering this to Suga.

He’s brought out of his spiraling ruminations by Daichi giving his hair a sharp tug. “Hey!” Suga swats at him, more surprised than anything else.

“You were getting that look on your face,” Daichi informs him.

“What look?”

“The ‘Overthinking Things’ look.”

“Is that something else Tooru warned you about?” Suga asks without real ire. He rubs at his head and scoots a little further away from Daichi to prevent more hair abuse.

“No, that one I picked up on my own. You _can_ say no, you know.” Daichi takes the freed space as an invitation (the metaphor is not lost on Suga) and he lays back down next to him, chin propped up on one hand while the other reaches over to play with the blankets near Suga’s hand. “I can skip out this year, it’s no big deal.”

It only _now_ occurs that there'd been a possibility of Daichi leaving him for a few days, and that Daichi had been concerned. “I can’t let you do that,” Suga replies, shaking his head, “you should see your family. You only see them once a year?”

“Plus weddings and special events. It’s not a big deal though, Suga. Other things come up in life, and my parents are pretty understanding—”

Suga does not want to be a thing that Comes Up in Daichi’s life, derailing his life plans any more than he already has. “We can go,” he says.

Daichi doesn’t hide his surprise. “That was a fast turnaround. I seriously didn’t mean it as any sort of attempt to guilt you, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, but, you know. Maybe some space would be a good idea.” He could put off confronting Kiyoko then, or at the very least give himself some more time to think about how to approach that. “We’d be back by the new year, right?”

“Probably on the first or so, why?”

“I have to be back by the first,” Suga says. “It’s—it was Asahi’s birthday. Noya and I…” They don’t have concrete plans, but he knows they’re going to do _something_.

“Sure, that works,” Daichi replies gently. He finally puts his hand over Suga’s, giving him a squeeze. “If you want, you don’t have to do the whole parents thing. My aunt usually doesn’t sell me out when I visit, so we could just lie low and enjoy the great outdoors.”

The great outdoors in late December. Suga snorts despite himself. “I know the city’s weather has been pretty messed up, but isn’t that getting out into blizzard country?”

“I can drive in snow,” Daichi replies, affronted, and Suga chuckles nervously.

 

\--

 

Kenma’s feet hurt and he’s cold, but Kuro drapes himself over him, making small, purr-like sounds into his ear. Despite his size, he’s not actually a good heater, but at least they’re in the human realm again. Bonus: they’re in the right time zone, too, since Futakuchi had laughingly tried to drop them off in Greece earlier.

He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally, so he makes it to Lev’s apartment largely on autopilot. It’s a little safer in the city to have Kuro out, which is good, since he stays braced by Kenma’s side. It’s reassuring in a way Kenma can’t fully articulate. What’s even more reassuring right now is that Kuro hasn’t tried to press anything else—nothing about kissing, or feelings, or relationships, or tengu, or _anything_.

Still, Kenma’s tired, and _not at all_ prepared for when the door is flung open and Kenma finds himself staring up into mismatched eyes. Even if the height and silver hair are mostly what he’s looking for.

“Котенок!” Alisa cheers and yanks him inside.  [1]

Kuro is left outside for a moment, blinking in his shock, and Alisa processes the figure behind Kenma in the same beat.

“Kenma!” Lev to the rescue. He more or less collides bodily with Kenma, which is almost too much but he’s too warm and familiar for Kenma to push him away. He melts into his heat with a pleased sound, letting the taller man lift him off of his aching feet. “Why are you in your pajamas? Did you already take off your shoes? Alisa, let Kuro in!”

“Kuro?” Alisa echoes, head cocked. Kenma is very grateful that Kuro had been settled.

A tan cat meows and winds his way through Lev’s legs, staring up at Kenma in too-sharp curiosity.

Alright, maybe they were lucky Kuro had looked human with Alisa’s sudden appearance. “Kuroo Tetsurou,” Kuroo supplies, catching himself and giving Alisa a stunningly roguish grin.

“Haiba Alisa,” she replies with only the faintest of pink on her cheeks. (Kenma is fairly sure that his own cheeks are darker.) “You’re one of Kenma’s friends?”

 _Don’t you dare say_ —

“A little more than friend,” Kuro declares proudly. Lev coos and Morisuke, at their feet, lays his ears flat against his skull in clear disapproval. Kenma facepalms.

“Kenma?” Lev prompts in a too-loud whisper.

“We’re definitely dating now,” Kuro continues as explanation. Kenma wants to sink through the floor. He wonders if this is karmic retribution for being so relieved about Kuro’s silence earlier.

“I didn’t know you had friends other than Лёвочка. You’ve always been so quiet,” Alisa says, nothing but sincerity in her tone, and Kenma knows his face only gets redder. “But I’m so glad to see you again! It feels like it’s been too long.” [2]

“That’s because Masha’s still pissed at him,” Lev says.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be scared of her,” Alisa says cheerfully, despite the fact that Kenma firmly believes he should be _very_ afraid of their aunt. “I’m only in town once every couple of months, so I need to see you more often! You and Lev are so cute for each other.”

Morisuke makes a noise like someone stepped on him, and in unison, Lev and Alisa pan up to stare at Kuro. He only shrugs. “I guess so?”

Kenma doesn’t want to discuss this, not with Kuro, and certainly not with the Haiba siblings. (Poor Morisuke.) He wiggles until Lev sets him down, and tries not to wince at his sore feet. “Um, I have a favor, Lev,” he says, changing the subject, and Lev is already nodding. “Can we stay the night tonight? And, uh, borrow some clothes…”

“Mine might fit a little better,” Alisa offers sympathetically, despite the fact that she’s nearly as tall as Kuro. Kenma just sighs and nods. He’s far too tired for this.

He gets a short reprieve when Lev excuses them to let Kenma change, and he flops facedown onto Lev’s bed with a groan. Morisuke jumps up onto the bed with a similar sigh. “You’re a cat?” Kenma asks, muffled.

“She stopped by unannounced, and Lev is—well, you know. A pretty terrible liar.”

“So mean!” Lev says, popping out of his closet to stick his tongue out at them both.

Morisuke gives him a flat look, but Lev hardly notices. “Since we couldn’t pass me off as Anya’s little cat, I’m now Lev’s _pet_.”

Kuro snickers.

“Don’t you start with me, demon,” Morisuke hisses. Kuro puts his hands up in mock surrender, and Lev throws a pair of pants at his face. “But what happened with you two? I thought you would still be with the tengu. You obviously haven’t been back to your own place…”

“We’re feeling better, but still crappy enough that we didn’t want to risk it. Which is why we’re now asking for favors here,” Kuro replies. Kenma nods into the bed covers, even if the wording sets his nerves on edge.

“You’re always welcome here!” Lev declares as he reemerges from the closet with what are likely the smallest clothes he owns. Kenma still eyes them skeptically. “But…”

“But?”

“I’m having a family get-together tomorrow,” Lev tells them like a kicked puppy. “It’s why Alisa’s here—and Aunt Masha won’t be happy to know that you’ve been hanging around with us. At least, not without an explanation?” He says the last part hopefully, and Kenma nearly feels guilty for having to shake his head.

“Where will you go?” Morisuke asks.

Neither Kenma nor Kuro answer him, for too-long of a moment.

“Figures,” the cat huffs and Kenma isn’t exactly sure _what_ figures—Kenma usually thinks things through and it’s not as if Morisuke is privy to many of Kenma’s (many) mistakes lately—but he feels vaguely insulted anyway. “I guess you’ll just have to stay with Tadashi and Kei.”

“…What?” Kenma asks, covering Kuro’s startled “ _Ehh_?”

“Should you volunteer others’ places?” Lev asks, squinting at him.

Morisuke just scoffs. “Like you’re one to talk? And they can’t stay with me—sorry—my home can’t be accessed through normal means. I don’t think any of you need a trip through multiple realms.”

“Can _I_ visit? I don’t mind going through multiple realms.” Lev is grinning, bright and eager and as adorably clueless as ever, and Kenma is very thankful for the distraction he makes for Morisuke.

Kenma _really_ doesn’t want to try to think of how to handle that situation. He owes Tadashi (and Kei, if he must) most of a dragon’s worth of payment, and he hasn’t delivered. Not that he minds not getting his cut, but the dragon then makes him think of Bokuto and how antsy he’d been to do that, and none of this is a train of thought Kenma wants to board.

“We can find a hotel,” Kenma interrupts. Morisuke turns from Lev, expression soured in an instant. Kenma braces himself for more haughty concern, and he’s certainly not disappointed.

“You’re going to go scuttle off on your own again?”

“We just need to recuperate.”

Morisuke sighs, far too heavily for his cat form. It comes off as absurd. “Cats go off alone when they’re in pain to lick their wounds, to know they’re safe. Even if there _are_ other safe spaces for them. So I understand your drive here, I really do.”

Kenma won’t argue about being compared to a cat. Maybe it’s flattering, coming from a cat spirit. “But I’m not leaving, or… licking my wounds,” he grumbles.

“You’re just going to steal another hotel room and fill it with more hazardous magical materials instead?” he asks archly.

“How about you mind your own business for once?” Kuro butts in. He’s not sneering yet, but he’s close, and Lev looks nervously between the two. “If you’re so worried about him being alone, you don’t have to, because he’s got _me_ —”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about! He was left alone with _you_ and he nearly died!” Morisuke snaps back.

“Hey!”

“That was—”

“A demon, leashed or not, needs supervision if not banishment,” the bakeneko hisses, fur slowly raising, teeth bared, “and you have no right dragging Kenma through hell while your contract is still active.”

“So you’re going to shove us in with Freckles and Tsukki? You have a really shitty way of caring about someone, cat,” Kuro retorts. Before Kenma can stop him and despite the connected pull on their exhausted bodies, Kuro steps up onto shadows, making himself longer, taller, fingers beginning to drip into claws. “You’re going to shove me at _them_? Using them as scapegoats for the big, nasty demon, to keep me away from other meals?”

When his eyes, already lighter and brighter as the rest of him continues shifting back into demonic darkness, dart up to look at Lev, Kenma knows that’s a step too far.

Morisuke outright snarls at him, fire popping into life above him, and Kenma grabs at Kuro to either yank him back or put himself between them.

But Lev beats them all to the punch.

He grabs Morisuke out of the air mid-leap, heedless of the flames and claws and Kuro still looming over them. Lev squashes Morisuke against his chest, like he’s trying to smother him into quieting down, and snaps, with surprising heat of his own, “Прекратите драться!” [3]

Kenma pulls Kuro back, just to make sure there’s no fight. Morisuke squirms a couple times in Lev’s arms, hind feet kicking at air as he’s left to dangle, and the fire dies out. “That was stupid,” he says flatly, “you could’ve burnt yourself! Idiot.”

“You’re the idiot, picking fights in a house that’s not yours,” Lev scolds. He doesn’t laugh this off like usual, and Kenma watches them both with a guarded expression as Lev carries the cat over to drop back onto his bed. Lev only reverts back into a smile when he catches Kenma’s eye. “Sorry! That’s how Yaku shows that he cares. …I think. He’s not really trying to get anyone eaten by Kuro.”

“Of course not!”

“They’re too scrawny to eat, anyway,” Kuro says, and Kenma elbows him for the _very_ poorly-timed joke.

Morisuke lays his ears flat, opens his mouth to respond, then closes it a moment later. It takes a beat, but eventually he forces out, “It’s not that I’m playing favorites, it’s that Tadashi could banish you but Lev can’t use that kind of magic. I’m sorry for letting my temper get the better of me.”

And with that, he disappears with a _pop_.

“Oh no, was he sulking?” Lev asks in dismay, frowning at the empty spot. “Was he sulking because of me?”

“No, I guess he just really doesn’t like it if I insinuate that he likes you too much.” Kuro sighs and drops fully back into a settled form with a small _thump_. “Sorry, man. Not like I’m happy about being the bogeyman, either.”

“Too much?” Lev repeats blankly.

“Uhh,” Kuro intelligently replies, seeming to realize what he’s just said only then. Kenma sighs.

“You think it’s too much?” Lev asks through his fingers, eyes nearly comically wide. (Kenma’s sigh turns into more of a snort, that he quickly tries to hide as a cough.) “How is it too much? I don’t think it’s enough, but he’s never _left_ like that before! That doesn’t mean too much, does it?”

“Lev,” Kenma breaks in before that can get any worse, “I don’t think you should listen to Kuro or any, um, romantic advice he has. We’re sorry for chasing him off, but he should be back tomorrow, right…?”

“Hopefully,” Kuro says and Kenma elbows him again, harder. “Hey! I already said sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Lev replies. Kenma can’t actually tell if he means it or not. “…But, um, do you really think he thinks he likes me _too much_ , Kenma? He’s never complained before! Not even when I kissed him!”

Kenma and Kuro _gape_. For the first time in what feels like forever, Kenma is suddenly aware of what an impact the supernatural has had on Lev’s life—and how much he’s missed lately in his friend’s life.

“He was a cat at the time,” Lev explains, and that does not make it any better. “It wasn’t on the mouth!” he _finally_ adds, and Kuro laughs into his hands. “Anya was making me kiss Katya goodnight and I thought it’d be a good time to… But what if that was too much for him? If we’re having a sleepover tonight, then we need to discuss this. And then your dating life, too.” Lev’s gaze darts over to the cackling demon, and Kenma can feel the ick face coming on.

“You don’t get to say anything about mine when you just admitted to kissing a cat.”

“It was on the forehead!” Lev wails.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t think about his steps. The fire doesn’t burn him, but it’s an uncomfortable, ghostly feeling in his feet, and he’d rather avoid dwelling on these half-sensations that are so common for him in the Dreamlands. He hadn’t missed them. Miyanoshita squirms on his back, also doing her best not to look at the flames beneath them, even though he’s told her numerous times already that it won’t hurt them so long as they believe it won’t.

 _She’s new to this_ , he reminds himself. He tightens his hold on her thighs, a warning, and she stops wiggling for the moment. “We’re almost out of here,” he tells her. Miyanoshita makes a noise against the back of his neck to let him know she heard.

Even though he can dismiss the fire, he cannot escape the heat, and he’s sweating by the time they’re done slogging through the fire swamp. Miyanoshita hops off him, brows drawn up in worry; she still looks frazzled. One of her pigtails had fallen out long ago, and the rest of her hair is held up in a single ponytail, though her hair is too thick to remain in it. The end result is that her black hair is halfway tied back, the rest of it matted down against her face and neck, stuck there by a mixture of sweat and goo from the sinkhole they’d fallen into earlier.

Iwaizumi rakes a hand back through his hair and finds the remains in his, too. Disgusting. Both their clothes are torn, and he already has blood staining his tank top from an over-friendly nightgaunt that appeared almost immediately after the area had stabilized again after Tooru’s disappearance.

 _At least we’re out of nightgaunt territory now_ , he tells himself. It’s about the only silver lining. “How are you doing?” he asks.

Despite her disheveled appearance and extreme worry, the baku breaks into a smile that shows off her teeth. “We’ll get out of this.”

It’s surprisingly optimistic, and Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. Not that he blames her for it, but she’s been pretty damn vocal about her displeasure.

Then, her smile turns wry and horrifically sharp. She adds, “You and Oikawa got us into this, so I’m sure putting you two back together can bail us out again. I don’t know _how_ , but it’ll work.”

“…I don’t know how, either,” he admits. Miyanoshita sighs, shrugs, and lashes her tufted tail.

The pair get going again, and as they slowly move further and further into gug territory and Iwaizumi grows progressively more paranoid, he tries to think of any solution. She has a point, as far as Tooru being the key to getting out of here. _Probably_.

Even if he’s not a dreamer right now—and thank _fuck_ he’s not possessed by an angel again—Tooru should be wildly powerful in the Dreamlands. Iwaizumi hadn’t wanted to figure out exactly how a physical clairvoyant works here, but surely there will be some opportunity to abuse that power to get out of here. But… _how_. That’s what’s sticks, especially since he’s not sure how they wound up here in the first place.

 _Lucid dreaming, plus psychic, plus baku, plus… me?_ He doesn’t understand dreams, or sharing them. Miyanoshita had only given him a blank look when he’d asked earlier. But _something_ about mixing all of this together had pushed them out of the human realm and back into this shithole, so coming back together should hypothetically give them all the ingredients to get back again.

But with Tooru being a semi-conscious timebomb here, he’s not sure how they’re going to get the chance to figure it out.

 _What’s the backup plan? What’s the alternative?_ comes a dark, hateful part of himself. Iwaizumi struggles to shut it out. Its voice drops into something resembling a purr—resembling the deep void of a voice that his master used, and Iwaizumi braces against the thought even before it’s fully formed. _You can survive here on your own. They can’t. They’re dead weight._

That’s probably true, the first part of it. Ptar-Axtlan may have sheltered him and protected its own forcibly-taken space here, but Iwaizumi has moved through these lands on his own. He knows what to avoid, how to fight here, how to use the laws here to his advantage. It’s not something you can teach a spirit in a matter of…

 _How long have we been here?_ Iwaizumi thinks suddenly, panicked. Time flows differently here. He’s made it rain twice now to give them water, but neither of them have eaten or slept, and who knows what the fuck Tooru has been doing. _He’s probably drawing everything in half the realm to him_.

They’ve been here too long, _and_ they’ve been separated for too long. Time is going to fuck them over, and if they lose their psychic, then it’s game over.

_No, I can’t lose Tooru. It doesn’t matter if he can help—I can’t lose him. We’ll figure something else out._

Fuck, _fuck_. Iwaizumi is supposed to be helping them both, and instead he’s lost his lover and is probably leading Miyanoshita to an early grave. Tooru is going to die here if they don’t get to him. _They’re_ going to die here if he can’t get a way out. He doesn’t even know how to make a fucking way out himself—he’s not Sugawara, not some sort of abominable necromancer, nor is he a deity twisting the laws of this place to suit himself.

The muddy ground crumbles beneath them like so much sand, and Iwaizumi suddenly understands his racing thoughts and thundering heart.

A great, twisting being rises up next to them and extends its wings in a display of aggression. Miyanoshita shrieks at its shifting appearance, and despite how almost _used_ to these things Iwaizumi is, he finds himself shaking down to his core. “Th-That’s a— _fuck_!” Iwaizumi does not get to explanations before the thing crashes down beside them, aiming to latch onto either of them with its many gnashing jaws.

He doesn’t see Miyanoshita for a long moment, and his throat feels close to collapsing. His lungs have shriveled to nothing; he’s too terrified to properly breathe, so Iwaizumi just stares at the wriggling mass of scales and hate in front of him.

The baku collides with his side and they both hit the ground as one of its wings slice over where his head had just been.

“ _Move_!” Miyanoshita shouts, giving him another shove.

“That’s a hunting horror,” Iwaizumi replies in a trembling voice. He tries to swallow, fails, and forces out in a croak, “We can’t fight it. We have to run.”

“Sounds good to me!” she says and once again tries to tug him up onto his feet. She doesn’t _get it_ , though—hunting horrors are fast and tenacious, not to mention the fact that they can fly. There’s nothing around here they can use for cover, unless they throw themselves into the fire swamp, but they won’t last long there regardless of how much they believe they’re safe. They can’t outrun it. But they can’t fight.

“ _Where_ ,” the hunting horror impossibly hisses from too many mouths, “ _where is your master._ ”

The ugly voice in the back of his head springs back to life through the layers of crushing fear.

And he finally recognizes it. _Why have you gone from me, yhri_?

“No—no  _no_ —” He’s unaware he’s moaning, curled up with his face pressed into his knees. He cannot deal with Ptar-Axtlan’s voice in his head again. “It’s dead! _Ynawgah’n! N’gha Ptar-Axtlan haiog, haiog, ynawgah’n, ftaghu naflfm’latgh…_!”

He thinks he hears Miyanoshita shout again, this time in pain, but the hunting horror before them does not recoil at his words. He senses more than sees itr lean over him, wings spread once more, twisting and coiling within itself.

But the beast’s fear tactic ultimately works against itself, because there are bigger things to fear in life.

This time, Miyanoshita’s scream is right in his ear, and he feels her icy-cold touch at his shoulder. Iwaizumi uncurls, if only to look up at why the hunting horror is suddenly gone.

There is a smear of utter blackness, devoid of light or color or any solidity, quadrupedal and tailed. It’s taller at the shoulder than Iwaizumi, perhaps even taller than Tooru, but the way it sucks the color out of everything around it makes it seem larger still. The empty silhouette turns on them, and the only thing to break up the darkness within it are two bright spots where its eyes should be. It does not blink.

“ _Yhri_ ,” Ptar-Axtlan sighs.

Miyanoshita throws a sleep spell at it. Iwaizumi doesn’t even see the magic rebound. It sloughs off, dripping like paint, and the feline rears up on hind legs to tower over them. Raised, Iwaizumi can see the hunting horror on Ptar-Axtlan’s other side, writhing like so many injured snakes, one wing broken beneath it.

“You’re dead,” Iwaizumi says. He knows this to be fact, and he knows that the thing in front of him cannot be _The Leopard That Stalks The Night_. (The remains of his rational mind point out that he does not feel the memetic infection any longer with the title.)

But who actually knew?

 _It was too easy to kill. It’s possessed me_ — _maybe there were remnants left in my mind_. It’s one of his latent fears, easy to ignore in daily life, but far harder to ignore late at night or when apparent proof is standing before them. _It has to be dead. It has to be, has to be, hastobehastobehastobe_ —

Since Iwaizumi is so much dead weight, Miyanoshita stands in front of him, claws and tusks bared. She’s smaller like this, on all fours, and it’s not as if baku are known for particular fighting skills.

But she’s trying.

And Iwaizumi _isn’t_.

“ _Relying on outside help again?_ ” Ptar-Axtlan asks with a curl of its tail. It spares one glance over its shoulder at the hunting horror, then paces around in a circle, no longer between them. “ _You work best when working with others, yhri. But where is your psychic?_ ”

“Stay back!” Miyanoshita snarls, short fur raised along her back.

“ _I have little need of a baku_ ,” Ptar-Axtlan says and raises a formless paw.

Miyanoshita backpedals with a squeak and Iwaizumi’s fight or flight finally pulls from the _freeze_. He grabs her by the scruff of the neck, pulls her out of the range of the swipe, and stands protectively between them. He doesn’t have skins here, or even teeth or claws or magic of his own, but he faces the memory of Ptar-Axtlan all the same.

Ptar-Axtlan laughs at the defiance, then promptly explodes.

The bits of nothingness fade away as they fall around them. Iwaizumi’s ears ring, and Miyanoshita is digging her claws into his arm with strength he’s surprised she possesses. They stare, mute and terrified, as Oikawa Tooru alights on the ground in front of them.

Grasses and meadow flowers spring up from where he touches, waist-high in seconds, and the temperature takes an abrupt turn to match. By the time Ptar-Axtlan is completely gone (again), the sky overhead has turned into a friendly, pale yellow, there are glittering blue butterflies all around them, and Tooru cuts off the remaining uninjured wing of the hunting horror.

“Thank god I found you both,” Tooru says. His weak voice is at odds with his appearance—he’s dripping white flames from his hands and there is a literal golden glow to him, haloing him and adding a rosy luster to his skin.

He takes two steps and collapses on the third. Miyanoshita is close enough to catch him with a low, “Woah, easy there.”

Iwaizumi has already backed up several paces. His shoulders are up around his ears and he _still_ wants to flee. The hunting horror is still alive, if maimed, and thrashes in agony behind Tooru (not that the psychic seems to care).

He _knows_ it’s not real, not the truth, but he’s also seen Tooru kill the same god twice, and the last time didn’t turn out so well for Iwaizumi.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru murmurs, “you okay?”

Tooru isn’t standing on his own and his fire has gone out. Iwaizumi can now see the sheen of sweat covering his face, and there’s faded, dried blood on his upper lip like he’s wiped away countless nosebleeds. He’s a wreck, and Iwaizumi is shocked he made it this far on his own.

And he’s asking about Iwaizumi. Right.

“We’re safe now,” Miyanoshita says, though it comes off like a guess. “You can calm down now. It’ll be okay. And look, we found Oikawa!”

“ _I_ found _you_ ,” he retorts. Tooru sighs and droops, and his eyelashes flutter. Miyanoshita helps him sit among the meadow grasses; now, instead of springing up beneath his touch, they fade away, crumbling into fine sand the color of his dragon pelt. “Iwa-chan, please,” Tooru says, voice dropping further, and it’s little more than a moan now. “You’re okay now. We’re okay. _Please_.”

“It was a fear thrall,” Iwaizumi replies, rubbing at his arms. He feels weak and useless and still terribly afraid, and he hates that the last part of that is directed squarely at Tooru. “I-I need a moment.” He needs a _lot_ of moments.

“I don’t think we have a moment,” Miyanoshita tells him. “Oikawa, could you, um, maybe stop turning everything into goo again?”

“Sure, if you two stop thinking for… a little while…” Tooru trails off with a groan; the sand beneath them has become bubblegum pink gunk. “It’s okay,” he repeats weakly. “‘m okay.”

“You stay here, I-I need to get away from him,” Iwaizumi says. He backs away before Miyanoshita can protest, and with every instinct he has screaming at him to flee, he finally gives in.

 

\--

 

“Please ignore him,” Keiji says with a small bow.

“Is that a _bruise_?” the other guard asks, face largely hidden by her helmet, but Keiji can hear the incredulity in her voice. “You two get into some sort of fight?”

“Not us,” Keiji replies under their breath and turns back to standing at attention. It’s easy for them to ignore one Bokuto Koutarou clinging to their leg, dejected episode in full swing, if admittedly for a good reason (this time). Keiji, personally, finds it easier to stay angry right now. Angry at Kenma, angry at Kuroo for going with Kenma, angry at stupid guard duty. (Angry at themselves for being angry at everything else. Keiji does not do true anger particularly well.)

Koutarou lays his head against Keiji’s thigh, rubbing his uninjured cheek against the armor. He hasn’t spoken much, but now he’s making little, sad, pathetic sounds. More for attention rather than out of any genuine sorrow, Keiji knows.

“Is he… gonna be like that this entire watch?” the other guard asks.

“Probably,” Keiji replies flatly. “Please ignore him,” they repeat. Koutarou is on their other side from the second guard, and Keiji is going to keep it that way, but it doesn’t mean he’s exactly hidden.

Koutarou makes another tiny whine and shuffles so he’s leaning more of his weight against Keiji’s leg. Keiji shifts their balance, leaning against him so they don’t both fall over, and Koutarou just takes it as further invitation. By the time Keiji loses their patience and yanks him back by the hair, Koutarou has both arms and legs wrapped around Keiji’s leg, half-sitting on their foot, far too much like a toddler with a parent.

Except he’s a toddler that’s larger than Keiji, and they’re on duty, for crying out loud. “Koutarou, behave,” they hiss, incredibly aware of the other tengu snickering behind her claws at them.

“I don’t wanna be alone,” Koutarou mumbles. “But I guess everyone wants to leave, huh.”

 _Not right now_ , Keiji mentally groans. While Keiji normally bends over backwards to get out of guard duty, the Akaashi family has a long and proud history as guards, so when they do get unfortunately pressed into it, they’d really like a better air of professionalism. Not a depressed mate who refuses to let go of their armor or tail feathers like a child instead of the adult warrior that he is.

“I’ll just go back to my place…” Koutarou says sadly and begins detaching his limbs with a slowness that lets Keiji know exactly how much he doesn’t want to leave.

“Aw, let him stay, he’s not hurting anyone,” the other guard coos.

“He could at least get dressed and join us properly,” Keiji replies thinly. “Or you could go bother Komi at the stall in the market.”

“Kenma could be there,” Koutarou whispers like the tiny witch is now some sort of bogeyman. Keiji rolls their eyes. They wish they didn’t have a helmet on so Koutarou would know just _how much_ Keiji is rolling their eyes today. It’s been a lot.

“I could go and find them both for you—”

“No!”

And that’s about as well as any conversation about what had happened has gone so far. Keiji doesn’t want to lose their patience—it’s _so much_ easier to stay angry with Kenma and Kuroo instead—but Koutarou is, as always, trying their patience dearly.

And then the other guard asks, “Who’re you talking about, Bokuto? Some kind of spat?”

Keiji anticipates another outburst, or worse, a deeper slump. But they’re all interrupted when Suzumeda swoops down from overhead. The two guards jump a little; Koutarou just groans and buries his face down in Keiji’s thigh again. “Hello,” she greets with a raised hand. “I’ve been looking for Bokuto.”

“Why?” Keiji asks guardedly.

Suzumeda surveys them for a moment, frowning just the smallest bit. “The witch and demon were your guests, weren’t they?” she asks after a pause.

“The what,” the other guard echoes.

Keiji cuts across with a sharp, “And?”

“You know them?” Koutarou asks, perking up.

Suzumeda crouches down to his level, her wings halfway unfolded behind her for balance. Keiji’s lip curls at the sight, unable to help themselves. (The last time they’d seen white, detached wings on someone, they had been stealing Koutarou’s egg.) “I found the witch nearly collapsed yesterday, out in the street. The demon claimed he was a tengu friend.”

“He is!” Koutarou says at once. “But what do you mean—”

“They both seemed to be exhausted and had trouble breathing. It looked like they were running from something. Is everything okay?” Suzumeda asks, frowning more seriously now. Her eyes are on the bruise on Koutarou’s cheek, and Keiji doesn’t like that.

“We’re fine,” they answer for him. They like Suzumeda just fine, though Koutarou is closer with her (Koutarou is closer with everyone, it feels like at times), but speaking to a spirit of justice about this seems like maybe not the _best_ of ideas. They’re already irked that she knows Kuroo is a demon.

Suzumeda puts a hand on Koutarou’s shoulder and says nothing else. Keiji hopes Koutarou’s expression isn’t half as guilt as they think it is, but they can’t see from this angle.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi carries Tooru, who slips in and out of consciousness. The immediate area around them changes to reflect his state; Iwaizumi does his best to keep things stable enough to traipse onward, but fuck if the psychic doesn’t make it easy. Miyanoshita floats along beside them when she can, but Iwaizumi can tell she’s flagging, too. None of them know how long they’ve been here. _He_ can keep going for days out here, but they can’t.

There are nerves thrumming beneath his thoughts, probably leftover from the thrall. He’s still mad at himself for that, too, but he can dwell on it when they’re not all in danger anymore.

 _There’s nowhere here that they’ll be safe_. He shakes his head to rid himself of the traitorous thought. Even if it _is_ fucking true.

Iwaizumi may have lost his edge, but his body and mind still remember the Dreamlands, as acclimated as he was. The other two are _not_ used to it. There’s no rough and fast course to give them, either, and come to think of it, he himself can’t actually remember how long it took for him to get used to it. And he had a demigod looking out for him, as twisted as it had been.

 _Don’t think about the fucking cat_ , he tells himself. The thrall may be gone, but he doesn’t need to spawn another living nightmare. They don’t need to test how strong his memory would be.

“Where are we going?” Miyanoshita asks, dropping to the ground with a whine.

“Where I used to live.” _I guess_. It’s as much where he lived as anywhere else here. “Nothing else should have moved in by now, and maybe there’s something else we can do there.”

Ptar-Axtlan had been able to make a realm door for Iwaizumi to one of the goblin markets. Granted, the markets are the dimensional equivalent of swiss cheese for how many things they connect to, but it had still been made. He’d been under the impression that it had been a secret, temporary thing, but it wasn’t as if Ptar-Axtlan had ever explicitly told him. It _could_ still be there.

Or something they could use, or do, or _something_. It’s the only lead Iwaizumi has. None of the inhabitants of this place would be particularly friendly to him, since they’d just view him as the deity’s pet even with it gone.

 _They’d be right_ , he thinks, dryly. And now he’s gone from a god’s pet to a psychic’s.

“You’re not my pet,” Tooru mumbles in his ear, and tightens his hold for a moment. Iwaizumi supposes it’s supposed to be a reassuring squeeze. “I met some ugly toad things earlier… They thought I was _your_ pet.”

“Toad things?” Iwaizumi asks. Miyanoshita raises her head, barely, and they both step carefully over stair-like ice shards that begin to grow beneath them.

“They were ugly,” Tooru repeats in a sigh. “Greyish with pink snouts and blobby and gross…”

Iwaizumi lets out a snort. The ice beneath them melts at his touch and with a groan, Miyanoshita lifts herself back into the air and lets Tooru tug her along behind them. “Those sound like moon-beasts. Where _were_ you?”

“How ‘m I supposed to know where anything is here…?”

Iwaizumi badly hides his worry by faking a laugh. “Fair enough, I guess your sense of direction wouldn’t be any better here, huh?”

Tooru drops back off into a restless slumber, and the landscape quiets down around them. Iwaizumi lets himself relax. Just a little.

By the time they reach his old haunting grounds, Iwaizumi is about ready to carry Tooru in his arms like a princess so he can throw Miyanoshita over his shoulder and carry her, too. She’s stumbling more than walking, head drooping and bobbing with every step, and her tail drags behind her, completely limp. Iwaizumi is left to wonder just how much sleep baku are used to—and what the Dreamlands is doing to a higher spirit.

He doesn’t wake either of them until they’re skidding down the slope toward the hollowed-out tree. Miyanoshita blinks a few times, adjusting to the sight. They’re in a depression, too gentle to be a canyon, but it’s shallow and the tree is far too massive to be even halfway hidden. Most of the rest of the trees nearby have long since burned away, leaving a ghostly forest full of gnarled, glassy skeletons, but none compare in size.

Iwaizumi ignores the way his heart clenches at the sight. Something in his brain must jar Tooru awake, because the man jerks up with a “Wha?”

He swallows and sets Tooru down. “You two can rest here. You should be safe. I think there’s… probably some stuff in there. I need to look around,” he tells them, nodding toward the opening in the tree. He hopes Tooru doesn’t turn it into fluff or slime or something, but this place has withstood worse, so they should be okay.

Iwaizumi watches them crawl into the tree, already mostly asleep, then jogs up the opposite side of the basin. There are still tracks here from the last people to be here; as he’d thought, nothing has really been here yet, too scared of the now-dead god. Whatever. It works in their favor now.

The husks of the trees here are more familiar to him than anything in Tooru’s home, and he doesn’t like how comforting it is to be here again. Iwaizumi would’ve been perfectly fine never returning.

He finds the tall, thin tree with the circle charred into the ground beneath it. The magic here is old and mostly dead, and the sour smell makes his nose wrinkle. There are no marks around the circle, either. Iwaizumi paces in front of it, staring hard at the runeless space, jaw clenching more and more with every pass.

It’d been a hell of a long shot.

But he’s disappointed to find that _some_ part of him had legitimately been hoping for this easy out.

Of course a deity would use completely different magic, and of course it wouldn’t leave behind anything he could use. All he has for this trip is the ability to point at the ground and say _At one point, there had been a temporary realm portal here_. Some help that is.

Iwaizumi drops to his knees with a bitten-off groan. So, that’s it, then. They’re fucked. Nothing here knows how to make realm doors, nor are there any permanent ones already existing here. Sugawara had only gotten in with a nightgaunt and a lot of necromancy, and he didn’t have any more nightgaunts. He probably didn’t even know they were missing yet. He has no clue how much time had passed in the human realm.

Everything here is hostile, if not by nature then by his old alliance (ha) with Ptar-Axtlan. They’ll be safe here for now, but… then what?

He doesn’t know how to get them home. He doesn’t know how to keep Tooru from creating or attracting trouble. Miyanoshita will probably be able to stomach eating things from this realm, but a human? Even Iwaizumi had to eat his fill in other realms while out on jobs. Ptar-Axtlan had been able to create realm doors in the past, from different realms, so he knows it’s possible… and that’s about it.

_What now?_

A panic unlike the fear thrall grips Iwaizumi.

They could die here. Miyanoshita has a far better chance at long-term survival, and Iwaizumi _knows_ he can do it. But Tooru? No. And Iwaizumi only feels cold terror at the thought of returning here to live out his days.

 _So what now_? He _needs_ to think of a way out of here for them. It’d be a lot easier if he knew how they got here in the first place, or would it? Logic and magic rarely mix, in his experience.

So… A lucid-dreaming clairvoyant human, plus a baku, plus him? He doesn’t get it. _He_ hadn’t been lucid dreaming, so maybe it was that? Miyanoshita _had_ said his dreams were weird…

Iwaizumi, in lieu of ripping his hair out and screaming himself hoarse, steels himself and goes back to check on the other two. If nothing else, he can agonize over this while keeping watch for them.

He finds them both curled up safely in the hollowed-out tree, pressed as deep in as they can go but not quite hidden from outside view. Tooru is already asleep, head pillowed on Miyanoshita’s lap, and Iwaizumi does a double-take when he realizes that Tooru is wrapped in a deerskin. His heart thuds at the sight, and, too late, he realizes how much of his own stuff is still here.

“I put him to sleep,” Miyanoshita says, carding her fingers through his brown hair. “He shouldn’t mess with things this way.”

Iwaizumi swallows and nods. He doesn’t trust his voice. His eyes scan over the remains of his old home, heart seizing once more at the piles of furs and skins and several of his old weapons and charms. She doesn’t say anything about the weapons, at least.

“How will we return?” Miyanoshita asks. She looks up at him, eyes dark in the dim light, and she looks exhausted herself.

“You can rest, too,” he tells her.

“I don’t need to sleep as much as you two.”

“I don’t need to sleep _here_ at all if I don’t want to,” Iwaizumi replies with a roll of his eyes. “I know the laws of the land better, and I know what I can get away with. Please, sleep, if only for my own peace of mind.”

“I think you should sleep to recuperate,” Miyanoshita returns. Her voice is harder now and she stills her hands in Tooru’s hair.

It dawns on him what she means. “You want to try _again_?” He’s half incredulous, half disturbed. There _are_ worse things that could happen to him, and he isn’t in a hurry to experience any of them.

“It can’t get us in any more trouble.”

“It actually could. I don’t think Oikawa should dream at all out here, either.”

“Do you have any other ideas?” she asks, not challenging so much as desperate.

Lucid-dreaming, empty dreamspaces, psychics and baku and skinwalkers— “No, I don’t,” Iwaizumi replies. Her shoulders droop and they both sigh. He sits down opposite them, stretching out his legs with a groan, and he wonders if he couldn’t shift his feet into something a little more comfortable to walk on.

Wait.

“ _Shit_ ,” Iwaizumi breathes, unable to believe what has been in front of him all along.

Miyanoshita looks up at him, brow drawn in concern, but he hardly pays her any mind. He’s been so consumed with trying to exactly reverse this or piggyback off of what Ptar-Axtlan had done, or even trying to figure out whatever the hell Sugawara had done—he hadn’t realized that they _aren’t_ them. He’s not a god, Tooru isn’t a necromancer, and who the fuck _cares_ how they got back into this shithole?

He sure doesn’t, not when he finally has figured out a way back _out_.

They just have to do things their own way. And for someone as familiar with the Dreamlands as he is, combined with the fact that they have a psychic in the Dreamlands at their disposal, that’s a _lot_ of leeway.

“I know how we can get out,” Iwaizumi exclaims, jumping back up onto his aching feet. “Wake him up, we need him.”

“He _just_ fell asleep—”

“He can sleep back in the human realm!” he calls over his shoulder as he races back outside.

What will he need? He doesn’t have any of his legitimate skins here with him, so he’s going to have to work off of memory again, which won’t be pleasant. _Maybe a placebo? No_ , he thinks and shakes his head. He jumps up to break off a brittle branch from the large tree, and begins drawing circles.

He’s already done with the first by the time Tooru limps back out, rubbing at his eyes and draped in the deerskin, Miyanoshita supporting him. “What’s got you in a tizzy, Iwa-chan…?” he whines, plaintive and surprisingly bright considering how tired he must be.

“We’re getting out? Now?” Miyanoshita adds, hopeful.

“Oikawa can mess with this place damn near as well as any god can,” Iwaizumi explains breathlessly as he begins writing marks around his circle. _Dragon_ , _scale_ , _protection_ , _whole_ —he may not know much magic, but this comes to him like a second language. Who cares if he’s bullshitting it? Iwaizumi runs out of room before he runs out of runes to shove into this haphazard circle. It should work. He’s had to write his own things since he became a skinwalker, so at least he has a couple centuries of practice. “Even if he’s not a dreamer right now, he’s still powerful. We’re going to _break_ out of here.”

His declaration is met with silence, until Tooru offers him a little yawn. “A-And how are we going to do that?” Miyanoshita nervously asks.

Iwaizumi jerks his thumb up against his sternum. “Me.”

“You. Are going to break this realm. Are you still under some sort of thrall, because _that is_ —”

“Oikawa killed a god here before. I know he has the power for this.”

“I was a dreamer,” Tooru replies tiredly, using his own words against him, “and if you _recall_ , I wasn’t exactly myself then, either.”

“Have a little faith.”

“I’m still listening, aren’t I?”

“Let’s go over these details again,” Miyanoshita breaks back in. “ _What_ exactly are we doing and _how_? Because I feel like there’s a couple steps missing here, besides the whole ‘let’s do it’ thing.”

“Dragon scales repel magic,” Iwaizumi explains. She nods along. “The realm walls should be weaker here, so we just have to take advantage of that and use brute force. Which is where Oikawa comes in.”

“Okay, there’s something like logic there,” she admits, but squints at him and points out, “but I can’t help but notice that you’re _not a dragon_. And there’s not any dragons here. Aren’t there any nasty native creatures that negate magic like that?”

“Here, I can force a transformation.”

He only gets a very blank, suspicious look in response.

Iwaizumi sighs and strips off his shirt. “You’re right about the fact that I can’t normally turn into anything else without a pelt—in the human realm. But here, this place works different, if you haven’t noticed. As long as my body knows how to do it and I can concentrate, I should be able to turn into one.”

She doesn’t need to know how much he dreads this. It’s not a painless process, for one, and he has only fully transformed into a dragon a handful of times now. But he’s a quick learner. He hopes.

Tooru yawns again, head bobbing, before he catches himself and asks, “How exactly can I help you?”

“Concentrate on turning me into the biggest, scariest, strongest dragon you’ve ever thought of. More powerful than anything you’ve ever seen before. And concentrate _very hard_ on my scales. They need to be as real as possible.”

This is a reach, he knows, and Tooru’s expression doesn’t inspire confidence in him. “Am _I_ turning you into this beast or are _you_ doing it to yourself?”

“Both,” he honestly answers. “We have to do this together, otherwise I’ll probably fail. That won’t be pretty.” He already did a partial transformation once to help force Ptar-Axtlan out, so he knows it’s possible on a technical level. He _can_ turn into a dragon, without a skin, in the Dreamlands.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and tries to remember what it felt like.

For a long moment, nothing really happens. He doesn’t make it to the point where he begins to fear failure, however, since he cracks open an eye to already find his hands have turned into claws.

 _It’s painless_ , he marvels, turning over his hands a few times, watching the scales sprout on his skin like many tiny flowers. He turns to look at Tooru; the psychic’s eyes are screwed shut in his focus, and there’s sweat dripping down from his temples. Miyanoshita is holding him up more than ever.

He’s going to have to pull his own weight, then. He can’t let Tooru bear the brunt of this, since it was his idea and his body.

None of it feels particularly painful or like his usual shifts until he reaches the first set of wings. _Those_ force themselves out of his back like they’re carving their way out of his lungs, and he staggers, nearly stepping out of his circle before he catches himself. Iwaizumi grits his teeth against the pain and keeps going.

This isn’t exactly happening in any order that he’s used to. The scales are coming first, before anything else of his body changes, and that’s when he realizes that it truly is Tooru forcing this upon him. He has to catch up before this gets messy.

By the time his second pair of wings sprout, he’s on all fours, trying to grow a snout before his fangs cut through his mouth. _Now_ it’s all hurting, and badly, but his growls are coming out half-feral and his scales are gleaming, nearly _glowing_ , so he’ll bear it. In hindsight, it’s a really good thing that Tooru has seen what he looks like as a dragon, too, especially since he has to fight him on a couple of the littler details, like his horns or how far up the ruff on his tail goes.

He snaps at Tooru when he feels shifted enough, and at last it feels _right_. He can feel it when Tooru’s influence leaves him, and that’s an unsettling thought he shoves to the side for later.

Iwaizumi paces in a circle, checking over himself, noting how shiny his scales still are. He half-wishes they looked like this in reality, and then, _incredibly_ grateful that dragons can’t blush, he realizes that part of this must be how Tooru views him. He stretches out all of his limbs, flapping his wings a couple times, taking stock; everything seems alright. He’s functional, and he’s certainly a dragon. Hopefully he’s _enough_ of a dragon.

Miyanoshita’s eyes are huge again, but she’s not trembling out of fear so much as excitement. Tooru, more draped over her shoulder than he is standing under his own power, looks less so. “Th-That’s so cool…!” she breathes, staring up at him, and under any other circumstances, Iwaizumi would preen.

Becoming a dragon is still novel and exciting to him, too. Sometimes.

“It’s worked this far, so we should see it through,” he says, mostly to himself, and rears up on his hind legs. He stretches out his wings for balance and contemplates the pair in front of him. Jumping between realms isn’t going to be pleasant. Miyanoshita should fare better than Tooru, but at least it’s not outright _jumping_. They should be okay. When Ptar-Axtlan shoved him through to steal the egg, it hadn’t hurt much, so hopefully…

Well, they have little other option. And the most important rule of the Dreamlands is to have faith in what you’re thinking.

“Come here,” he says and extends his arm. Miyanoshita, bless her, does not hesitate to jump into the dragon’s open arms. Tooru ends up sandwiched between them, his head lolling, and Iwaizumi fears that he’s not fully conscious. They need as much of his power as possible to do this, so Iwaizumi gently shakes them with an urgent, “Hey, dumbass, wake back up.”

“‘m ‘wake,” he slurs in response. Reassuring.

“See this spot?” Iwaizumi asks, pointing with his tail to a drawn notch at the top of his circle. He receives two nods, although Tooru’s head may just be floppy again. “Concentrate on it, both of you. Imagine… Uh. Imagine a glass breaking, or _something_ breaking. Not the ground, but the air.” That should work. Probably.

Miyanoshita shuts her eyes tight, mouth worked into a fierce scowl. Tooru groans weakly and blood drips down over his lips. With his free claws, Iwaizumi slashes down at the mark on his circle, the point where it should be easiest to interact with realm borders.

And to his immense relief, he feels his claws catch on something.

His middle claw comes off with a _crack_ and when he pulls his hand back, he realizes that two others are half-melted. “Okay,” he says, swallowing his alarm, “you two are going to have to hold on. I need my other hand.”

“Don’t you mean paw?” Tooru asks.

“If you’re awake enough to sass me, you’re awake enough to try harder. I think I made a dent in the place so shove everything you’ve got at that.”

He pauses just long enough for them both to clamber onto his back, avoiding spikes and his top set of wings, and then he resumes digging into the hitch he’d felt. It takes a bit of scrabbling to hook a claw back in, and he loses that one, too, before he can start wedging any part of his hand actually _into_ the space.

He’s dimly aware that he can _see_ his scales melting, dark teal going nearly white before dripping down onto an unseen wall. It’s not a pleasant smell, either.

But it doesn’t really hurt yet, and it’s not like this is damaging his pelt either, so Iwaizumi can live with this. He digs both hands into the crack he’s made and _pulls_. It fights him, sizzling against the fake scales, and he thinks he can see the ground cracking in his peripherals. He also thinks he sees a few trees go down.

This is what he’d been fearing the most: they’re going to destroy this part of the Dreamlands before they can make any real headway. Iwaizumi shoves his weight against the crack, and with a splash of suddenly melted dragonskin, he manages to shove an arm through up to his elbow.

And, of course, _then_ it starts hurting. Iwaizumi’s tail lashes, as much as he’ll let it show, and tries to shoulder his way through. He’d sort of hoped it would break a little hole in it and they could slip through; he isn’t sure what will happen if they have to _squeeze_ through when any edge of it is liable to hurt or kill them. But, this is progress, and he realizes that he’s soon managed to rip a hole roughly the size of a human.

The space on the other side is dark, and he can taste the magic in the air. It’s familiar, but not human, and certainly not Dreamlands bullshit. The difference in pressure seems to suck them in.

“Miyanoshita,” Iwaizumi grunts, trying to widen the space even still, “grab Oikawa and jump.”

“Jump? Where does that place go?” she asks, leaning over him.

“It’s not _here_ ,” he snaps back. He tastes the air again, and the magic makes his nose itch. “I don’t know where it is, but I know it. I think.”

“Human realm?” she asks, fast and hopeful.

“I don’t think so.”

“How many realms have you even _been_ to,” Tooru grumbles.

“Not that many,” Iwaizumi replies, but now he’s thinking—not that many, probably, but that can come secondary to simply getting out. No other realm has ever tried to kill him quite as consistently as the Dreamlands, so this can only be a step in the right direction. “You two, _go_.”

“And how will you get through?” Miyanoshita asks.

Iwaizumi looks down at the very much not dragon-sized hole. He swallows his initial, knee-jerk lie, and instead tells them, “I guess I won’t, this time. But if you two can make it back to the city, maybe Sugawara can whip something up.”

“We’re not leaving you!” she exclaims.

“We _need_ the big dragon to keep this open, and this isn’t a discussion!” Iwaizumi tries to nudge her off, but his neck isn’t long enough, and she hunkers down on his shoulder with a flick of her tail. “I’m serious. I’m not sure how long this will keep like this. You two need to go—you can’t survive here like I can.”

Well, he doesn’t have a patron deity anymore, so maybe not. As soon as he thinks that, no matter how wry the thought, he knows he’s made a mistake; Tooru slides down off of his back and approaches the hole.

“Wait, don’t touch—”

“We just need to make it dragon-sized, then,” the psychic declares and shoves at one of the jagged, invisible edges.

Immediately, it all shatters.

Iwaizumi falls forward without the border to hold himself up, and Miyanoshita slips from his shoulder. He doesn’t see where Tooru falls, but he hears his yelp.

The dragon twists in the air, becoming aware that they are _not_ near any ground, but they’re no longer in the Dreamlands. The rules don’t apply anymore. He doesn’t know what kind of laws the land they’re in now follow, but it’s close enough to normal that he’s shoved back into his own body, and he loses contact with Miyanoshita as they tumble downward.

A loud _oof_ is the only warning he gets before he hits _something_ , and bounces off with a yelp of his own. He sees buildings, lights, and _why the fuck are they still so high off the ground_. Miyanoshita shrieks as she tries to claw her way into staying somewhere, but it doesn’t work.

Somehow, Iwaizumi ends up on the bottom. Miyanoshita lands on top of him, and Tooru on top of her— _how the hell did he get on top?!_ Iwaizumi mentally snarls and tries to push them off so he can pull oxygen back into his lungs. He probably broke a few ribs. Or all of them. Breathing, even without the weight on his back, is _very_ hard.

The hole in the realms above them snaps shut with a sound like an explosion. Iwaizumi feels like throwing up, and Tooru actually does in the gutter. “Where are we?” Miyanoshita asks. “This looks like—oh _shit_.”

Iwaizumi and Tooru both look up, exhausted and unimpressed but still alarmed by her curse. Miyanoshita scrambles over to yank the deerskin away from Tooru and throw it at Iwaizumi.

He pulls it around himself just as the first panicked tengu lands to intercept the intruders.

Tooru gasps out, “Tengu friend,” before promptly passing out in Iwaizumi’s lap.

 

\--

 

Tendou doesn’t know what to make of it when Wakatoshi—even with otherworldly help—makes a realm portal like it’s nothing. Shirabu is quiet, too. Wakatoshi wipes the sweat from his brow and puts his hands on his hips. He inclines his head toward the door, as if prompting them to verbally acknowledge it.

“That’s,” Tendou starts, and doesn’t know how to finish it. He takes a breath and lets it out in a whoosh. “Wow.”

“That’s impressive,” Shirabu says with surprisingly genuine awe. “ _That’s_ what your boss is helping you with?”

“No,” Wakatoshi dryly replies. “This is just a means to an end, which serves it rather than us. Have either of you two been to Tartarus before?”

 _He’s trying to make smalltalk_ , Tendou realizes in delight, _about another realm’s hell_. He can’t believe how horrifically straightforward Wakatoshi is about these things. It’s borderline hilarious.

“ _We’re_ coming with you?” Shirabu asks. The awe is gone, replaced by mistrust and irritation. So much more normal.

“Although I’m a very powerful witch, I’d still prefer backup for something like a nephilim,” Wakatoshi replies. He frowns and glances at the portal again. There’s a twitch to his features, the smallest deepening of his scowl, and Tendou wonders if Northot is talking to him again. “It’s smarter this way. Even without Kageyama.”

“Is that the witch that was helping you before?” Shirabu asks.

“Yes. He betrayed us and now I’m working with you two instead.” Though his tone is as curt as it normally is, they can sense that that’s the end to that conversation. Wakatoshi goes first through the door, and Tendou gladly follows him, herding Shirabu between them.

Tartarus is better-lit than he’d imagined. He doesn’t see a sun or a moon, but there are stars, twinkling through some sort of foggy sky. Tendou oohs and ahhs as they head further in, the trio practically in a knot, and the only sounds are their breathing and footfalls. (One of these does not sound like the others, and not for the first time, Tendou wonders _what exactly_ Shirabu looks like.)

“Is it supposed to be this quiet?” Shirabu asks. To his credit, he doesn’t sound nervous so much as suspicious. (As usual.)

“I don’t see how you could hear enough over the clomping to know it’s quiet,” Tendou remarks. He can _feel_ the irate look he gets from Shirabu in return, and he can’t stop from chuckling to himself. Too easy.

“Stay quiet, please,” Wakatoshi says flatly from ahead.

“I’m just pointing out how talented he is,” Tendou responds. Shirabu smacks his back in retaliation, and he’s lucky Tendou can’t see him, because immature slap contests in a foreign and hostile realm, while a poor decision, is _definitely_ something he’d get into. It’s only fair.

With a long-suffering sigh, Wakatoshi reaches around in the air until he grabs some part of Shirabu, grabs Tendou’s arm, and pushes them apart to place himself between. Tendou stares at him, both surprised and trying hard not to laugh.

Surprise transforms into shock when he hears _Shirabu_ laugh at that. “Sorry,” he hastily says, amusement still thick in his voice, “you must think us little more than children.”

“I think you two could stand to get along better,” Wakatoshi replies. “Do not jeopardize my mission, and don’t get us into trouble, either. Here or in any other realm. We have a deal.”

“Yeah, yeah, a deal,” Tendou says with a roll of his eyes. “Escort him in and out of the tengu realm, and we get that egg you want. I think we’d like each other a lot more if I didn’t think he’d stab me with an antler in my sleep.”

“Are you even _aware_ of what kind of weird angle that’d put my head?” Shirabu snorts.

Tendou isn’t sure if he’s joking or not.

“This would be better if we could do it sooner,” he adds, and Tendou doesn’t exactly get an answer from him. But now he sounds solemn, perhaps a little mopey—the usual when he brings up wanting to go to the tengu realm.

“What exactly is in bird territory that you want so badly?” Tendou asks. _Perfectly_ conversational, albeit a little repetitive.

“Tendou,” Wakatoshi warns.

Shirabu remains silent so long that Tendou thinks he’s being ignored (which riles him in a completely different, far less fun way), but then, he quietly responds, “My friend.”

Tendou certainly doesn’t know what to do with that sort of soft candidness, even as his mind begins to turn over the prospect of smuggling _two_ people back out of the tengu realm. Really, it’s sort of the detail he would’ve liked to have known earlier—did Shirabu think to drop this on them right before? That sounds like a recipe for skewered matagot and invisible-antler-guy on tengu claws. And friend.

Wakatoshi does not let them discuss this; he holds out an arm to stop them both, and that’s all the warning they get before an utterly silent, _gigantic_ foot comes down hardly three steps in front of them.

Tendou feels his hair and ears wave with the displaced air. He hears Shirabu curse under his breath, barely audible, because the thing in front of them is fucking silent as the grave, and it’s one of the scariest things Tendou has experienced.

With his outstretched arm, Wakatoshi gives Tendou a shove backwards at the same time that he starts forward. Each of his steps sounds far too loud now, and Tendou realizes that the stillness around them isn’t as safe as he’d taken it for. In the dimness, he can see indistinct shapes moving in the distance, but none as close as the towering figure before them, passing them by with hardly a care to the three that don’t even come up to its ankle.

Brooms don’t work here, but potions and witch magic still do, and with a leap, Wakatoshi starts climbing. He makes it to the nephilim’s knee before he opens the flask on his hip, and by the time his magic falters, he keeps going with dual daggers made of hydra blood pulling himself up. The giant doesn’t notice, not at first, even with the steam pouring out of its wounds.

It _still_ doesn’t make any sound even when it does falter. Tendou and Shirabu jog alongside them, nervous and still not sure why the witch wanted either of them here. The nephilim pauses, then stops, shoulders going rigid. It swipes a hand down at Wakatoshi, who circles around to its back, and it scrabbles uselessly at its injured leg.

Tendou tries to float up, to get a better view, but it doesn’t work; the magic here is too suppressed. He growls in frustration and writhes in the air about knee-height, too far to help. “What exactly did you want us to do here for you?!” he calls up.

The answer comes when the nephilim manages to snag Wakatoshi off of its shoulder blade. It throws him away like a rag doll, and Tendou reacts on impulse; the witch will land too far away, and he’s not fast enough, but he can still jump. He _pops_ out and back in, misjudging his height, and ends up _above_ Wakatoshi.

They stare at each other for a shocked second before they collide and fall together. They land with a _whump_ nearly out of sight of the nephilim.

“I meant for you to _catch_ me,” Wakatoshi wheezes.

“ _J'ai essayé_ ,” Tendou groans back. “You could have warned me, yeah?” [4]

“I think something’s broken.” They sit up, and Wakatoshi glares down at himself like it’s done him a great personal insult. He pushes down on his chest, winces, then clambers to his feet anyway. “You can’t really fight that, so I need to do this much. I need you to catch me if I’m thrown again.”

Tendou doesn’t want to dwell on the ‘you can’t fight it’ bit, so he nods, even if he’s miffed enough that he doesn’t care what a demonstration of trust this is. They have little other choice if they’re going to stop that big thing.

Wakatoshi’s breathing is labored when they jog back, far too pained for such a short run; Tendou sees a flash of Shirabu’s concerned expression before their invisible ally flatly asks, “Going to try again?”

“Of course.”

“It’ll swat you off again. You need to get up to it faster.”

“I can’t actually fly on anything here, and a flight potion is more like a jumping one,” Wakatoshi sourly replies. “It would be different if either of you could help with this, but you can’t, so I have to climb it.”

Shirabu snaps something in response, and Tendou dimly hears Wakatoshi politely correct him; he tunes them both out in favor of craning his head back to stare up at the departing nephilim. It doesn’t seem hostile until they’re actively attacking it, which is useful. If someone _did_ have wings, that’d be a cinch. As it is, they’re largely grounded, bound by the rules of the realm.

 _What if we didn’t use this realm?_ Tendou thinks, then repeats himself aloud.

“And what does _that_ mean? Can fox spirits use some sort of foreign magic now?” Shirabu huffs.

“I can do something you can’t do,” Tendou shoots back, grinning wide, “and that’s jump.”

“I was already doing that,” Wakatoshi points out.

“Gotta do everything,” Tendou sighs, and points at the giant lumbering away. “It’s going to squish you if you try to climb it again like that, but it doesn’t seem to care until you actually start messing with it, _ouais_? So I need you to get as high as you can on it, and then I’ll catch you.”  [5]

Understanding finally sparks in Wakatoshi’s widened eyes, and he _smiles_ as he nods.

Tendou, bizarrely, is pretty sure his heart just skipped a beat.

He doesn’t understand why, and presses his hand to his chest while Wakatoshi turns around to size up the nephilim. Tendou himself isn’t really injured from that tumble earlier, and he feels fine now, if maybe a _little_ warm. He _definitely_ doesn’t want to think about this any further.

“I can probably get up to its waist again before it can knock me off,” the witch declares. “Aim for that height.”

Easier said than done, but Tendou nods anyway, because he doesn’t actually want to let Wakatoshi down. _And_ it was his brilliant plan. He needs to see this through.

“Don’t break anything else this time,” Shirabu flatly tells them both.

Tendou floats as high as he can, watching Wakatoshi get a running start before leaping onto the giant once more. Its reaction is faster this time, swinging an arm down to try to catch him by the time he’s mid-thigh, and predictably, Wakatoshi’s reactions are slower. He ducks under the way of the first and makes a daring jump onto its other leg to dodge its second swipe.

Its first injuries are still steaming faintly, and more only gets the nephilim madder. Wakatoshi scrambles up as fast as he can. Even from where he is, Tendou can see that he’s letting blood drip away as he goes now, not having the time to reform each dagger before progressing. It drips down the nephilim, releasing more steam as it goes.

Wakatoshi does, indeed, make it to its waist before he kicks off of its hipbone.

Tendou doesn’t expect the man to literally attempt to jump into his arms, and hastily pops in and out so he’s higher, nearly misjudging it again. Wakatoshi hits him bodily, and it takes a precious moment for them to unsort limbs and groan at the way the witch’s skull cracked into his jaw—no surprise, he has a hard head—but then Wakatoshi pushes off of him with a _jump_ spell this time.

Tendou falls, somersaulting through the air once before righting himself again; he sees that Wakatoshi had the supreme bad luck to land on the nephilim’s arm instead of chest. The witch is actually standing on it, more or less upright, and the nephilim seems equally surprised.

Tendou jumps back into the Inbetween, claws his way up as high as he can go despite the cold shearing into him. When he reappears, he finds Wakatoshi already reaching for him.

The catch is perfect this time, no jostling of limbs or time wasted. Tendou laces his fingers beneath Wakatoshi’s boot, braces himself as best he can against the stagnant air here, and the witch leaps off of him with his bloody blade drawn and ready for the nephilim’s throat.

Tendou _pops_ back downward so the fall doesn’t break his neck, and lands in an uncoordinated, shivering pile on top of Shirabu. Shirabu shoves him off, complaining all the while, and Tendou just lays there and rubs at his arms, watching the tiny figure of Wakatoshi bury his sword in the nephilim’s neck. It silently roars, staggering and choking, and Tendou wonders if maybe they should worry about it collapsing on top of them.

That worry is dismissed entirely when the nephilim manages to rip Wakatoshi away from its neck.

He hears a shout, and he’s not sure if it’s him or Shirabu; he registers the movement beside himself before he jumps back into empty space. It burns against him, but it’s a fast trip, no matter how much height he tries to get. He catches Wakatoshi in his arms at the same time Shirabu cleaves through the tendons on the back of the giant’s foot.

The nephilim staggers, clutching at its bleeding throat, and falls. Even as it impacts the ground, it is still completely silent.

Tendou lands badly, but he’s still underneath Wakatoshi and he knows that higher spirits are still _far_ sturdier than any human. Shirabu clomps over to them, flickering in and out of visibility like a broken light, and Tendou is alarmed to see him coughing and wiping blood from his mouth even as he flops down beside them. “Is he—?”

Tendou presses his fingers to Wakatoshi’s neck, although the lack of response and awkward angles his body lie at are telling enough.

There is no pulse.

“Hey, wake up,” Tendou tells him, pressing his fingers more firmly against his throat. He’s mostly numb, so he’s probably just feeling it wrong, or not at all. “He’s not breathing.”

“Don’t humans spawn ghosts?”

“He’s not _dead-_ dead! _Lève-toi_ —I know you can!” [6]

“Stop shaking him like that!” Shirabu tries to pull Tendou off of Wakatoshi, but he just hisses at him and grips tighter. “Look, I know you cared or whatever, but I need you to _not_ freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out. I know he can come back!” Tendou insists in little more than a growl.

“I still need your help getting in and out of the tengu realm.” Shirabu’s voice softens, but it doesn’t do anything except make Tendou angrier with him; he doesn’t _need_ that pitying, gentle tone like he’s some sort of inconsolable child. “And I can still give you the egg if you need it for your boss. You’re working for the Northot thing too, right?”

“ _The witch is still needed_ ,” Wakatoshi’s body announces, and Shirabu jumps away like a startled, antlered cat.

Tendou doesn’t even mind the leftover ringing in his ears right now. He ignores the _cracking_ of the bones resettling and instead stays folded over Wakatoshi. “ _Dieu merci_ ,” he sighs. “Hurry up and bring him back.” [7]

“ _This is not your payment_ ,” the hollow voice tells him, and it sounds faintly _amused_ , the jackass. “ _This is my arrangement with the witch._ ”

Tendou _almost_ says something incredibly stupid like _Make it my payment_. But he Does Not Want to lose the mountains of gold plus magical power, so he bites his tongue, and stays low over Wakatoshi’s body. “…Bring him back anyway, if not for me.”

“ _How attached you are_ ,” Northot says, outright laughing this time, before vanishing completely.

The magic in the air makes his teeth ache and fur stand on end, but soon, Wakatoshi is blinking up at him, looking dazed and pained and incredibly alive.

Tendou doesn’t release him for an inappropriately long moment—until Shirabu barks out, “What the _fuck_ was that?!”

 _That_ , Tendou thinks with happy dread while Wakatoshi lapses into magical jargon about old gods, _is someone I’m far too attached to_.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi is fairly certain they don’t recognize him, considering he hasn’t been executed yet. He keeps the deerskin clamped tight around himself, even when he wants to help hold Tooru upright. Despite being out of the Dreamlands and in a more stable world, he doesn’t look too good, on the verge of passing out.

Tooru’s status kept them alive thus far, although they’ve been escorted to what Iwaizumi is certain is a _prison_. Not large, but made of thicker, older wood, and he catches lines of foreign runes lining the doorway when they’re shoved inside. All of the tengu he’s seen so far have had dark feathers, only a couple speckled with various colors, so he assumes they’re in crow territory.

It’s not helpful since Tooru is friends with the owl clan, but it _is_ helpful in the fact that he wasn’t flayed (again) on sight.

“Hey, could we get a healer or something for our friend here?” Miyanoshita calls after the three of them are tossed into a cell and left there.

There are only two cells in the windowless room, and even if they all came together, he finds it incredibly strange that they weren’t separated. Even if they’re just being held for now. Iwaizumi waits until their guards leave—without answering them, so he doubts Tooru will get help anytime soon—before crouching down beside Tooru and helping him sit up. “Are you okay?”

“Feel like ‘m gonna puke,” Tooru groans.

Iwaizumi gives him a little more space after that. Tooru sits in the corner, propped up with his head lolling to the side, and his eyes flutter as he struggles to stay conscious. He’s had two nosebleeds since they got here, or maybe he never actually stopped.

Miyanoshita, on the other hand, seems fine now, and he doesn’t feel too badly himself, aside from how badly his skin itches. He doesn’t dare remove his covering, however briefly. “What’ll happen now?” Miyanoshita whispers, scratching lightly at the crisscrossed wooden bars. Even with her claws, she doesn’t put any marks on it. Iwaizumi doubts any of them could if they tried.

“They’ll question us more, but they’re bound to get an owl tengu in here to see if we’re really tengu friend or not,” Iwaizumi says. “They’ll… probably escort Oikawa home. I’m not so sure about us. Can you get away from here?”

“I’ve never tried going into a tengu’s dream before,” she admits. “So… who knows. I doubt any tengu are going to fall asleep near us, anyway.”

“…Does it have to be a tengu’s dream?” comes _another_ voice and both of them jump. Iwaizumi whirls around, fists raised, and Miyanoshita snaps to attention; when they face the other cell, it remains empty.

“Could you keep it down?” Tooru complains and rubs at his head.

“Who’s there?” Iwaizumi demands, moving in between the psychic and the empty cell.

It doesn’t remain empty for much longer. A figure bleeds into sight like an invisibility charm is being washed off, and both Iwaizumi and Miyanoshita tense all over again.

The man is pale-haired, dark-skinned, antlered, and appearing almost as exhausted as they feel. His ears, downturned ones of a deer, match the flat, dark nose that wrinkles when he sees the pelt that Iwaizumi has wrapped around him. (Iwaizumi privately feels the same way.) He holds himself gingerly, like he’s nursing unseen injuries, and there’s a bruise covering the right side of his face.

“You’re a baku, right?” he asks, ignoring Iwaizumi’s scowl. “Could you leave the realm through someone’s dreams?”

“I don’t know,” she warily replies.

He doesn’t ask why she doesn’t try leaving through either Iwaizumi or Tooru’s dreams, but he does cock his head thoughtfully. The tips of his antlers almost catch on the ceiling, and he’s already so tall, probably taller even than Tooru. “I’m willing to offer a trade.”

Iwaizumi, curious as he is, doesn’t get to find out what the trade is. The tengu guard comes back into the room, smacking the front of their cells with a wing, snapping, “ _Now_ you’re talkative, thief?”

The stranger’s frown deepens and he vanishes from sight again, although now that Iwaizumi’s looking for it, he can still hear the shifting and smell him. He doesn’t smell like magic, per se, but he’s definitely a shapeshifter. Iwaizumi doesn’t want to trust him.

But if he’s facing down death by tengu, maybe he’ll have little choice.

“The owl clan has been contacted about your claim and will find who declared you friend. We’ll sort this out after they arrive, unless you have anything else to say for yourselves?” the guard asks archly, and none of them response. Silence is probably safest.

The guard huffs and returns to the post just outside the door.

“Thief, huh?” Miyanoshita asks. “What kind of deal could a thief make with us? You don’t know what we’re in for.”

The stranger does not respond. Iwaizumi’s curiosity is completely gone now, anyway, replaced by dread: they’re going to be sending _Akaashi_ over here to get them. He sinks down next to Tooru, about as put-together as the psychic is, and does not look forward to this reunion.

 

\--

 

Suga tightens his grip on his bag. Sunshine has already been dropped off with Kiyoko, along with Dinah, although Suga hadn’t gone in to see her himself. He’s all packed, and it’s not as if he has to call out of work. This was half her idea, and Tooru isn’t answering his phone, so Suga can only assume he’s off gallivanting with Iwaizumi somewhere. There’s… not a lot of other people who’d care that he’s on a vacation.

 _Vacation_ , he scoffs; those are supposed to be relaxing and stress-free. He stares down at the vehicle in front of him. His knuckles are stark white by now and his duffel bag shakes in his grasp.

Daichi, bless his sweet but dense heart, hasn’t seemed to notice Suga’s hesitance yet. He’s rummaging around in the backseat—bent over in a way that Suga is ninety percent sure is on purpose and rather silly, even if he can’t even be grateful for it right now—to make room for Suga’s things.

 _It’s just a car ride_ , he tells himself. Again. It’s not like he’s never been in a car before. Hell, he’s even been in Daichi’s car before… Once. But he hasn’t been on any road trips for this long before, _and_ he’s going to meet Daichi’s _family_ , which is an added layer of anxiety in a wholly new direction. (Suga has met Tooru’s sister, but he’s never really met anyone’s _family_ like this before.)

“Here,” Daichi says, extending a hand for Suga’s things. He shrugs off his messenger bag first and hands it over, but Daichi just stares at it like Suga has handed him a live lobster. “…Isn’t this your work bag?”

“Yes?” Suga replies, not sure about the question. He hefts the duffel bag. “This is my clothes and stuff. You’re _sure_ I don’t have to bring presents?”

“Positive.” Daichi ducks back into the car, so Suga isn’t certain he’s supposed to hear the muttered, “Trust me, presents will be the last thing on their mind when they see you.”

Suga is definitely going to die on this trip. He’s either going to have a heart attack on the way there, or he’s going to drop dead of stress at whatever the fuck _that_ was supposed to mean.

Daichi gives him an odd look when Suga doesn’t detach his locked fingers from his other bag, and gives the messenger bag in the backseat another wary look. “You didn’t need it, but you can just throw that in the back, unless you have a pillow or something you want. I should probably start the car again to warm it up, since I don’t want you freezing to my seat.”

Suga cannot even respond to that.

Daichi looks like he’s about to reach out to him—pat him on the shoulder or take his hand, perhaps—but instead jogs around to the other side of the car, and Suga awkwardly remains standing there, hyping himself up to do something as simple as _get into a car_. A car with a man he trusts and likes, and it’ll only be a couple hours, and hypothetically he can sleep on the way.

This may have been a bad idea. And Suga is honestly pretty damn used to bad ideas at this point, but this is a bad idea in a direction that’s very unfamiliar.

But, before his thoughts can spiral further, Daichi turns on the car and his speakers begin blasting the _Spice Girls_ , of all things.

Both of them jump at the sudden noise; Suga drops his bag on his feet, although it doesn’t hurt with his boots on, and Daichi hits his head on the top of the car door. Rubbing his fresh wound, he reaches over and turns down the music to a dim, peppy thrum.

Suga can’t see his face, but he can see that Daichi’s ears are very, _very_ red.

Neither of them speak for a long moment.

“Was that—” Suga begins.

“I like loud music when I drive,” Daichi admits in a serious and mature tone of voice. Like he’s trying to take the higher ground on something, but like _hell_ Suga is going to let him.

“S-So your pick is _Wannabe_?” Suga says, then bursts into delighted laughter. He has to bend over with how hard he’s laughing, clutching at his sides, eyes stinging from tears. Big, strong, stoic Daichi, listening to the fucking Spice Girls of all things, and at volumes loud enough to rival jet engines?

Suga is pretty sure he hasn’t laughed this hard in a _long_ time.

By the time he’s catching his breath, now leaning against the car for support, Daichi has managed to work past whatever embarrassment he’d suffered from—Suga’s a little sad he missed that, all things considered—although he still has an unfairly attractive flush high on his cheeks. “Are you finished?” Daichi deadpans. He sounds remarkably dignified, even in the face of this.

The song ends and Madonna comes on next.

Suga legitimately collapses against the car with fresh peals of cackling.

He’s aware of Daichi coming around to the other side of the car and grabbing his bag, shoving it in behind him, but he doesn’t really pay much attention outside of trying to lean in to hit enough buttons on the stereo to skip to the next song (he can only _imagine_ what else Daichi has been listening to, and dear fucking god he _needs to find out_ ).

What _does_ catch his attention is Daichi putting one hand on his hip and the other on the back of Suga’s head. Like he’s getting shoved into a cop car, Daichi pushes him down into the front seat, and Suga barely manages to avoid faceplanting into the armrest. The hand on his hip—large, warm, but _why were Daichi’s hands this big that’s unfair_ —manages to guide him into something more or less seated upright.

Daichi grins as he even buckles Suga in. Suga stares up at him, mind already wandering off on thoughts related to how he can get those hands back on him. “There we go,” Daichi tells him, proudly, and even goes so far as to pat Suga’s cheek. “Sometimes you just need a little push, huh.”

Suga gapes at him.

Daichi shuts the door, and outside of hitting the next button to see what comes up (Cher), Suga just sits there. He’s not sure whether he’s more stunned at the manhandling or Daichi’s words, and he only decides it’s the latter when Daichi slides into the driver’s seat and slams his own door shut, too.

“Who told you that?” Suga asks.

“Told me what?” Daichi asks in return. He turns up the heat further; it’s still cold, and he turns to face Suga with one elbow leaning on the wheel while they wait.

“The push thing.”

“It’s not like I haven’t noticed it myself. You’re a little prone to overthinking, no offense,” Daichi fields.

Suga is _well_ aware. So are most of the people he deals with. It’s not a secret, but Yuu had always been fond of declaring people needed pushes before (literally) pushing them. And by people, Suga definitely means Asahi and himself.

He’s sure it was just a coincidence of Daichi’s wording, but he had managed _not_ to think about Asahi for a little while.

Then, he realizes he’s been thinking of this like some sort of grand feat, and the guilt settles back in like a wave crashing back over him.

“Just like that,” Daichi sighs and puts his hand over Suga’s, which is clenched on his thigh. Suga can’t help but notice the temperature difference between them.

“Sorry,” Suga replies on reflex and hastily scrubs at his eyes with his free hand. “It’s just—Noya said we had that in common, me and Asahi. Sorry, i-it’s dumb, I know…”

“I think I have tissues somewhere in here…?”

“Messenger bag,” Suga tells him. Daichi digs around in there like he’s afraid it’ll bite his hand off, but he retrieves some tissues and Suga manages not to drip snot or tears everywhere. “Thanks, sorry. It’s just… r-really fresh, I guess.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for this,” Daichi tells him and squeezes his hand. “You can cry the entire way there if that’s what you think is best.”

Suga laughs, this time with a bitterness he can’t hide. “Five hours of me crying, that’s _exactly_ what I want to put you through next. Near-death experiences, actual death experiences, and n-now this. Perfect. I don’t see why you don’t propose to me here and now.”

Daichi sighs, and Suga winces when Daichi releases his hand. “I’m going to get a shirt that says ‘I don’t _put up_ with you’ on the chest. And frankly, I don’t deserve that, and neither do you.”

“Sorry.”

Daichi doesn’t respond and instead, they finally pull away from Suga’s apartment. The initial lurch of the car isn’t so bad, and Suga’s too busy wiping at his eyes again to really notice that they’re moving until they’re about a block away.

And driving isn’t so bad.

The city traffic is disgusting and no one can drive in the mushy weather they’ve had, but Daichi just turns up the music a little. He’s humming along with it by the time he pulls onto the highway. Suga has steered himself away from Terrible Self-Pity/Loathing and somehow Sad Asahi Thoughts as well, though his mood still feels a little too fragile to go back to joking about Daichi’s musical choices.

He leans his head against the window and stares at the passing scenery. Graffiti, wall, a tree poking over the top of the wall, more graffiti. Alright, not that exciting yet, but it allows him to zone out.

He _isn’t_ sure why Daichi is continuing to put up with this, but he is self-aware enough to realize that it _is_ unfair to Daichi to push that on him. He’s not in a mood where he particularly wants a ton of comforting and coddling, either, and whether it’s by chance or not that Daichi realizes that, Suga is thankful.

“So.”

It’s Daichi who breaks the silence, probably half an hour later, when they’re starting to really get out of the city.

Suga raises his head enough to show that he heard him.

“Uhh…” And just like that, Daichi stalls out again. Suga turns to him, eyebrow raised, trying not to frown. “This feels too much like smalltalk,” Daichi explains. “I get to bother you for the next four and a half hours, and now I’m blanking on anything that isn’t completely insensitive.”

“You can’t upset me further,” Suga points out. “Hit me.”

Daichi glances at him out of the corner of his eye. Suga raises both eyebrows. “…Alright, then what do ghosts feel like?”

Suga doesn’t point out that Daichi has _technically_ felt a ghost before. It’s also not what he was expecting. “I guess… pretty normal? They’re about room temperature, but solid, and they feel like skin…” He holds up his arm and squishes it. “Once you get used to the temperature difference, it’s pretty normal.”

“I’m still getting used to _you_ ,” Daichi replies before he can stop himself. He looks nervous now, but Suga manages to smile back at him. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“You’re fine, Daichi. _You’re_ the one who gets to deal with a zombie boyfriend.”

“I thought you didn’t like that term.”

“I don’t,” Suga replies shortly.

Daichi quickly steers the conversation in a different direction. “What’s the grossest magicky thing you’ve had to fight?”

“…Zombies,” Suga replies after a guilty pause. Daichi groans. “It was only once, and I swear it wasn’t mine!”

“That’s not what I need to hear you denying!”

“I don’t raise zombies!”

“Then what _do_ necromancers do?!” Daichi exclaims like he’s been wondering that for a _long_ time.

“Black magic, I guess,” Suga begins, and Daichi lets out a hugely relieved sigh. Suga’s smile widens. “You were nervous about _that_?”

“Kiyoko doesn’t seem to like it, and you get touchy about some things… I didn’t want to overstep anything.”

Daichi _is_ still new to all of this, Suga is reminded, and he thoughtfully drums his fingers against his leg before answering, “I come with baggage, admittedly, but I don’t want you to ever be scared of asking me about things, Daichi. I promised you that I’d help you through this.”

“You’re saying it like magic is some sort of trauma.”

“ _We-ell_ —”

“Just tell me what necromancers do,” Daichi interrupts with another sigh.

“Technically speaking, there’s a lot of overlap with exorcists. That’s how I got started. But… yeah, I guess necromancers _can_ raise the dead. Zombies themselves are actually pretty rare, and pretty useless, too—there’s other things that would be more useful if you wanted a bodyguard, or a mindless servant, or a sacrifice, for example.”

Daichi nods along, and turns the music back down. Suga takes this as a good thing. Getting the chance to talk with Daichi for long periods of time like this was one of the few things Suga wasn’t dreading.

He explains the difference between black magic and what people normally think of as magic, and different things he _has_ done, and even gets to gush briefly about the complete set of silver bells that Yui had given him for their high school graduation.

“ _Bells_?” Daichi repeats in surprise.

“Yes, bells. It was half a joke, since I could hardly use them, and now I totally can’t. But you can use them to banish spirits, call them toward you, combine them with certain spells, all kinds of things. And honestly, they’re really pretty, too. I’ll show you them when we get back.”

“Why can’t you use them anymore?”

Suga purses his lips and tries not to be irritated. _He doesn’t know the obvious stuff_ , he reminds himself already. “Because they affect _dead_ things. I found that out the hard way—that’s actually how I found out I hadn’t simply… come back to life.”

“Oh. Sorry.” At least he sounds genuinely apologetic.

Suga sets his chin on his cast hand and stares out the window again. He wishes everything weren’t such a landmine. “They’re really pretty, at least. It’s kind of a big deal that Yui tracked down a full set to give to me. Kiyoko had been furious at the time, too… Come to think, I only ever used them twice, and it was the same one both times.” Things had never been bad enough that he’d considered selling them for rent, but honestly, they’d be pretty high on the list of Things To Spitefully Go Homeless With Instead Of Sell.

Even if they are useless now.

“Dangerous but pretty describes a lot of things I’ve come to associate with you. Or, y’know, _you_ ,” Daichi tells him, and Suga can practically hear his embarrassment. “Okay, not taking the bait there, so… What’s your favorite spell to use?”

Suga snorts. “Not sure if I have a favorite, but sleep spells are pretty damn handy. Kiyoko has a light spell that Yui wrote for her that’s really gorgeous. It’s kind of glittery and she can make it change colors.”

“ _Wrote_ for her?”

“She was a spellwriter.”

“What is _that_ ,” Daichi asks incredulously.

“It makes she could make new complex spells. It means she enabled my dangerous but pretty research,” Suga replies, then sighs. “Sorry, but how about I ask some questions now? We can talk magic again later.”

“Alright, shoot,” Daichi easily replies. Suga finally turns to him again, and finds him smiling, with just as much warmth and comfort as his voice had.

“Your family,” Suga starts. “Tell me about them?”

“Well, I’m an only child…”

The conversation lapses back into better territory, and Suga feels himself relaxing into the smoothness of Daichi’s deep voice. They’re well out of the city by now, passing by forests and little bursts of suburbs, but houses come less and less frequently. The weather this far out has all been true winter, too, as evidenced by the snow still high on the ground, piled next to the shoulders of the highway. The road is clear, at least, and Daichi doesn’t seem to have any issue with driving; he leans back, one hand on the wheel, and glances at Suga every so often to give him grins and prod at his side.

For a drive, it’s certainly not bad.

Suga learns that Daichi’s immediate family is small—him and his parents, and mostly his mother at that—but his overall family is huge, and he grew up with cousins like siblings and a small town that was more like even more extended family. He finds that Daichi isn’t the only gay member of his family (“No, I’m not the gay cousin, what does that even _mean_ ”), he had dogs growing up, is referred to as an uncle for at least half of his cousins’ kids, and Sawamura is actually his mother’s surname.

Suga politely deflects most of the questions about his own family.

“You’re, uh, actually the first guy I’ve brought home,” Daichi admits with a _furiously_ red face about halfway through their drive.

Suga, slowly, breaks into a grin of his own. “How scandalous, Daichi. Am I going to be the talk of dinner?”

“Please. My cousin married a _French model_. You’ll have to be more than just dazzlingly attractive.”

“Why are you so complimentary today?”

“I’m bringing my boyfriend home to meet my family,” Daichi deadpans, “so I’m allowed to be extra gay. Deal with it.”

A nervous thrill that isn’t entirely bad goes through Suga. He hides his pleased smile with his cast. “I’ll allow this. Please, compliment me on my _dazzling attractiveness_ more, since it’s one of the few things I can handle compliments about right now.”

Daichi takes in a dramatically deep breath and Suga cannot brace himself enough. “Ethereal,” Daichi begins with, and already Suga knows he’s lost, “and one-of-a-kind. Handsome, and gorgeous, and almost stylish, and elegant when you’re not tripping over cat toys or books. Bright, ravishing, _stunning_ , hmm, what else—”

“S-Stop, stop stop, that’s not fair!” Suga isn’t sure he’s blushed so hard in his life, but he’s smiling again, and almost doesn’t feel guilty for it.

“That’s what you get for fishing for compliments from a bookworm,” Daichi smartly replies.

Suga refuses to answer and instead whines into his hands. They lapse back into a mostly comfortable silence while Suga works off his embarrassment, and he alternates between trying to formulate a worthy response (he’s better with this stuff on the fly, not when he overworks his phrasing to death) and staring out the window.

Even with as up and down as this has already been, he’s feeling better, on the whole. He’s glad he can at least be this way around Daichi, since he deserves it.

They stop once for gas and food and to stretch their sore legs, and aside from Suga joking about the gas station’s bathroom being haunted—it wasn’t, it was only a little lost nisse that he gave a couple of his fries to—conversation is sparse between them.

Suga actually dozes off a bit during the second leg of the journey. It’s not restful, or at least doesn’t decrease how tired he feels, but it does make the time pass.

When he wakes back up, he has a crick in his neck, it’s dark out, Daichi is humming along to Cher again, and they’re pulling off of the highway. Suga blinks blearily at the fat snowflakes falling down in front of the headlights. The snow here is even thicker than what they’ve seen so far, and not plowed as thoroughly as the highways, either. “We there?” Suga asks around a yawn.

“Almost. We’re staying on the outskirts of town, but it’s on the other side. So you get the grand tour,” Daichi proclaims.

The grand tour turns out to be two stoplights, an empty main street, and a shockingly picturesque, snowy town. Suga, city born and raised, thinks it’s cute but also privately wonders if Daichi is aware of how much this looks like the stereotypical ghost town. All they’re missing is the fog and radio static.

Suga jumps when the car’s stereo _does_ fuzz out for a moment.

“Sorry, just unplugging my phone,” Daichi says, and Suga isn’t sure if he noticed his jumpiness or not. “Hold on, let me call Haruna. I’ll need to pick up the keys.”

Suga nods and resumes his staring out at the silent town. It’s definitely a far cry from the city, and Suga isn’t sure how big it actually _is_ , except it takes about fifteen minutes to drive through at a crawl, so it has to be pretty tiny. He saw one gas station and what may have been a grocery store, and two cemeteries. (He would’ve laughed if Daichi weren’t on the phone.)

There’s a bridge over a little river near the edge of town, and they turn off just past that to an icy gravel road. Daichi has no problems driving on it, but Suga’s grip tightens on his seatbelt anyway.

“Here we go,” Daichi says with obvious pride. They pull up to a lodge that looks like it’s made of _logs_ , and Suga makes to get out because it’s ten kinds of charming, but Daichi quickly shakes his head. “I’ll just go in myself and grab it—this isn’t where we’re staying. Stay put.”

Confused, Suga just nods, and Daichi leaves him in the still-running car. This close to the end of the trip, he’s itching to get out and properly stretch, not to mention the antsiness of being in a vehicle so long. He doesn’t really have his phone as a distraction, either; he’s still maybe-mad at Kiyoko, Tooru hasn’t answered him, and he and Yuu are equally rocky.

Daichi comes back out pretty fast, and Suga is relieved, until he sees a woman following him out. Practically _chasing_ him out. “I gotta go, thanks for the cabin, Haru!” he calls back over his shoulder.

“Sawamura, get back here—!”

Suga wonders if he should be locking the door as a defense when Daichi all but throws himself into the driver’s side. He doesn’t buckle himself and instead pulls out of park by the time the woman reaches the car and bangs on the window.

She freezes when she sees Suga. Suga stares back like a particularly frightened rabbit.

Daichi just groans and slumps down into his seat.

“Your mom’s gonna _kill you_ ,” she says, voice muffled but still perfectly audible.

“I’ll deal with it,” Daichi tells her through the window. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow! _Bye_!” He hardly waits for her to step back before they pull out, with probably a little too much speed considering the snow. Suga is surprised he hasn’t torn the seatbelt in two yet.

“Daichi,” Suga begins, and Daichi purses his lips and squints out into the snowy night.

“It’s about ten minutes out, we’re lucky we get one of the cabins with water.”

“Daichi, is there some sort of family drama you’re about to throw me into?” Suga gently asks.

“Not really.”

“Are you not out to your family?” Suga asks, and this time his voice drops down into a horrified whisper. In hindsight, Daichi had never explicitly _said_ so—just that Suga was the first guy he’d be bringing home.

Daichi’s head snaps around to his with similar concern. “No! That’s not it, I wouldn’t do that without warning you. My mom’s known I’ve been gay since high school.”

“Then why was your cousin looking like she wanted to drag you back to yell at?”

“You _may_ be a surprise. In general,” Daichi admits.

Suga wishes he could reach with his cast to whack him, but his uninjured hand will have to go, and Daichi yelps when it collides with his shoulder.

“She knows you’re coming! I told you, I’ve brought friends home before. But, uh, never a boyfriend.”

“When were you planning on telling me this?!”

“Once we were out of a moving vehicle so someone doesn’t try to assault the driver, for starters!”

Suga glares at him until they pull up to an incredibly rustic wood cabin. Suga isn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but not as literal as this turns out to be: there’s a little porch, and a chimney, and a stack of firewood set against one side beneath a tarp. It’s not large, but it is sort of cute, and looks a lot like a holiday card with how neatly the snow sits over it all.

“They didn’t even shovel it,” Daichi mutters as they park. “At least you’re in boots. I’ll take care of it tomorrow morning.”

Suga stays stubbornly silent as they haul in their bags. He takes one trip, but Daichi takes two, coming back in with some of the wood, and Suga looks around for a lightswitch in the meantime. He uses his phone as a flashlight and doesn’t understand why Daichi chuckles until he hears the click of a lighter.

Daichi kneels beside the little fireplace and lights part of a newspaper on fire. He waits for it to catch before putting it in on the pile of coals. Suga _gapes_ at him, and Daichi pretends to ignore him until they have a tiny fire going.

Daichi lights a couple of candles on the table, and the cabin is now lit enough for Suga to see that it’s all one room. There are windows on three of the walls, and a _huge_ bed pushed into the corner, opposite the fireplace. There’s a small kitchen in the other corner, next to a little table, and shelves with books and a couple of board games along the windowless wall.

Suga doesn’t see any lights overhead. “ _Seriously_?” he asks incredulously.

“I told you we’d be camping out.”

“In a _cabin_.”

“At least this one has running water, two of them still don’t,” Daichi points out. He lights another candle and sets it on the nightstand by the bed, then goes back to poke at the fire.

Suga squats down beside him, draws a rune on Daichi’s back, and murmurs, “ _Fire_.” A flame the size of his fist appears over his cast and he shoves it into the fireplace to speed things along. “Let me guess, this is our only source of heat, too?”

“These things are really well insulated,” Daichi replies defensively. He doesn’t meet Suga’s eyes. “And you also have me? There’s only one bed—I hope that’s alright, I assumed it would be since you already like to cuddle—”

“You don’t get to be cute, I’m still annoyed,” Suga tells him. “We’ll revisit the caveman stuff later, but right now, _spill_. Family details. _Now_.”

Daichi sighs, then shifts so they’re facing each other, sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. Suga’s eyes have adjusted to the darkness and the fire is growing, so the room is bathed in romantic, soft orange. It tugs at Suga’s need for sappy comfort but he stays strong because he did not abandon one type of stress for another.

“I didn’t tell my family we were dating. That’s it,” Daichi says easily. Suga pinches his leg. “Ow! What else do you want me to say?”

“When were you planning on telling me this!”

“Right now! I promise you, Suga, it’s not a big deal. Haruna’s not going to tell anyone, and it’s not as if my mom won’t completely _adore_ you. This is all coming down on me, trust me.” Daichi takes Suga’s hands, thumb brushing across the edge of the cast, and Suga melts against his will. “It just means she’ll check for rings, even though we haven’t been together for that long, and she’ll probably ask if you intend to take my last name.”

Suga flushes and tries his best to scowl. “And what if I wanted you to be Sugawara Daichi?”

“Then take it up with my mother.”

The nerves have returned, but quieter now, and nothing that can’t wait for tomorrow. The flickering firelight, on the other hand, is a very present issue. “Okay, but no _electricity_?”

“Now’s a bad time to tell you that the outhouse is a five minute walk, huh?”

“You’re shitting me. Daichi, you’re joking, right?”

Daichi grins, sheepish and apologetic, and Suga sort of wants to set the cabin on fire.

“You want me to meet your parents—”

“Mother, dad won’t be home for a few days—”

“—when I haven’t showered and you want me to use an outhouse in the middle of the woods in the middle of a country winter. It’s probably haunted, too, right?”

“This trip is about you getting _away_ from your job. No hauntings allowed. Yes, I should’ve warned you, but I wasn’t going to completely dunk you into this with _no_ warning. And I’ll be here with you for all of this. This is our semi-romantic, totally stress-free getaway, remember?”

Suga, who has cried twice, almost had one anxiety attack, just finished the second-longest car ride of his life, and is starting to talk himself into arson in order to warm up, cuffs Daichi upside the head with his cast.

It _almost_ makes him feel better.

The kiss he follows up with _does_ make him feel better.

 

\--

 

Tadashi does not expect to open his door to find one Kozume Kenma standing on his doorstep. “Um—?”

“Can we use your couch for a night or two? Kenma says he’ll make a spell for you as payment,” says the demon who rises up out of Kenma’s shadow. Tadashi starts, but opens the door to let them both in.

“You don’t have to—” he begins, but Kuroo gives him such a _look_ that he bites his tongue. “Um. W-Well… welcome? Is your apartment still too rough on you?”

“Yes,” Kenma replies shortly. He only has a backpack with him, and it looks like the clothes he’s wearing aren’t the proper size for him. He looks around for a moment, then shuffles over to the couch, and gently deposits his bag onto the very edge of it. “Where’s Tsukishima?”

“Tsukki’s grabbing food for us,” Tadashi replies. (Kei had been personally insulted that Tadashi didn’t have strawberries for his pancakes. Luck pancakes were now a thing with them, but as sick of them as they are, Tadashi couldn’t say no to the expression Kei had made.) “I guess I can’t text him, but…”

“We don’t need food,” Kenma says despite the wounded look Kuroo shoots him.

“I don’t mind,” Tadashi awkwardly replies. This is already uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. And, unfortunately, he feels like it’s only going to get worse when Kei gets home. “Uh, so, how was your stay with Akaashi?”

Kenma’s expression shutters further.

“That bad, huh…”

“I was thinking an intangibility spell,” Kenma says flatly. Tadashi blinks at him. “I can write you an intangibility spell. You could pass through objects like Tsukishima can. That’d be useful for a hunter, right?” It’s only at the end that his voice betrays any uncertainty, and Tadashi is actually very glad to see that Kenma isn’t quite as distant as he seems.

He then process that A: Kenma is viewing him as a hunter already, and B: _he could walk through shit like Kei_. “Wait, you can _do_ that?” Tadashi exclaims, caught between impressed and excited. He leans forward, and Kenma leans back with a bit of color appearing in his cheeks.

“I-I _am_ a spellwriter…” he mumbles.

“Kenma can do anything,” Kuroo adds. Kenma frowns. “Well, within reason, but apparently walking through walls is within reason for witches. Who knew?”

“Yes! I mean—that’d be awesome! What do you need to do that?” He doesn’t want to, but he’ll fight another dozen jiangshi for the prospect of his turn spooking Kei through walls.

“Um… I won’t really know until I get started. I wasn’t sure if you’d like that—”

“Who wouldn’t want to?”

Kenma, to his credit, does not point out Kei’s own reservations about his ghostliness. “I’ll work on that for you, then. I’m, um, not quite sure how long I’d like to stay here, but…”

“You can stay as long as you want!”

“I really can’t, but, uh, thank you,” Kenma replies and sounds twice as awkward as before.

Tadashi isn’t sure how to salvage this; Kenma is only withdrawing further, and Tadashi’s attempts at being nice only seem to make it worse. He catches Kuroo’s eye, and the demon just shakes his head. He has no idea what _that_ means.

He goes to his last hope at getting Kenma to stop looking so small and uncomfortable on his couch.

“Wanna play _Mario Kart_ before Tsukki gets back?”

Kenma’s eyes light up and he’s reaching for a controller before Tadashi can even grin. They’re less than a race into it—Kenma chooses Rainbow Road with little remorse and Kuroo cackles, even despite Tadashi’s squawk of protest—by the time Kenma fully relaxes, shoulders coming down from around his ears. Kuroo flops down beside him, one arm around Kenma’s shoulders, and when Tadashi raises an eyebrow at their closeness, Kuroo just _winks_ at him.

Kuroo leans down and kisses Kenma on the mouth. On the screen, Link falls off of the road and Baby Peach quickly overtakes him. Tadashi hides his snickers (and confusion) with his controller as he takes the win on the map.

“So you two are…?” Tadashi prompts. Kuroo gives him a blank stare, and Kenma just focuses further on the next round. “Together?”

“I’m usually together with Kenma.”

“Like, dating. L-Like me and Tsukki, now, I guess.” He can’t help but add the last part, glowing with equal parts pride and happiness, and Kuroo grins back at him.

“Yeah! We can go on double dates together, and—”

“Kuro, shush,” Kenma grumbles. Tadashi can’t see his face from this angle, but the tips of his ears are definitely red.

“So, Kenma, what’s it like to smooch a demon?” Tadashi asks, grin widening, and he flops his weight against Kenma. The witch jumps, but doesn’t shy again, instead pinned between them. (His racing suffers, which is Tadashi’s true goal, though getting to talk to someone like this is certainly a close second.)

“Wanna find out?” Kuroo purrs, leaning over Kenma’s head, closing the distance between him and Tadashi.

Tadashi squeaks and rapidly backs up. He’s not sure how much blood is now in his face, but he feels like it’s most of it, and Baby Peach skids right into a banana peel on the television.

“That’s what I thought,” Kuroo replies smugly.

By the time Kei returns, utterly unprepared, the games have escalated: Tadashi is cussing at the top of his lungs and Kenma has switched into hissed Russian, both of them gesturing far too much for smooth racing. He takes two steps into the apartment, halts, and his scowl dips into sheer disgust when Kuroo, draped across the back of the couch, calls, “ _Tsukki_ , you’re home! We’re gonna go on a double date!”

Kei turns on his heel and leaves through the door again.

 

\--

 

Akaashi is the literal last person Iwaizumi wants to see when he already feels this shitty. The tengu have refused to feed them, and only gave them water once, and sleeping in a cold jail cell isn’t something he’d wanted to experience again in his life. (At least they _could_ sleep, since Miyanoshita offered to knock them out with a sleep spell. They were both desperate enough to take her up on the offer.)

Even if Akaashi is their way out, it doesn’t mean Iwaizumi has to be happy about staring up at the barn owl tengu. Akaashi makes a face vaguely like they’d stepped in something foul as they approach the cell. It looks like they’re in some sort of uniform, too, armored and important and fuck, it’s _exactly_ what they’d been wearing when they had attacked Iwaizumi. He swallows thickly and tears his gaze away, damned if it comes off as submissive or not.

They don’t immediately address Tooru _or_ Iwaizumi, however, and instead stare at the figure in the other cell. “Who is this?” they ask the crow guard next to them.

“Not owl business.”

Akaashi’s eyes narrow, and they step over closer to Iwaizumi’s cell.

And then _another_ owl bounds in after them, out of breath, and not in the same type of uniform. He’s bigger, both in height and build, wings patterned grey and brown, his hair straight up in absurd spikes of white and black and more grey. He looks completely absurd, even if he’s bigger than Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi isn’t actually scared of him until he realizes _who he is_.

And no, Iwaizumi had been wrong. _This_ is the last person he’d wanted to see.

Akaashi looks severely uncomfortable as the other owl tengu sidles up to them and stares down at the three in the cell. “Wow, Oikawa, you look terrible,” he says conversationally.

Iwaizumi pulls the deerskin tighter around himself and refuses to look either of them in the eye. If Akaashi didn’t tell him who he is, then it’s a greater kindness than Iwaizumi deserves, if that is who he thinks it is. (Who else would Akaashi bother bringing?)

“Can we leave now?” Tooru asks hoarsely.

“How did you even get here?” Akaashi asks in reply.

Tooru grunts as he sits up, and it’s not unnoticed that he shuffles around to put himself in between the tengu and Iwaizumi. “We were escaping the Dreamlands, and we didn’t know we’d end up here. It was an accident, and it wasn’t like we hurt anyone, so can we go?”

“They said they were owl tengu friend,” the crow guard says in little more than a growl.

“Yes,” Akaashi replies in a sigh. And, in a move that surprises all of them, they add, “They are.”

“All three of them?” the crow presses suspiciously.

Akaashi balks at lying again, for a moment too long. “I’ll take responsibility,” they say, cutting across the guard, and stand to their full height.

It’s not quite enough, not until their friend does the same, seeming twice as large despite the actually slight difference in size. “We can take it from here. It’s not _crow_ business,” he pointedly adds.

The guard has nothing to say to that. After a little bit of hushed arguing and what sounds like paperwork, Akaashi is undoing the magical locks to their cell, and the three inside look up at them with gratitude and surprise. “Let’s go,” they say flatly.

Tooru keeps close to Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi keeps his head down and deerskin wrapped tight around himself. Miyanoshita follows them, one hand twisted in the edge of the skin, and sends one last, regretful look at the man in the other cell as they leave.

Akaashi makes a _quiet_ motion as they’re led out, and Iwaizumi is _more_ than happy to comply. Akaashi’s friend, whoever, seems to disagree. “Dreamlands! That place sounds like a mess, how exactly did you get out of it? Isn’t that the place that fucked up Sugawara, Akaashi?”

“Yes, Bokuto,” Akaashi replies thinly. That confirms it: Iwaizumi knows that name. This is the one he stole the egg from.

“That’s a word for it,” Tooru mutters under his breath.

“He’s not the only one,” Iwaizumi adds. Tooru scowls at him.

“Not here,” Akaashi orders. Bokuto whines, and the other three remain silent as they are led through winding streets. Iwaizumi notices that their wings are blackened in several places like they’ve been charred, and they’re missing feathers, too; he wonders if they can even fly like that.

Tooru tightens his arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, and he quiets his thoughts, ducking his head again.

He’s not sure when exactly they pass into owl tengu territory, but it becomes obvious enough when Akaashi slowly relaxes, and even Bokuto seems to open up more. “What stuffy crows!” he says with a stretch of his wings. “Who was that other guy they had locked up? I haven’t heard of anyone else they were detaining.”

“They called him a thief,” Miyanoshita volunteers.

Akaashi glances back at Iwaizumi, and Iwaizumi realizes what the look means half a beat before Tooru reads it from his mind. “ _The_ thief!” Tooru screeches, loudly enough to make both tengu jump. “That was the other egg thief, wasn’t it! That was the _other one_!”

“Other?” Akaashi asks flatly, giving Iwaizumi another, sharper look.

“No, not him, there’s—there’s been someone else doing things—”

“Not him?” Bokuto asks, cocking his head at Iwaizumi. “Right, who are you other two? Why are we bailing them out, too? I thought only Oikawa was—”

“We need to go back to that jail right now, I need to figure out what he’s doing,” Tooru declares. Iwaizumi barely reacts in time to wrap both his arms around his middle, keeping him there, even if he has to put his weight into it.

“You are not going _back_ to tengu jail,” Iwaizumi hisses at him.

“He has the other answers we need! I told you, I _wasn’t_ crazy, there really is someone _else_ trying to summon an old god!” Tooru insists, pushing at him in vain.

Iwaizumi hates that he can feel how weak Tooru’s gotten from this entire trip. He picks him up, whirls around, and puts him down again in front of Akaashi. “Escort him out before he does something stupid, like get himself arrested again.”

“We need the answers! We might be able to stop Ushijima, but—” Tooru cuts himself off and his head snaps around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t break his neck.

He’s staring, _hard_ , at Bokuto. Akaashi steps in between them at the same time Iwaizumi realizes the deerskin has slipped off his shoulders, revealing his tattoos.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi breathes, almost too quiet to hear. They place a hand on Bokuto’s wing, making him start, but he continues staring at Iwaizumi with an expression Iwaizumi _wishes_ he could identify.

“He’s the one who stole it?” he asks in a terrifyingly neutral voice.

“Yes,” Akaashi says.

“Then why are we letting him out?! He stole my egg, he hurt _you_ , and now we’re taking him out of jail?!”

“If you put him back in there, they’ll find out who he is,” Tooru pleads. He crouches down, just slightly, so he can look up at them both.

To Iwaizumi’s surprise, Miyanoshita comes around to stand between him and the tengu as well. “They’ll kill him, or keep him locked up like that other guy, to starve down to nothing. Do you really want to let them execute him?”

“Only Oikawa is tengu friend here,” Akaashi coolly reminds her, but she remains strong, even if her ears are low against her dark hair. “Bokuto, I wouldn’t argue if you wanted to return him to the crows. Or even give him over to our authorities, since it was our crime.”

“ _You’re_ the authorities,” Tooru points out with a derisive snort at Akaashi’s uniform. “You already tried to drag him back once, even though he’s the one who returned the egg. He deserves the title of tengu friend more than me or Suga—”

“Never,” Akaashi hisses.

“Why aren’t _you_ saying anything?” Bokuto demands of Iwaizumi.

He ducks his head again. “I know what I’ve done,” he quietly replies.

“Please, just let us go home. We’re sick, and exhausted, and we have to try to stop two more plots to end the world. You’re honor-bound to help me,” Tooru almost begs. “He’s Suga’s friend, too. He’s helping us, and I—I need him.”

“It’s Bokuto’s decision,” Akaashi tells them. “And he’s not the tengu friend, anyway. Your status only goes so far.”

“Then I trade!” Tooru exclaims. Both tengu focus on him, and he stands up to his full height. Despite the weakness in his frame and his dirty, disheveled appearance, his eyes flash and his voice is strong when he declares, “I’ll exchange my tengu friend status for forgiveness of Iwaizumi’s crimes and safe escort out of the realm. You got your egg back, no one was killed in the theft, and he _doesn’t_ want to stay or return here. We’ll stay out of your feathers.”

“Oikawa, _don’t_ ,” Iwaizumi growls at him. Who knows what kind of trouble he’s going to get himself into in the future, but especially if he wants a shot at any more information about that egg thief, he shouldn’t be throwing this away. It’s not like either of them have actually made any threats on Iwaizumi’s life yet, either.

“Can he do that?” Bokuto asks in a low voice.

“I don’t think so,” Akaashi whispers back.

“You wouldn’t have to come bail me out of jail ever again,” Tooru presses, desperately, “or deal with animal skins or rogue gods or angels. Wash your hands of us. I _know_ you want to.”

“Why do you think I’ll allow that? I have my pride, you know,” Bokuto replies. He crosses his arms and cocks his head back, gold eyes piercing but narrowed. “Are you going to let the human keep speaking for you, huh?”

“Do what you will,” is the only answer he can give him. He’s not going to pick a fight when they’re all exhausted, and he doesn’t have any skins, either. Trying would only get Tooru and Miyanoshita hurt, or worse.

Akaashi sighs, and pulls on Bokuto’s wing until he unfolds them. “Let’s get them out of here before the psychic collapses.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Bokuto relents almost at once. With a jerk of his head, they begin leading again, and it takes a few moments for the baffled trio to follow. “Dunno why you thought I was so bloodthirsty, anyway. I think a strong wind would knock them over. What kind of fight would that be?!”

“Let’s avoid more fights for the time being,” Akaashi replies evenly. They cast a pointed look over their shoulder. “We’ll discuss Oikawa’s proposition later. A safe escort out is the least we can do right now.”

“So polite,” Tooru coos, and Iwaizumi slaps him upside the head for it.

He _almost_ thinks he sees Akaashi smile at that.

 

\--

 

Taichi jumps when Kenjirou slips in beside him. “You just missed my cellmates,” he says without preamble, settling back against the wall. Kenjirou makes a curious noise, scooting closer, just short of touching. It’s not like they’d feel anything, but it’s nice to pretend.

“Is it safe?” Kenjirou asked. The prison chamber is as empty as it usually is when he visits, but they’ve had some close calls in the past.

“For now.”

“So, cellmates?” he prompts, because Taichi can be infuriatingly circumspect at times. Taichi nods. “What happened?”

“Three of them, and one of them was a baku. They were sweating an awful lot, I thought I could strike some sort of deal…”

“Because making friends with tengu criminals would _help_.”

“What have you been doing lately?” Taichi asks lightly, and Kenjirou turns from him with a huff. “They were sort of a wreck, anyway, and one of them was a tengu friend. I don’t think they’d be helpful.”

“I’m working on it,” Kenjirou replies in little more than a mumble. He crouches down further, arms folded defensively, and Taichi gives him a tired smile.

“I know.”

“The witch I told you about died,” he says. Taichi’s eyebrows raise, but doesn’t ask. “He reanimated, too. I think he’s legitimately deathless, not some bullshit. We _will_ get you out of here.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Taichi replies like it’s really that simple. It reassures Kenjirou in a way he'd he needed, even if the guilt at letting Taichi remain in jail for all this time still sits heavily. “They were thrown in here because they broke into the realm.”

“How do you _break into_ a realm?!” Kenjirou asks, head snapping back up. He’d seen what kind of hoops Ushijima had gone through in order to get his master to open a door to Tartarus, and it had been no small feat.

Of course, Taichi only shrugs. “Who knows. They said they were in the Dreamlands, though. Never heard of it.”

“Me neither…” So if they didn’t get here from the human realm, maybe it wasn’t that valuable of information, after all. Maybe he’ll float it by Ushijima anyway, just to see if he can do something with it. He seems to create an awful lot of miracles out of nothing. “We’re almost done getting everything together for that thing of his.”

“And you _really_ think this is the best plan?” Taichi asks. He says it without any judgment—they’ve had this discussion before, and Taichi had hardly ever acted anything but mildly interested in Kenjirou’s plans to spring him from jail, because he’s an _ass_ —but Kenjirou still winces.

“…They’re not bad. Okay, the fox is a jackass, but they feed me and aren’t too nosy. The witch is as strong as he says he is, and I don’t think we should make enemies of them.”

“Okay, but I still sort of think that summoning a Great Old One is overkill.”

“I dunno why they’re doing it.”

“It’s overkill for _me_.”

Kenjirou snorts, ears flicking low. He opens his mouth to reply— _we’re both in this too deep, don’t you think, Tai_ —but is jarred _abruptly_ back into his body by what feels like a bucket of frigid water.

He coughs and splutters, limbs aching with the sudden shift, and finds that he is, indeed, sopping wet. Kenjirou cracks open an eye to glare up at the two standing over him. He’s entirely unsurprised to see that Tendou is holding an empty bucket. “Ahh, look, I told you witch water would work!” he says with a happy wag of his tail.

Kenjirou shakes his head and swipes his wet bangs out of his eyes, then resumes glaring up at them. “What the _shit_.”

“Sorry for the rude awakening,” Ushijima says, not sounding sorry. “But you weren’t sleeping, were you?”

Kenjirou told them he’d be sleeping, but how the hell did they figure out that the invisible person _wasn’t_ sleeping when he went quiet? Before he can retort, however, he sees the way both their gazes rove over him, far too pointed.

He looks down in fresh horror at himself. “You dumped witch water on me?” he demands, not sure how insulted he should be. “What, you didn’t trust me?”

“No, we just wanted to see if you had hooves or not,” Ushijima replies, perfectly serious.

Kenjirou gapes up at him. Tendou doesn’t even try to hide his snickering. “And I win the bet! What a surprise.”

Kenjirou has never given much thought to his appearance—being unable to turn visible at will like Taichi would do that to a person—but now he feels strangely self-conscious. One broken antler, the dark fur on his legs is matted and dirty, and of course now he’s re-thinking the whole _hooves_ thing, too. He hides his black nails in his sleeves and refuses to look at either of them, ears hanging low.

“I know what he is,” Tendou adds with pride.

“Huh,” Kenjirou grunts back.

“You were projecting over to check on your friend, right? And the whole faun thing—”

“I’m _not_ a faun.”

“Didn’t say you were! You’re a tariaksuq, right?”

Kenjirou has _never_ been correctly identified before; neither he nor Taichi are from this part of the world, nor are they particularly friendly people themselves. It’s uncomfortable, since he’s always felt safe in his relative anonymity, and it’s not as if he particularly trusts these two, either.

“Do you have any other useful skills?” Ushijima asks and kneels down beside him. Tendou, as a fox, plops down on his other side, tail still half-wagging.

“If you stole back my other antler, you could probably use it as an invisibility charm…?” he guesses. He’s not built for (or used to) operating with teams. Tariaksuq are supposed to be solitary, stealthy hunters, not fighters masterminding an apocalypse.

“He’s a walking ball of stealth, if you get rid of the clompy hooves. Even without the tengu egg thing, you’re a valuable addition,” Tendou brightly informs him. Kenjirou scuffles his heels against the shitty carpet and scowls. He’s starting to dry, at least, but who knows how long it’ll be until he’s unseen again? Too long.

Sensing his discomfort, Ushijima makes a couple marks in the air and hovers his hands over Kenjirou. He feels the heat, like the world’s gentlest blow drier, and soon he’s dry again, likely disappearing before their eyes. (He’s glad, since he’s beginning to look like a particularly fluffy cat.) “Does this help?”

“Uh, thank you,” Kenjirou mutters. He still doesn’t know how to read these guys. Ushijima’s hand brushes his broken antler, just for a split-second, but he can’t hide his flinch. “…Don’t dunk me in that shit again, and I’ll keep helping you. You two can have the spotlight and do whatever you want with that god of yours. I’ll stick in the shadows and just get my friend back.”

“Would you tell us when you’re sleeping as opposed to projecting? We need to know when you’re able to wake up at a moment’s notice without hurting you,” Ushijima asks, and Kenjirou does not remind them of what they’d just done. “We also may have to use that power of yours in the future.”

“You say _we_ an awful lot. I thought this was _your_ plan?”

Ushijima and Tendou share a stupidly bewildered look. “Jealous?” Tendou asks eagerly.

“As if,” Kenjirou replies, nose in the air. “If I’m getting dragged along on someone else’s gay adventure, I feel like I ought to be warned about it.”

“So _you_ have a gay adventure?”

“That’s not what I said!”

“I can’t believe we get to rescue Shirabu’s beloved from tengu jail. Northot must be so pleased we’re fighting for truth and love.”

“I guess neither of you care about the other prisoners the tengu had,” Kenjirou says in a last-ditch attempt to push Tendou’s teasing away. Ushijima puts up a hand, and the fox spirit falls silent, both of them staring hard at him. “Apparently, three people broke into tengu space from a place called the Dreamlands. _And_ they had tengu connections, so they were escorted out instead of getting executed.”

Kenjirou does not expect the inappropriate level of interest Ushijima displays. He leans in close, _far_ too close, and he scrambles out of the way to preserve a little bit of space from the intense witch. “Do you know who these people are? Does your friend know?”

“I could probably find out. But we have to wait, since I was so rudely pulled out last time.”

“Find out,” Ushijima orders. 

“Someone’s happy to hear this,” Tendou remarks; so Kenjirou isn’t the only one left in the dark here. Good to know. “Ah, I must be a luck spirit. Unfortunate death aside, things have been going so well lately!”

Kenjirou is now _certain_ he’s gotten saddled with a pair of loons.

 

\--

 

Daichi stares fondly down at the sleeping figure in bed. (Daichi: up for an hour and a half, dressed, showered, and very hungry.) Suga’s hair fans out over the pillow in wild but endearing waves, and even the drool spot beneath his cheek is kinda cute, in a I’m-glad-I’m-not-his-pillow way.

His shirt's been rucked up over his stomach in his sleep, revealing pale skin and the edge of one of his scars. (Another infuriatingly cute thing: Suga wears a shirt and boxers to bed, and Daichi is used to just pants; they _match_ , which Suga happily pointed out. His mother is going to eat them alive.) “Suga,” Daichi says, maybe a touch too quiet, “we have to get up now. We’re meeting mom for brunch?”

Suga makes the tiniest sleep noise and otherwise does not stir.

“Sugaaaaa,” Daichi tries again, this time shaking his shoulder. He knows Suga can sleep like the dead, and in fact already slept through both of Daichi’s alarms. Daichi leans down and kisses Suga’s cheek, and murmurs right into his ear, “Time to get up, sleepyhead.”

Still nothing.

“I can help you shower.”

Nope.

“I think Yamaguchi’s set himself on fire.”

No response.

Daichi sighs and stands up. He hadn’t wanted to do this, but he has little choice if he wants to get Suga up in a timely manner. (They _could_ have had the sweet, romantic wakeup together an hour ago, if Suga hadn’t been as much of a lump then as he is now.) Daichi ducks outside, grabs a fistful of snow, and brings it back in. “Last chance, Suga,” he says, loudly, and Suga just makes another sleepy sigh.

He puts the snow on Suga’s exposed stomach and Suga wakes with a _shriek_.

His flailing manages to _thwack_ Daichi in the side of the head with his cast, and he stumbles backward, narrowly avoiding a leg, too.

In an impressive display of reflexes, Suga scoops up the snowball with his uninjured hand and hits Daichi with it square in the sternum. Suga blinks a couple times, chest heaving, then narrows his eyes. “That was _rude_ ,” he breathlessly points out.

“It got you up,” Daichi replies. “But you still have to get up now. We have to go into town for food, remember?”

Suga looks like it takes him a long moment to remember that. He nods, but then eyes the bed again, and Daichi barely catches him before he flops back down. “Still tired,” he groans, ten kinds of pathetic.

“We can go to bed earlier tonight.” Suga had been restless last night, probably due to his night owl tendencies.

It takes no small amount of manhandling and snowy threats before Suga gets out of bed and starts rummaging around for clean clothes. Daichi tries not to watch creepily, but he’s sort of conditioned to like sleepy Suga at this point; a ridiculous amount of good memories came directly from sleepy Suga’s lack of filter.

Nothing along those lines happens that morning—for the best, he’s sure—but Daichi does get treated to Suga’s unhappy frown when he’s informed that the shower is in the main building. “A brisk walk through the snow, or we can take the car. Your choice.”

He chooses the car, big surprise. It takes about as long as it would’ve walking for the vehicle to warm up and for them to get out of the snow piled up through the night, but he delivers Suga in one piece and marginally warmer than he’d be having walked. Haruna, at the front desk, watches with big eyes and a poorly-hidden smirk as Suga marches back toward the bathroom.

Daichi leans an elbow against the counter, also watching. Haruna has the good sense to keep quiet until the door shuts behind him. “So, _that’s_ him, huh?” she immediately gushes.

“Our night was fine, thank you for asking. And you’re welcome for shoveling the cabin free of all the snow. How’s your morning going, Haru?” Daichi asks evenly in return.

She flicks his arm. Having known Suga and his brand of physical retaliation for this long, Daichi is unfazed. “Your mom’s going to kill you,” she repeats, “for springing this surprise. How long have you two been together? His name is Suga, right? What’s he do, how old is he—?”

“We haven’t been together long enough for mom to have half as much of a fit as you’re having,” Daichi wryly interrupts.

His cousin pouts, cheeks puffed, and she flicks him again. “He’s too hot for you, Daichi. How did you wrangle him?”

“Believe it or not, _he_ came onto _me_.”

“I don’t believe it. Not for one _second_.”

Daichi shrugs, half-pleased for a reason he can’t fully identify. “He was a regular at the bookstore, and one thing led to another.” Bad flirting led to haunting led to unicorns led to other realms. “He has a cat,” he adds.

“Okay, so your boyfriend has a cat. That’s sure a lot of information,” Haruna says flatly. “What made you decide to bring him home with you?”

“He’s a city boy like you wouldn’t believe. I’m having fun with that. Plus, what’s wrong with a vacation?”

“What’s he do for work?”

“Uhh,” and that stalls Daichi out. He can’t remember what Suga had initially told him, other than that he’d been suspicious of it—there were a lot of guesses he’d had about Suga’s occupation before he’d been informed it was freelance exorcist. None of the guesses (stripper, mafia boss, homeless spy) seem smart to share with his family.

His awkward, trailing silence tips Haruna off, and she looks up from the computer to narrow her eyes. “Uhh?” she parrots back. “Do you not _know_? Is it a secret? Is it juicy?”

Maybe, just _maybe_ , Suga had been right to worry about his family grilling him. Daichi knows she’s being so forceful because it’s him, and it’s not as if Suga is particularly frail, and yet, he still feels off-guard.

Daichi is only saved by Suga’s reappearance. He’s pink from the shower and looks more awake now, and he runs a hand through his fluffy, dry hair to comb it out as he walks over to them. He gives Haruna a million-watt beam and Daichi can practically see her heart stutter in her chest. He knows the feeling.

After a quick, questioning glance, Suga leans over to kiss Daichi on the cheek. “Good morning.”

“Fully conscious now?” Daichi asks, and Suga nods with a hardly-concealed yawn that speaks to the contrary.

Daichi does a quick introduction for them, not wanting Haruna to interrogate Suga when he’s tired enough to be liable to say something bad, and they beat a fast retreat that he knows is only incriminating them further. He can talk out cover stories later.

They’re hardly in the car before he gets a text from his mother. ‘ _here & waiting_’ is all it says, and he wants to roll his eyes.

“Alright, so I don’t know what you want to tell anyone about your job—” Daichi begins, only to be interrupted by Suga’s snore as he flops against the car window.

It’s a twenty minute drive, and as much as he’d like to figure this out beforehand, he _does_ feel bad for his sleep-deprived boyfriend. (He may be spoiling him, and/or is whipped. Who knows which is worse.) And, he figures, he can just turn Suga loose once he’s awake again. Daichi’s mom may be a force of nature, but so is Suga, and he’s been able to duck under the radar for a few years now.

His palms may be sweaty by the time they pull up to the little breakfast nook his parents adore, but on the outside, he’s calm. “Suga, don’t make me get the snow again,” he says as he unbuckles, and Suga wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“If I fall asleep on someone’s food, I can’t be held responsible,” he mumbles and, with great effort, slides out of the car. He reaches for Daichi’s hand—he’s already lost most of the shower heat and heaven forbid he ever wear gloves—and Daichi takes it on reflex, not realizing how this will seem until he’s already walking in and his mother’s eyes zoom in on them like a hawk’s.

Sawamura Kaya stands up to her full height when they near; she doesn’t quite come up to Daichi’s shoulder, but he still grins sheepishly like he’s already been reprimanded.

Suga preempts anything she could say by letting go of Daichi, grasping her hand in both of his, and giving her the warmest smile Daichi has ever seen from him (a feat). “You must be Mrs. Sawamura. It’s wonderful to meet you, and thank you for having me with your family for the next few days.”

If she’s caught off guard by him, she certainly doesn’t show it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sugawara. Daichi clearly hasn’t said enough about you,” she replies. She detaches his hands, then wraps her arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze. She’s smiling now, at least, and Daichi relaxes—until she catches his eye over Suga’s shoulder and mouths, “ _Boyfriend?_ ”

The cat left that bag pretty quick. He shrugs, nods, and tries to tell himself he’s not red in the face.

“Call me Kaya,” she says when she lets Suga pull away (he wheezes a bit and Daichi would privately _love_ for them to compare the strength of their physical affection one day). “Daichi _refused_ to stay with us, but if you could talk some sense into him, you’re more than welcome at our house.”

“Suga’s really looking forward to roughing it in the great outdoors, though, aren’t you?” Daichi asks.

Suga doesn’t bother hiding his scowl. “I wouldn’t want to impose, or take away from a certain someone’s fun at my expense.”

Kaya finally lets them sit, and Suga’s cast hand instantly finds his beneath the table. Daichi lets him squeeze his fingers. His mother, never one to miss an opportunity, reaches over and takes Suga’s other hand, examining his _of course naked_ ring finger with a level of intensity that makes Daichi want to sink through the floor. Suga, at least, does not make the mistake of trying to pull it back.

“Mom,” Daichi warns.

“I’m just examining his nails. It looks like he needs another coat,” she replies absently. Suga slowly turns redder, but his expression is one of dignified amusement. “So, how did you break your arm?”

Daichi was expecting _how did you two meet_ or _how long have you been dating_ or even _when should I expect grandkids_ (Daichi was ready on that front with Sunshine and Dinah, actually, even if it’s the one he’s dreading the most and is the primary reason he didn’t bring this up earlier), and apparently, Suga is similarly surprised, but only for a moment. “I had a bad fall on some ice,” he replies with a sunny smile. “I’m healing, if slowly. Your son has been very good at helping me with things while I adjust.”

Suga is wearing a thick knitted turtleneck, but Daichi knows there are still the remnants of bruises from that fall hidden from view. “He’s usually a gentleman. Unless it comes to his mother,” Kaya sighs. “He hardly wants to see me on this trip, it seems. I can’t imagine why he’d want to hole up in a cabin, alone with you, out in the woods, for a week, and not even stop in for dinner.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Daichi begs.

“We’d love to stop by,” Suga tells her, utterly unperturbed by her assumptions or attitude.

“Good, good! We’re having a family supper together on Thursday, make sure you two come! I won’t hear any excuses from that son of mine, so you have my full permission to drag him out by whatever body part you see fit.”

Suga giggles, and Daichi loudly changes the subject because his mother absolutely does not need to get this blunt about his (lack of) sex life. “Y’know, work’s going fine, thanks for asking.”

“What do you do for work, Suga dear?”

“I’m a freelancer,” Suga replies, still smiling. Kaya nods, clearly hoping for more, but they’re interrupted by the waitress coming to take their order.

By some miracle—Daichi would suspect magic if he didn’t see both of Suga’s hands for the entirety of their meal—Suga manages to avoid most questions about his personal life while not _seeming_ like it. He answers enough to keep his mother from getting annoyed, asks her about herself and Daichi’s childhood, and by the end of their brunch, Daichi is completely convinced that they’re on the road to becoming partners in crime. The crime will be Daichi’s dignity. He hasn’t figured out yet if it will be a theft or a murder.

He knows his fate is sealed when they exchange numbers.

Suga’s grinning into his fist when they’re done waving goodbye, and Daichi can only stall is inevitable demise. “Want to walk around for a bit? I can show you the downtown area. All two buildings of it,” he offers, even as he eyes how poorly dressed Suga is for the weather. It’s not snowing today, but it’s cold, colder than the city has been.

“Sure, but only if the grand tour is punctuated by stories from when you were a kid,” he replies, still grinning, and lets Daichi lace their fingers together. The sidewalks haven’t been shoveled for a day or two, but it’s not slick enough to claim that’s why Suga’s leaning so heavily on him.

Daichi conjures up a couple of old stories (terrible things, honestly, but Suga eats them up) while they do a lap around a couple of the blocks downtown. There’s not many people out, but those who are wave and smile at them, and one elderly couple even recognize Daichi and spend a few moments fawning fondly over him and complimenting Suga on everything from his scarf to his mole.

“Different from the city, huh?” Daichi asks with his own little grin, noticing the warm, practically gooey expression on his boyfriend’s face.

“Definitely. People are so friendly here, but it’s so _quiet_. And… tiny. Really, really tiny.”

“It’s forty-five minutes to the nearest McDonalds, and a full hour and a half to Starbucks,” Daichi says almost proudly. Suga’s look of disgust is worth it. “There was a pizza place when I was in high school, but it went out of business at some point after I left. There’s a new place, apparently, some movie rental and greasy food type thing.”

“I _would_ suggest that as a plan for one of the nights—assuming you don’t _already_ have plans about being alone out in the woods with me—but, you know, it’s really hard to watch movies without electricity,” Suga innocently replies.

“You’ll have to deal without greasy food and old movies for a few more days, oh no.”

“We could still do the greasy food.”

“I really don’t understand how you keep functioning.”

“I subsist off of bad ideas and hot sauce,” Suga informs him.

 

\--

 

“This is the perfect opportunity,” Tadashi confidently declares, pumping his fist. Kei’s expression is less than thrilled. “And it’s something that should be checked on!”

At least, Kenma had certainly agreed that a pen of a dozen jiangshi shouldn’t be left alone. He didn’t have time to check on it himself, citing something about a new apartment hunt, and Tadashi was more than happy to volunteer himself and Kei.

“I can’t believe you want to spend your winter break chasing down vampiric corpses and playing guinea pig with a demonic witch,” Kei deadpans.

“ _Walk through walls_ ,” Tadashi repeats with emphasis. “It may not be new to you, but I can _walk through walls_ , Tsukki.”

“The fence had been warded. I bet it won’t even let you through.”

“Maybe I’m still lucky,” he says, and Kei sours further with a pout. Tadashi rolls his eyes and elbows him, friendly, but he’s putting up a strong front on this. He _can’t_ let himself get bogged down by the luck thing again, especially when it’s barely within Kei’s control. He has to act like it doesn’t bother him.

Tadashi recites the long string of runes, writing in the air with his right hand, and sticks his left hand through the brick apartment building next to them. He beams at Kei, then slips through the wall, leaving Kei to sulk in behind him. The foyer is blessedly empty. Tadashi’s laugh echoes off of the high ceiling as he ducks through the next wall, back out into the alley.

It feels a little like breaking through water, and Tadashi wonders if Kei feels nothing at all. Kenma had explained that he _could_ get rid of the sensation altogether, but it would be a massive confusion to his brain plus a severe tax on his magic. This is the safer option.

It’s easier for him to have the spell active for short bursts, and he runs through wall after fence after dumpster, grinning behind him at Kei, who chooses to primly sidestep half his obstacles.

Tadashi sticks his tongue out at him over his shoulder. The spell runs out half a second later, and he winds up walking straight into a pole.

Kei bursts into laughter, the traitor.

“Maybe your luck has run out?” he asks, smirking, looming over Tadashi (who fell on his ass with an ungrateful squawk; the only mercy in the situation is that he missed his face).

“You’re supposed to look out for me,” Tadashi grumbles.

Kei shrugs, but extends his hand to help him up. Tadashi gets back to his feet, wipes the slush as best he can off his butt, recasts the spell with a speed that’s dizzying, and yanks him the two steps through the nearest wall. They end up in the freezer of a restaurant, dark and cramped and cold, and Tadashi can hardly contain his snickers. “One of these times, someone’s going to get stuck in a wall,” Kei points out.

“Like you’ve already done?”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.”

Because he can’t see it coming, Tadashi rocks up onto the tips of his toes to press a kiss to Kei’s cheek. He misjudges and ends up pecking the side of his mouth, but the deed is done, so he darts off through the next wall over before Kei can say anything.

Tadashi knows he’s about out of magic. They’re almost at the cemetery, anyway, but he should save his last go for trying the fence, because that _had_ been one of the original goals, beyond simply testing it. He has a folded list in his pocket for other things he needs to check about the place, if he can. (He isn’t exactly sure how he can test if the fence is pure iron or not, but he’s down for trying.)

Kei grabs his hand halfway through a wall, and he falters for a heartbeat—a terrifying moment where his magic hiccups and he thinks _shit, we’re going to fucking get cut in half_ —but he pulls Tadashi backwards, safely through. Tadashi presses his free hand to his chest to check that his heart's still beating after that scare.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little too reckless with that spell? You’re not a witch like Kenma is,” Kei tells him like he’s not already aware of this fact.

“I know what magical exhaustion feels like,” Tadashi replies, and tugs Kei forward with him through the wall, out in front of the cemetery. “And Kenma wanted stress-testing—”

Kei freezes beside him. Tadashi notices, half a moment too late, that there are _people_ there. People he just _walked through a wall_ in front of. Fuck.

“ _Shit_ ,” Kei hisses, and yanks him backwards again, towards the building they’d just come through. Tadashi’s magic is out for this spell, so he needs to recast it; he bumps harmlessly against the brick and wonders why Kei is trying to repeat the magic trick in front of bystanders when he _recognizes_ the bystanders.

The matagot points down at them at the same time Tadashi realizes who he is. “The lucky ghost!”

“Shit!” Tadashi writes runes as fast as he can, terrified of tipping anyone off to what he’s doing, but it’s not fast enough.

He hears the metallic _thunk_ and crumbling of brick and concrete before he realizes that there is a _large_ hole in both the cemetery fence and the wall about two inches from his elbow. The wards on the jiangshi pen begin to fail: a figure inside the cemetery flickers into view. The witch Ushijima, holding a dead jiangshi in one hand, _livid_ and pulling a blood sword from the jiangshi’s corpse.

Repeating “holy shit” doesn’t help with magical casting, Tadashi finds, but panic spurs him into new speeds. He hears one of them shout something as he flees back through the broken wall, to find Kei on the other side, already fumbling with his phone.

The matagot _pops_ in next to them with a victorious, “ _Gotcha_! You don’t get to run away twice, blondie!”

Kei catches him in the side of the head with a terrified, clawed haymaker. Tadashi hadn’t even noticed the demonic shift this time, but they can’t focus on that right now, can they? As the fox spirit reels back, swearing and clutching his bleeding face, Kei sprints for the next wall, trusting Tadashi to follow.

He re-casts the spell, and this time, he knows it’s his last. Tadashi blinks back the dizziness and runs after Kei; as he phases through the wall, he sees Ushijima climb in through the hole he’d made.

Kei snags his arm in the next building and pulls him off of a straight-line sprint away from them. Tadashi can hear the hollow sound of the matagot reappearing behind them, but he’d judged wrong, and he’s not sure that they’re immediately followed as they run into the apartment building next door.

Tadashi hardly pays attention to the confused old man with his basket full of laundry. Kei once again grabs him and directs him in another direction; this time, Tadashi doesn’t let go of his hand, even if his nails hurt where they dig in. They run up the stairs to the next level, go through another wall, run through someone’s home, and come out in the empty dining room of the restaurant from earlier.

 _Luck’s still on our side_ , Tadashi realizes. It’s early enough in the day that it’s closed, probably, but a quick check out of the corner of his eye doesn’t reveal any luck coming from Kei, at least not that he can see. _Are we running off of mine or his?_

They run through the next wall, and almost end up jumping out into an alley. There’s a van parked almost directly beneath them, however, so with a leap, they bounce over and make it into the second floor of an office building, though Kei has to help him up before he gets stuck in the floor.

“Do you think we lost them?” Tadashi pants, hands on his knees. He can feel the spell starting to fizzle out, so they _better_ have fucking lost them.

“I don’t see how they could have followed us… but we have to get back to Kenma and Kuroo as fast as we can.” Only then does the blond look down in distaste at his blackened hands. It’s only spread as far as his wrist, but it is both of them now, and Tadashi doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

“M-Maybe that’s lucky because you’re better in a fight with them…?” Tadashi asks lowly. Kei turns his glare on him, and he doesn’t prompt for anything else on the subject. It can be dealt with _later_ when they don’t have omnicidal apocalyptic madmen on their trail.

“Call Kenma, I can’t use this with these things,” Kei grumbles and hands the phone over. Tadashi dials while they walk through the empty office, and they end up in a middle room with glass walls but blinds they can close. At least they won’t be out in the open should anyone stop in this building.

Tadashi almost cries when it clicks over to voicemail.

“Ah—Kenma! It’s Yamaguchi, we kind of have a situation here, and we _really really_ need your help. We sort of f-found Ushijima? At the place with all of the little jiangshi? We might’ve lost him but I-I don’t know. We really need your help! I’m also out of—”

The door to the office slams open, but there’s no one there.

Tadashi jumps and fumbles the phone anyway. There’s the barest shimmer to the air, like magic, but no witch or matagot storming in to finish them off.

Kei is, very abruptly, knocked to the ground and pinned with an unseen force. “Tsukki?!” Tadashi starts forward, but something that is definitely an invisible kick hits his stomach and he collapses against the desk with a choked wheeze.

“Jeez, you’re just a couple of kids,” someone says.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?” Kei snarls, trying to break free. Tadashi thinks he sees something on top of him through the tears in his eyes, the barest suggestion of a person shape, but there’s horns and the legs are wrong and—

And he remembers Yuu’s words about the invisible, antlered guy who attacked him and Asahi.

It isn’t exactly helpful right _now_ , but he thinks it’s important to know for future reference, that Team Bad Guy has a fucking _invisible person_ on their side. Hopefully when Kenma finds them. _How will he find us?_ Tadashi thinks wildly; he’s the only one with finding magic. He doesn’t even know how this guy tracked them down.

But he hasn’t called over Ushijima or the matagot yet, so that’s something.

 _Maybe he can’t contact them._ Which means he has _time_.

Three things happen at once: Kei sinks through the floor where his assailant can’t follow, Tadashi sets him on fire with a will-o-wisp, and the cat spirit who taught him the magic appears with a _pop_ over them.

The invisible person yelps and pats down the fire that’s probably somewhere near his hip, and Morisuke looks down at the scene with growing confusion. “What the hell are you doing? Who’s that?”

“Ushijima and fox guy and this guy and we’re in trouble!” Tadashi blurts out.

Morisuke finishes setting the guy on fire, grabs Tadashi’s hand, and yanks him out the open office door. “Where’s Kei?” he asks. Only after Tadashi starts running on his own power does he shift into a cat to land on his shoulder.

“Downstairs, I-I think—” They catch up with him when he throws open the door to the stairwell. He doesn’t look surprised at Morisuke’s presence, but when he starts leading them downstairs, Tadashi hears the jingling of his collar.

Good news: they make it outside in one piece and the invisible man does not catch them. Bad news: the three of them run headfirst into Ushijima.

“Where’s Shirabu,” he demands with narrowed eyes.

Tadashi doesn’t want to tell him that his friend is upstairs, burning. He doesn’t want to deal with him at all, considering he doesn’t have the vorpal sword, he has two potential spell ingredients with him right now, and there’s no handy archangel nearby to distract him.

“There’s a subway beneath us,” Morisuke whispers in his ear.

Tadashi doesn’t understand until Kei pulls him flat against the sidewalk when the bakeneko leaps at Ushijima. “Wait, Mori—!”

He disappears the moment he makes contact with the witch. “You need to sink through! This is parallel, so you should do it!” Kei urges, already sinking through the ground, trying in vain to tug Tadashi with him.

“I don’t have any more magic for it!”

“Just once more!”

“ _Fine_ , but you better catch me!”

He isn’t sure Kei actually understands him, but he writes the spell against the cold, wet sidewalk. By the time he goes through several layers of pipes, wiring, concrete, and who knew what else, the magic has taken its toll on him, and he drops into Kei’s arms like a sack of potatoes. Tadashi passes out just as Morisuke reappears beside them.

 

\--

 

Yuu jumps when there’s a bang on the door. It’s not exactly a knock—he’s heard enough cases of bodies hitting doors to recognize the sound. It’s a messy, unprofessional scramble as he flops over the back of the couch to reach Ryuunosuke’s crossbow, leaning against the wall where he’d left it.

There’s a later, weaker, actual knock on the door before he makes it over there. He loads the crossbow, swipes a hand through his hair to make sure it’s not falling directly in his eyes, and wonders why the room is swaying this much when he walks over to unlock the door.

It takes him three tries to undo the latch. Maybe he’s drunker than he’d thought.

Tsukishima nearly falls into the room, and only catches himself from falling onto the crossbow pointed at him at the last moment. Yuu lowers it when he sees Tadashi, out cold, carried piggyback. “The hell you two doing here? How do you know where I live?”

“Kiyoko keeps records.” His answer comes in the form of a tan cat with a too-long tail, and Yuu squints down at it, until he realizes that it’s the bakeneko. “You were closest, and this is kind of an emergency,” he adds and floats up to eye-level.

Heinrich chooses that moment to come barrelling out of the bedroom, barking up a storm. Yuu isn’t sure if it’s at the intruders or the cat. _Some guard dog_ , he thinks fondly, and catches him by the collar before he can throw all his weight at either of them. (Susie, in comparison, hardly looked up from her spot on the couch. Where she shouldn’t be.) “Thanks for the heads-up, then. Not like I was doin’ anything.”

“Wh-What is that beast?!” Yaku asks, halfway down the hall, fur standing completely on end.

“His name is Heinrich and he’s my new friend and at least he warns a guy before droppin’ in. What’s this emergency?”

“Ushijima,” Tsukishima says wearily.

Well, that’s one way to sober someone up. Yuu scrubs his hand through his hair again with a groan. “So, what, he’s _here_? On the way here? Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Tsukishima edges past him and doesn’t ask permission before dropping Tadashi on the couch. He eyes the empty beer cans on the table with obvious judgment, and Yuu momentarily considers pointing the crossbow at him again.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Yuu warns.

“Call off the dog,” Yaku calls from down the hall.

“Heinrich, get back in here.”

The dog completely ignores him. They’re still working on the whole basic training deal.

“Ushijima and his two allies ran into them, and we fled to the nearest safe point. I’m going to go let Kenma and Kiyoko know what’s going on. Maybe we can stop them this time, somehow,” Yaku says, backing up further from the dog the entire while. By the time he finishes, he’s pressed up against the door at the far end of the hallway, then disappears with a snap of magic.

Yuu sighs as Heinrich finally trots back inside, entire rump wiggling. “At least close the door,” he sighs, and of course the dog doesn’t. He misses Saeko’s perfectly-trained girls. Yuu throws the crossbow at the door, slamming it shut, and Susie huffs at him from her spot beside Tadashi.

Tsukishima looks _severely_ uncomfortable. He won’t look at Yuu, but won’t look at Tadashi either, and drums his claws on his pant legs while he looks around the admittedly messy apartment. (Yuu is pretty damn sure he has an excuse for it.)

“What d’you think are the chances of Ushijima storming this place in the next ten minutes?” Yuu asks and flops down unceremoniously onto Tsukishima and Tadashi’s laps. He rests his head on Susie, who gives his hair a lick before settling back in.

“Yamaguchi is the only one with tracking magic.”

“Not _only_ , but yeah, I guess if he didn’t already follow you guys here…” Does Yuu _really_ want to talk about the bastard witch who scared Asahi into that decision? No, no he doesn’t. But he doesn’t really know what else to say here if there’s still a chance of danger.

At least this conversation doesn’t prompt the universe to shit Ushijima out on his doorstep.

“Okay, so let’s operate under the assumption that he’s not about to barge in here an’ kill us. What are we gonna do about him, then?” Yuu asks, and Tsukishima’s expression impossibly sours further.

“ _Do_ about him?” he asks in little more than a feral hiss. (Yuu isn’t certain if it’s cat-like or snake-like.)

“Yama _does_ have tracking magic, and he’s probably still nearby. Ish. If Yaku just went to get Kenma, then—what? If we’re going to fight him then I need to call Ryuu, he has most of my guns—”

“We’re _not fighting_ him!” Tsukishima coldly interrupts. His claws rip through his jeans. He only relaxes when Susie noses at him, calm as ever, but even then he grimaces as he pets her. “I don’t know what Yamaguchi thought Kenma could do, but there’s no hope of fighting him. And what if he uses Kuroo for part of his spell? What if he drags Yaku into this? He has magic, and strength, and the fucking fox on his side—he could kill anyone!”

Yuu’s mouth acts before his brain does. “Never woulda thought I’d see another ghost afraid of dying.”

He’s not entirely sure who he hurt more with that, himself or Tsukishima.

It takes a long, _long_ moment before Tsukishima grits out, “I’m not going to be there, and I’m keeping Yamaguchi away, too. He’s exhausted and we’re not fighters.”

“Isn’t he being trained by Suga?”

“Shut up.”

Yuu follows his command, but more because he can’t think of how to take that back without making things worse. He begins cleaning up the cans littered around the couch, finishing the last swallows of a couple of them, and Tsukishima at least does not comment. Yuu is simultaneously too drunk and _not fucking drunk enough_ for this.

He’s— _they’re_ —lucky that Ushijima didn’t show up on their doorstep, but he is still a realer and closer threat than Yuu prefers. And even if Tsukishima wants to sit it out, Yuu isn’t certain he’s comfortable letting the witch get away. Again.

 _It isn’t just revenge_ , he tells himself, _we have to save the world and shit too._

But if he gets his hands on the assholes who hurt and scared Asahi, then who knows what would happen to them.

Susie slithers off of the couch and comes over to nose at his leg. Yuu is powerless against her big brown eyes, and with a sigh, he drops down to the floor to pet her. Excited, Heinrich jumps over to join them, and Tsukishima lets out a nearly-silent sigh at finally being left alone. He starts again when there’s a loud _clunk_ and then the orange plastic ball rolls across the floor.

Heinrich gives a happy bark and begins to chase it, and Tsukishima curls his lip when he demands, “Is that a _rat_?”

“It’s a gerbil!” Yuu replies defensively, and scoops up the ball before Heinrich can get too rough. As far as he can tell, they both enjoy it, but he’s still getting used to the pet thing and they’re all still getting used to each other. “His name is Raijin, and Susie is the other one.”

“How many pets do you have?”

“Just the three.” Yuu clicks open the ball and pulls Raijin out, letting Heinrich sniff at him before setting the gerbil in his hair. (Raijin doesn’t like to nest there as much if it’s not gelled up, Yuu has noticed. But he still sits tight if Yuu doesn’t walk around too much.)

Tsukishima stares at him like he’s grown another head.

“I got lonely, okay?!” Yuu replies, more defensive, and he can’t keep the snap from his tone. He scowls and pets Heinrich to calm himself down, since as bitchy as he is, Tsukishima doesn’t actually deserve Drunk Grieving Nishinoya Yuu Ire. He’s pretty sure no one deserves that, not even himself. “An’ I like dogs. Don’t you?”

“I… suppose,” Tsukishima replies awkwardly. It’s probably as much of an olive branch as there will be.

They’re mercifully interrupted by a sleepy little groan from Tadashi. Both of them snap to attention—Raijin scrabbles for purchase in Yuu’s hair—and Tadashi rubs at his head as his eyes flutter. “Tsu… ki?”

“I’m here,” Tsukishima responds with what Yuu thinks is a suspicious amount of tenderness.

“Where’s—?” He sits up, too fast, and clutches his head with another groan a moment later. Susie jumps back up onto the couch to snuffle at him, and Tadashi first seems surprised, then absolutely _delighted_ at the addition of a fluffy dog to his life problems. (Yuu understands.)

“Hey, Yama, glad to see you awake again,” he says, and Tadashi blinks owlishly at him over the English Shepherd. “Casper said you two were runnin’ from _Ushijima_?”

“What did you just—”

“Yes!” Tadashi accidentally interrupts, and whatever Suspicious Tenderness had been in Tsukishima’s expression is now gone. “We ran into him, and he was killing jiangshi for some reason, and then we ran from him, and—and we got away, right? Where’s Morisuke?”

“He dumped you here and went to get Kenma. We’re safe here,” Yuu firmly tells him.

Tadashi starts to nod, then his eyes find the gerbil half-hidden in Yuu’s hair. The movement dies as he stares.

“Here, this is Raijin,” he offers, pulling the gerbil away from his hair and handing him over. Raijin immediately scuttles up the kid’s arm to make a grab at his hair, too, and Susie looks affronted at the lack of attention, and so begins to try to climb onto Tadashi’s lap with a low whine.

He ends up flat on his back on the couch, two animals very happily on top of him.

Yaku pops back into the scene, nearly adding to the count. Yuu grabs Heinrich before he can leap at the cat again. “Kenma won’t fight him,” he says without preamble, and only then does Yuu recognize the folded ears and guilty expression. “And he won’t let Kuroo escort you back, though I agree that that's a terrible idea.”

“I can take ‘em back,” Yuu volunteers. The dogs needed a walk, anyway. Maybe some fresh air would do him good, too.

Yaku gives an appreciative nod and shrinks further from the excited dog. “Kenma advises that Kei and I lay low for the time being, and I agree with him there, too.”

“What does laying low entail?” Tadashi asks, side-eying Tsukishima.

“Can he stay with Sugawara for the night? I’d offer my place, but I’m staying with someone else tonight.”

Yuu has never seen a cat look _embarrassed_ before, but he’s not sure what else to call it. Tadashi rubs the back of his neck, but it’s Yuu who says, “Suga’s on vacation. He’s out of town.”

“We’d be fine at home. Kenma and Kuroo are still there. We could take Ushijima,” Tadashi adds. “…Probably.”

“It’s not about taking him, it’s about keeping everyone safe and minimizing the chance that he’ll end up with the ingredients he needs.”

“Well, do we even know what Tsukishima is yet?” Yuu points out. Yaku pauses a long moment before shaking his head. “Then maybe your hoard of teenagers will be lucky enough to avoid that.”

“I don’t think Kenma—”

“Honestly, if Ushijima’s nearby, I think I’m gonna crash at Ryuu’s place, anyway. They’re welcome there with me.”

“I’d really rather just go home, if that’s okay,” Tadashi mumbles tiredly.

Yuu understands that, too. He stands up, stretches, and holds out his hand for Raijin again. “Time for a walk,” he announces, and both dogs perk up. “I can handle an escort mission to get your kids home. Tell Kiyoko what Ushijima was up to, and then you stay out of his clutches, too, okay?”

Yaku seems surprised by his concern, though Yuu doesn’t know why; he doesn’t want _anyone_ to end up as fodder for an apocalypse plot, much less friendly cats who work at Kiyoko’s shop. Yuu musters up a grin, somehow, when the bakeneko vanishes.

Tadashi’s grin is far brighter, at odds with his wobbly steps, when Yuu lets him hold Susie’s leash. The sight manages to ease the weight on his heart.

 

\--

 

“What are you doing.”

Tadashi jumps and Kenma almost stabs him in the neck. “Tsukki! Don’t scare us like that!” he squeaks, and, belatedly, covers his neck to prevent injury.

“It’s four in the morning.” He squints down at them; without his glasses, he looks different, a little less grumpy even despite his frown. Younger, maybe. He already looked every inch of a lanky teenager.

“Kenma’s helping me with something,” Tadashi begins.

“We’re piercing our ears!” Kuro finishes.

Kenma hastens to hide the long needle he’d been using, even if it’s still too warm to the touch.

“…At four.”

“Kuro woke us with his nightmares,” Kenma mumbles, and Kuro gives a squawk of injured offense to that.

“I was already awake,” Tadashi offers, oblivious to the way Tsukishima’s eyes narrow. “Apparently, witch jewelry is a thing? And, um, well, I-I’ve kinda always wanted to pierce my ears, it’s kind of a cool look, you know?”

“There are lots of metals and stones that have helpful properties,” Kenma explains and reluctantly pulls the needle back out. He begins heating it again, carefully balancing a flame over his finger. “I was thinking hematite for him, since it can help focus energies and should help him refine his magic use. It’s no substitute for practice and knowing his limits, but… it could help, I guess…”

“Give him something to help him sleep,” Tsukishima says flatly.

“Do you want yours done, too?” Tadashi asks, despite the fact that Kenma wouldn’t really like to go anywhere near Tsukishima.

The blond ghost(?) gives them a long, unusually exasperated look. Finally, walking over to throw himself onto the couch like a sulking teenager (well, Kenma supposes that’s not wrong either by any stretch of the imagination), he tells them, “My ears were pierced before I died. I don’t know if I’d have to redo them, but I spend most of my time worrying about remaining corporeal rather than how cool I look.”

“If you already had them, then you’re way ahead of us in coolness, so you can sit this one out,” Kuro tells him, probably wanting to compliment him, but of course Tsukishima only looks more irritated. “I get pyrite ones.”

“Fool’s gold,” Tsukishima grumbles.

“Told you he’d know what it was,” Tadashi says, smugly, and Kenma sees the corner of Tsukishima’s mouth twitch.

“Wanted to use ruby,” Kenma mutters. “Alright, I need you to hold still this time.”

Tadashi does, holding his breath, and he only flinches a little when Kenma pushes the needle through his lobe. There’s not a lot of blood, thankfully, and even if Kuro hovers over his shoulder with too much curiosity the entire time, Kenma slips the earring in without any issue. Tadashi whines like an injured dog through the entire process of piercing his other ear, and Kenma doesn’t want to be the one to do this again if he chooses to get any others in the future.

“Don’t take those out for a couple months, and use saline to wash them. You’re lucky, so you shouldn’t have to worry about infection,” Kenma dryly comments and wipes the needle off. He’s been putting off piercing Kuro’s ears, despite the fact that the demon has been asking, because he’s either looking at getting corrosive blood on himself or a confirmation that he’s still in-tune with the demonic side of magic. He doesn’t want either.

“This seems like a shitty decision to make this time of night,” Tsukishima drawls.

“I know what I’m doing,” Kenma replies, frowning too, “I did all of my own.” And he only got one infected. Tsukishima doesn’t need to know that; it had been years ago, and Kenma is pretty sure that it’d only gotten infected because he’d spent a solid week living in a cave to avoid a couple of hunters.

Kuro looks down at Kenma, then cocks his head to the side and asks, “What _else_ can you pierce?”

“I—only my ears are pierced,” the flustered witch replies, shying away from his gaze, and he flushes further when he hears Tsukishima bark out a laugh.

“Pierce his dick, I wanna see him cry.”

“Dick piercings are hot,” Tadashi innocently remarks and that shuts Tsukishima up fast. Not that that spares Kenma’s dignity, because now _he’s_ thinking about it, too.

“You can pierce those? _How_?” Kuro asks, cringing for now, and that gives Kenma enough strength to put his hands on Kuro’s face to tilt his head so he can better see his ears. His hair isn’t as messy as usual, since their sleep got interrupted, and as a result it’s in the way. (But it’s not long enough to tie back; Kenma had tried, and failed, to both their disappointment.)

“Google it,” Tsukishima tells him.

“Don’t google that on my phone,” Kenma responds. “Hold still.”

He _really_ wants ruby to charm to help Kuro stay settled, especially since he’s lost his sun stone amulet and he’s getting less settled every day. Kenma can see the strain of it on him. Anything to help stabilize, but pyrite will have to do, until they can afford something better. Their two choices of getting ruby studs, jewelry or witch shops, aren’t easy to steal from and Kenma _is_ rather tired of the looks Kuro gives him, too.

But they don’t even have a home right now, much less money.

Not for the first time, Kenma thinks back to the dragon corpse. It’s a _lot_ of money, just sitting there, unless Bokuto had finally lost patience and claimed it himself. _Some of it is mine_ , he tells himself, even if he feels guilty for it.

They need the money. It’s not stealing, not from Tadashi, not from Bokuto, and Bokuto shouldn’t even be there, anyway.

 _We can’t stay here forever_ , Kenma thinks. They can’t go back to Lev’s for long, either, not if they’re going to end up pissing Morisuke off further. Kenma won’t do that to Lev and he won’t subject Kuro to an angry bakeneko.

He ends up disappointed when the smears of coal-black blood don’t burn him.

 

\--

 

Koutarou squints at the dawn light peeking over the trees. Human realm times are weird, especially coming more or less straight from home, but he hadn’t thought it’d be this early. (Initially, he’d assumed it was sunset, until he remembered which way east was.)

At least it’s light enough to see. The ground is still mostly covered in snow, too, which helps.

 _Now where was that cave_ , he wonders, half annoyed and half desperate. He needs to be back before Keiji realizes where he’s gone, and this feels a little too much like stealing for him to be completely comfortable, too. Even if it’s not.

He just… needs something to help win Kenma and Kuroo back, that’s all.

Even on his own, he knows how that sounds.

 _I just need to find out what Nakashima’s been up to_ , he adds to himself, and wonders if he really has it in himself to kill him should he have tried betraying them. Koutarou has never killed another tengu before, and he really doesn’t want to start now, even if he has to. “Fuck,” he grumbles aloud. He doesn’t actually _want_ to kill him. Even if he’s pissed at him.

At least he finally finds the stupid hills where the stupid cave is.

There’s not much snow here, compared to most of the rest of the forest, but he doesn’t think it odd. The tengu realm doesn’t really have weather, and he’s been spoiled by it. It’s easier to avoid getting mud everywhere when there’s very little dirt, let alone rain or slush or whatever the humans have been complaining about lately. Koutarou alights on the stone itself, stumbling a little on the slick surface, before righting himself and ducking into the cave mouth.

The cave is as he saw it last: damp, missing a stalactite, and with a hunk of dragon corpse in the middle of this area.

Except it’s not a _full_ hunk. Koutarou scowls and his claws click as he trots over, mind already going a mile a minute about _betrayal_ and _thief_ and _I wanna break his face but I don’t want to kill him_. It doesn’t make sense, either, since Koutarou had been more than generous when it came to striking a deal, and even a songbird tengu should have realized that. Nakashima isn’t an asshole, and especially not a dumb one.

He doesn’t think anything is off until he spots a few broken flight feathers near the dragon’s missing shoulder. He’s seen Keiji shedding theirs recently enough to recognize that they’re tengu almost immediately.

“Nakashima?!” Koutarou calls, hands cupped around his mouth. He hadn’t thought anything _bad_ happened, but now that he thinks so, and he doesn’t really know where to start with that prospect, either. _What the fuck_. Not to mention half a dead dragon missing. It looks chewed on, but picked apart that speaks of some level of choosiness and intellect. Not just random gnomes or even another manticore, he knows that.

“Oh,” comes a soft, feminine voice.

Koutarou whirls around and sees a figure silhouetted in the faint light from the distant cave mouth.

“Another tengu,” she says, surprised, but not frightened like most people stumbling upon a tengu in the human realm would be.

Flames burst into life over Koutarou’s hand, and he squints in the sudden light. A woman, humanoid, but he can smell the weird magic in the air. It’s dampened by the corpse and musty smell of the cave, but familiar. Also not human or tengu magic. “Who are you? Do you know where the songbird tengu who was supposed to have this dragon is?” he demands. He has to remind himself that most other species are terrified of the big, bad, scary tengu, and use that to his advantage.

“Oh, um.” She looks away, guiltily, and rubs at her stomach like it pains her. Koutarou can’t quite see her properly, even with the fire; he thinks she has dark hair and eyes, but something about her form is indistinct. “That was… Were you his friend?”

The past tense sets Koutarou’s teeth on edge. “Who are you, and what did you do to Nakashima?!”

The woman glances back toward the cave entrance, and with her body shifted, Koutarou suddenly thinks he can see something behind her, too. “Shit… I can’t—but I don’t want to hurt you. _Shit_.”

“You have to the count of five to tell me what you’ve done,” Koutarou snaps and bares his teeth at her.

He doesn’t even get past two before the woman lunges at him. He sees, too late, that there are _wings_ on her back, and he realizes once his fire snuffs out why she had looked so weird in its light; she gives off her own light, soft, but glowing brighter as she throws herself at him. Koutarou barely raises his arms in time to catch her.

His back hits the dead dragon and she fights with him. He has her wrists in his hands, claws digging into her luminescent skin, and with a flare of more light, her wings extend behind her. He counts six before he realizes that this is, indeed, an archangel, and she is probably about to ruin his day.

 _Shit_ is certainly right.

She flaps her wings, and the strength of it is enough to pull them both backward, off of the dragon. Using her momentum, she flings Koutarou away, and he can’t keep hold on her. His back hits the rock floor this time at a painful angle, and he’s barely on his feet again before she pounces.

 _She’s too fast, need to get her away!_ Every instinct he has screams at him to put distance between himself and this monster.

Koutarou slices upward with a sharp gust of wind, and he’s splattered with white blood.

They reel away from each other, growling against the pain, but she rebalances first. (Koutarou had never thought angel blood would sting _that fucking bad_. No wonder Futakuchi had been so careful with it.) Her fingers look more like claws now, dripping colorless fire at the tips, and Koutarou ducks away from her first blow only to get caught by her other hand. She digs her nails into his bicep, but he doesn’t actually realize her strength until she breaks his arm with a single twist of her wrist.

Koutarou screams and digs his claws into her shoulder, her neck, anywhere he can reach, but it’s like she hardly notices.

Tengu aren’t use to close-quarters combat, and there aren’t many beings out there who are stronger than them to this degree; he’s beginning to panic, beginning to flail ineffectually, beginning to become little more than a beast—and Koutarou knows he’s done for if he can’t keep a cool head.

She bears down on him until he’s flat against the floor, but aside from twisting his broken arm to make sure he doesn’t escape, she doesn’t aim for anything else. “I don’t want to kill you, but if you keep fighting—”

Koutarou doesn’t want to hear this considering she _broke his fucking wing_. The floor against his back gives him enough leverage to bring his legs up, and there’s few things more satisfying than getting his talons into someone who’s hurt him. He digs his claws into her wings, and rips her off of him even if it feels like she takes a good chunk of his own flesh with her. Worth it.

As much as he’d like to turn the tables, Koutarou is still rational enough to realize that he can’t fight a goddamned _archangel_ on his own. Koutarou may be an amazing warrior, but he’s not stupid, nor is he suicidal. Fighting within the confines of the cave is another dumb idea, but he’s not sure he can race her to the mouth—and it’s not like he can fly once outside, or that it would make any difference when she has three times as many wings as him.

But he has to make it outside. He needs the room to put between them.

When the archangel whirls on him again, irate and glowing once more, Koutarou only _then_ sees his opening: with the strongest and sharpest wind blade he can make, he aims up at the ceiling. She doesn’t laugh that he misses her, or even stop to gloat. She advances with cold purpose.

Until the stalactite he cleaves from the ceiling crashes down onto her.

She shrieks and he scrambles away from the splatter of blood. He doesn’t think that will kill an archangel, but it looks like it’s pinned her for the moment, and Koutarou turns and runs before she can test it for him.

So he can’t fly, and Keiji doesn’t know he’s here, nor does his family. He doesn’t really know anyone in the human realm—obvious, painful ones aside—and he doesn’t have a way to contact them even if he did. Most of his friends are denizens of the goblin markets if they’re not tengu. Koutarou may very well be on his own here, and that sends a new thrill of panic up his spine.

The weak morning sun is exactly as he left it, and there’s nothing new on the hill or in the forest or _anywhere_ to help. Koutarou spins around, wondering if he should scale the rocky face to find another cave, or if he should make a break for the forest, or maybe he _should_ stand his ground?

 _Fucking wing_ , he curses. He could fly a _little_ on it, he’s done it before, but it’s the worst break he’s ever had. There’s blood running down his skin and feathers from her claws, and his own fingers are slowly going numb.

Well, fuck. Fuck all of this. Did he piss off a luck spirit in addition to apparently everyone else? Keiji thinks he’s useless when he’s upset like this over Kenma and Kuroo, and maybe he _is_ , but shit, at least he was _trying_ today. Koutarou almost felt good about doing something, for two seconds, but of course he had to fuck up this, too. He didn’t even find out what happened to Nakashima, outside of ‘archangel’. (To be fair, that _is_ a pretty significant occurrence.)

He smells her blood before he hears her. Koutarou grits his teeth and turns to face her; by now, the angel is more light and haze than anything truly settled, and he can’t even tell where she’s bleeding aside from the footsteps she leaves behind. “You should have let me catch you,” she rasps, voice thrumming too deep. Too deep to be a growl but something that reverberates in his chest and makes goosebumps break out on his skin. “I didn’t want to kill—I-I didn’t…”

“Then don’t!”

“No one can—he’s a tengu friend! He’ll find out,” she chokes before flinging herself at him once more. This time, there’s no rock behind him to catch them, and they end up tumbling over the edge into open air.

She may be stronger, but she doesn’t seem to know how to use her wings as reflexively as he does. Koutarou manages to land on top of her in the damp, dead meadow below, even if the impact knocks the wind out of him. The archangel doesn’t seem to suffer from the same issue and shoves him off without missing a beat.

She goes for his broken wing again, digging into the torn flesh, and he can’t help but cry out. His body does not begin to panic until she begins to _pull_ , however.

“You would’ve ruined _everything_ ,” the archangel hisses, dripping flames and smoke onto him from her mouth, glow so bright it nearly hurts through his screwed-shut eyes. Koutarou claws at her with his free arm, but she ignores him, ignores the wounds he leaves and the furrows his claws create. She shrugs off the wind blade and _push_ spell and tells him in a wrecked voice, “I can’t let you ruin her plan, or tell him. T-Too many people know! Someone is going to get back to the witch—”

He aims at her neck, and at least she fucking _notices_ when her throat is sliced open and scalding blood pours down over him.

The archangel reels back, clutching at herself, and Koutarou makes a mad dash for freedom on sheer adrenaline. He smears the weird-colored blood off, or around, but at least gets it out of his eyes so he doesn’t run face-first into anything worse.

 _What’s worse than an archangel?_ he thinks, then easily realizes, _Leaving Keiji alone_.

She collides with his back again and this time he’s pinned on his stomach, injured wing trapped beneath him. “I’m sorry!” the archangel roars, sparks showering down like rain. The entire area is lit up like a spotlight. “I’m sorry but I’m not letting you ruin this! She _needs_ me!”

“I won’t!” Koutarou is not above begging. He rips at the dead grass in front of him, kicking ineffectually. He screams again when she digs into his back and side, piercing flesh and ripping muscle like it’s nothing to her. Like _he’s_ nothing to her. _I’m not getting killed. I’m not leaving them alone. I’m not going down like this!_ “I won’t tell anyone, I won’t come here again, I just—I need to get back—let me _go_ —!”

He gathers his strength and presses his palm flat against the ground. He forces out the strongest _push_ spell he’s ever made, and his entire arm stings from the jolt of it; they both go flying, and he nearly ends up in a tree.

He _wishes_ he had when he catches sight of her, already charging at him again, while he’s winded and winged and bleeding. Her blood stings where it’s gotten into his side, and when he risks a glance downward, he sees that there’s _far_ too much showing that absolutely should _not_ be showing.

He turns and sprints from her, ignoring his burning lungs and the weakness seeping into his limbs with every step, and wishes he could release his side long enough to even _try_  to fly. Koutarou leaps into the air, buoys himself through sheer force of magic, but it doesn’t work.

The archangel catches his ankle and her grip feels like the heaviest shackle.

She swings him around, hurls him into a tree, then flings him back down into the half-frozen earth on his injured side. Koutarou blacks out for a moment after the impact; his ears ring and his vision swims and he’s suddenly back against a splintered tree rather than in the mud.

He raises his head to glare at her. He can’t even see what kind of face she’s making with all of the light. The only visible parts are the dark holes of her eyes and the mop of dark hair, the rest of her an inverse silhouette, creating her own halo.

His _cut_ spell catches her across the face, but she still doesn’t seem to notice, even if he can see the new whiteness dripping and sizzling the grass below.

She doesn’t immediately kill him, but instead forces out in an inhuman, tear-filled voice, “I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to become this kind of monster.”

“Then don’t kill me,” he says, or he _wants_ to say, but it comes out garbled and wet and maybe he’s not quite as conscious as he thought. Koutarou kinda thought his life would flash before his eyes at this point. A thrilling, heartfelt montage of Akaashi Keiji’s rare smiles and soft touches, interspersed with his mother’s gleaming smirk over her fresh kills, and Kuroo Tetsurou’s dimples and the way he laughs too loud, and Keiji’s sister making him promise to take care of them, and _shit he has to take care of Keiji_.

Things go fuzzy, and his thoughts grind down to _Keiji Keiji Keiji_ , but when he blinks back into awareness, he sees two things: the archangel, holding him by the shoulder, jaws unhinged—and a figure in the sky behind her.

Kuroo’s weight hits her with a sickening _crack_.

He gives her a look that Koutarou can’t decipher—actually, he’s having trouble figuring out if this isn’t more memories and wishes—but then he hurries to help Koutarou up, throwing his uninjured arm over his shoulders. “Are you okay? Shit, you don’t look okay. Uh, just hold on, we’ll get you out of here, Bo,” Kuroo reassures. He sounds like heaven right now.

Koutarou nods, and regrets it. He lets his head hang and lets his body be dragged for one blissful moment. From this lower, almost upside-down viewpoint, he sees the archangel get back to her feet and reach out toward them, limbs too long, too fast—

Kuroo swears like her presence burns him when she gets close. “Back off!” he spits, awkwardly shoving Koutarou behind himself, and his own arms start bleeding into blackness and sharp points. “Yui, this is my friend. I’m tengu friend—he’s with me. Back the fuck off.”

Yui’s a pretty name, Koutarou supposes. It doesn’t sound familiar. “You’re the demon,” she says like she’s surprised. “You’re… you’re the demon, and demons—why haven’t you been banished by Koushi by now?”

“You remember me, right? I’m with Kenma. We helped you and Suga.”

“I need to help them both,” Yui says in the same wrecked voice as before and spreads her wings to give her enough power to rush them.

A flash of magic to their right, and a tree drops on her with a _crunch_ far more sinister than any sound Kuroo had created.

Kenma floats down, straddling a broom and bundled up in too many layers, black blood gleaming on his upper lip. He won’t make eye contact with Koutarou, but he feels himself break into a grin that hurts his cheeks, anyway. “You—”

“I don’t care,” Kenma cuts him off. “Get on the broom.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Kuroo murmurs, soothing. Koutarou nearly purrs and lets Kuroo manhandle him in the general direction of the witch and broom.

Behind them, the tree splinters, then crumbles into ash. Kuroo begins to drag Koutarou faster, just about carrying him at this point, and the tengu twists around to try to hit Yui with _anything_ that could slow her down.

She leaps straight over them at Kenma instead.

There’s very little sound, compared to the shrieks and screams and crashing of before; the only thing Koutarou can pick up through the buzzing in his ears is the cracking sound of the broom breaking beneath them.

Kuroo drops him and has thrown himself at them both before Koutarou can balance himself. His yell, at least, Koutarou can hear somewhat clearly, even if he’s not sure it’s a word so much as raw terror. There’s a brief clash of black versus white before Yui screeches, and she scrambles away from them, frantically scrubbing at dark blood smeared across her face.

There’s enough slush on the ground she hasn’t yet evaporated for Koutarou to pull up for water magic. He means to bind her with it, freeze her to a tree if need be, but there isn’t enough for that—he binds her arms and half her wings together, leaving her lopsided and thrashing while he limps over to the other two.

Kenma looks shaken, but isn’t as bad as Koutarou feared. He still won’t meet his eyes, but does manage to get to his feet, and moves to stand beside Koutarou, in front of Kuroo. “She’s too powerful to fight like this,” the witch murmurs, and Koutarou nods too many times because that’s the understatement of the fucking century right there, “but I think I have a plan… Can you cut her?”

“Y-Yeah, I mean, I have so far, but it sucks, so—yeah. Whatever you need.”

“We’re going to steal her grace,” Kenma announces and Kuroo’s expression hardens on the back of his head. Koutarou doesn’t get it. “Or, well, some of it, probably…”

“Kenma, that’s—”

“We can’t fly and we can’t run from her. Kiyoko wouldn’t stop her and anyone else would get slaughtered,” Kenma coldly interrupts.

“Is this a bad plan?” Koutarou tentatively asks, and Kuroo nods.

Yui breaks free of the ice encasing her with a growl and another flare of heat. Kuroo yanks Kenma back by his hood, and calls out, “Yui! We’ll stand down if you do. We don’t want to fight, remember?”

Koutarou shakes his broken arm-wing and hisses, “She killed my friend and attacked me and ate half our dragon _and_ attacked you! She has to be taken in, at least!”

“Dude, Bo, shut up for five seconds. Let’s concentrate on us all getting out alive before we start pointing fingers.”

“ _He_ attacked _me_!” Yui snaps back, voice a deathly, raspy growl, and Kenma flinches from the sound.

“You killed a tengu!” Koutarou snarls. “You stole from me—I’m so _fucking tired_ of people stealing from me!”

“When did she kill a tengu?” Kuroo asks, and Yui’s hazy figure hangs her head, as if in guilt. “We’ll take it up with Kiyoko—”

“She’s going to hate us for fighting her,” Kenma mumbles. “She’s not going to ignore us this time.”

“She’s killed people, hurt us, and we have to make a stand.”

“You _can’t_ stand right now,” Kuroo points out.

“We won’t kill her. I don’t think we could,” Kenma replies, even-toned, eyes still locked onto the archangel. “If she won’t let us go, we have to.”

“Yui, please.” Kuroo turns back to her, pleading, and lets his hands settle back into proper human fingers as he holds out his arms to show he means no harm. “We’ve kept your secret this far, haven’t we? We don’t want to fight you, we want to protect our friend. You helped us before.”

“She helped _Suga_ before,” Kenma mutters under his breath.

While Koutarou seethes, still dripping blood from multiple wounds and leaning against Kuroo, Yui’s glow dims until they can see her chewing on her lip. Her skin is ashy, and she’s bleeding and hurt, too, even if she doesn’t show it. “I… I didn’t mean to kill him. This spiraled, but I can’t let it get any worse. I can’t let you ruin our plans,” Yui tearfully tells them and raises her arms again. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to get behind her,” is all the warning Kenma gives before springing forward with a _jump-push_ spell. Koutarou follows, ignoring the twinge his ankle gives at the force of the magic. Yui reaches for him instead of the witch.

She thrusts her arm forward and he feels it go through him, but it leaves her open to the spike of frozen earth he shoves through her stomach. Yui staggers, and Koutarou hangs on her wrist while he rips into her, and only then he realizes how tall she’s become. _Just like Kuroo_ , he thinks, and worries about her losing form entirely. At least right now she’s solid.

He doesn’t think they’ll do any better against a puddle. He never thought that would be anything but funny.

Koutarou tries to kick her, talons just _barely_ missing her chest, and she bends to avoid him. Right into Kenma. He’s been writing runes in the space between her wings, careful not to touch them, and when she backs into him, he presses his palm between her shoulder blades. Magic sparks in the air between them.

“Not again!” Yui shouts and twists so she knocks him to the ground with her wings. She throws Koutarou down beside him, and he thinks he hears Kuroo shout, but he’s drowned out by her desperate, “You won’t turn me into something _worse_!”

They roll out of the way of a burst of angelic fire, Koutarou swearing as his head spins, and she’s probably taller even than Kuroo now as she looms over them. Her limbs are too long and the bottommost set of wings are growing, sprouting like new buds from her back.

A black form collides with her, even larger and less distinct, all teeth and claws and sizzling blood. But Yui is still stronger than Kuroo—a demon is no true match for an archangel. They grapple, twisting and writhing to get a better grip on each other, and Kenma pops up behind her again. Koutarou scrambles after him, knocking away a wing that almost clips him in the head. His feathers burn where hers touch his.

“Whatever you’re doing—” he begins, urgently, barely heard over the archangel and demon’s combined howling.

Kenma disposes of whatever spell made her panic earlier, loses all finesse as he simply grabs an armful of wings. They grow brighter at his touch, and Koutarou doesn’t understand until the rest of her body dims and flickers like a guttering candle.

The witch looks up at him pleadingly. Too-dark blood streams from his nose but Koutarou doesn’t understand what he’s mouthing at him; he just instinctively knows what to do.

_Can you cut her?_

Fuck yes he can. With delight.

It’s a very simple matter for him to pull enough air for a razor-sharp wind spell, he doesn’t even feel the drain on his magic; Koutarou slashes downward, severing her wings from her body.

Yui’s scream rises up until he can’t even hear it, but something stings in his ears, and he and Kenma stumble away. Kenma still clutches her wings, which look to be glowing brighter than ever, whereas the archangel flickers one last time before going out completely.

She sheds feathers—no, _pieces of her last set of wings_ , Koutarou thinks he’s going to be sick—and staggers away from them. Her blood is still pure white, the only bright part of her now, and seems to be burning _her_ as it trails down her back.

Yui’s scream winds back down into discernible registers, and with one last terrified wail that sounds more animalistic than ever, she disappears in a flash.

Koutarou is only blessed with half a heartbeat of relief. _She’s gone_ , he thinks, breaking into a triumphant grin, _we fought an archangel and won. We get to go home._ “We did it!” he says, not fully aware he’s even cheering. “Oh my god, we’re—safe?”

It’s a question he hopes isn’t a question, and he turns to look over his shoulder at Kenma (maybe she’ll be back, maybe he knows how to banish her from the area, in fact why did they seem to know her at all _that seems like a big detail to not share with anyone_ ), just in time to see the witch’s knees buckle. Kenma goes down soundlessly, too-dark blood _everywhere_ , and Kuro leaps out of his shadow barely in time to stop his head from hitting the snow.

“Kenma?” both Koutarou and Kuro say, together, and are met with no answer.

 

\--

 

The elder Hinata’s head is bowed and his shoulders are tight as Keishin berates him. Loudly. Almost violently (he’s already cuffed him upside the head, but nothing else, not in sight of others). Natsu is clinging to one hand, looking illegally overjoyed at being reunited with her brother. It melts Saeko’s heart.

It doesn’t sway Keishin or Sorano, however. The fact that the kid’s other hand is tightly entwined with Tobio’s also doesn’t endear them, except perhaps to Father Takeda.

Saeko knows their presence isn’t helping, either, but Kiyoko wanted to make a point, and what can she say? Tanaka Saeko can rarely say no to Kiyoko, and even more infrequently to cute fluffy tengu chicks. She rubs her hand against the holster under her arm like it’s a comfort thing. It wouldn’t do much to stop two adult tengu, but it makes her feel better.

Natsu is the only one happy in this situation. _At least someone is_ , Saeko thinks, fondly, and glances up just in time to catch Keishin’s irritable glare dart over to her. Saeko bares her teeth in a poor imitation of a grin.

“Do _not_ get me started on your involvement,” he says in a flat growl.

“We were hired to do a job,” Kiyoko says with all the calmness in the world. “We’ve done the job, I’d say.”

Tobio wisely bites his tongue, even if the Hinata boy’s hand tightens on his likely to the point of pain. “I gave back the egg,” he mutters, and Keishin rounds on him with fresh fire in his eyes.

Their mother places a hand on his bicep, reining him back. “You shouldn’t have run away in the first place.”

Ah, a mother’s cold disappointment. Saeko shudders at how good the stuffy birds are at that. “I got her egg back!” he replies, head lifted to meet her gaze, even if his shoulders are still up around his ears. “I-I returned that, in one piece, and no one else was even close to getting it back!”

“We’re glad to have returned a First egg to its proper owner,” Kiyoko pointedly adds.

Keishin makes an effort to unclench his claws. Takeda places a hand on his other arm, and steps forward between them, a movement not lost on anyone in the drafty attic. “We’re _very_ glad this was resolved in a manner so peaceful. I’m sure everyone is grateful for it. And now, we have Shouyou back with us, too, don’t we?”

Saeko shakes her head in disbelief. _Fuckin’ Takeda and his tengu hoard_ , she thinks, amused and jealous and particularly entertained at the soft look Sorano sends him.

“We still—” Tobio starts, like he has a death wish; the glowers Keishin and Sorano turn on him are more than enough to shut him up.

“We still have to help them!” Shouyou finishes for him. He’s puffing up now, feathers raising like a cat’s fur, but he fearlessly stares down both adults. Kasa, on the shoulder nearest to him of her witch, puffs up in solidarity. “Kageyama is tengu friend, and we—”

“He’s _what_ ,” Keishin hisses.

That went about as well as Saeko thought. She rolls her shoulder in a casual way that also manages to reveal her holster from beneath her leather jacket. Keishin’s narrowed eyes are back on her again, but Kiyoko does not speak up this time. Everyone present knows that if an adult tengu declares someone tengu friend, the clan must honor that—or excommunicate the individual.

Considering how their panties were bunched trying to get this little guy back, Saeko’s money is on the fact that Tobio just scored a ticket in. She just hopes they didn’t guess wrong and assume that he’s an adult.

 _At least he’s not all fluff like his sis_ , she thinks, and glances down at the wide-eyed look Natsu gives her brother.

“…Alright,” Sorano says at length. “Alright. Your witch friend is tengu friend.” She casts an uneasy look over the two women, but they don’t speak up; they’re not going to press this issue, even if they might’ve stood a chance at convincing Shouyou to give them the title. It’d only piss Keishin off more, and it’ll be more fruitful in the long run to support what Shouyou wants.

Plus, it’s sort of cute, the way they fight like cats and dogs. Saeko thinks it’s like a playground crush. With magic and claws.

“Oh, there’s also Kenma,” Shouyou says, grinning now in his relief, like he hasn’t just dropped a bomb on the tense scene.

Takeda reaches forward to keep Keishin in check, both arms around his shoulders, but Sorano only heaves a great sigh. Even Kiyoko’s eyes are large behind her glasses. Saeko just wants to laugh. “The pipsqueak witch?” she asks, trying hard to keep her voice even and professional, even if her shoulders are shaking.

“ _Kenma_ is tengu friend to the _crows_?” Kiyoko asks as well.

“That’s the little witch with the demon, right?” Sorano says, frowning, cupping her cheek in her hand as she turns away from the look Keishin gives her. “Ahh, yes, he said that, but if you’re actually declaring him, too…”

“You met Kenma?!” Shouyou asks, bouncing up on his feet, startling the crow familiar on Tobio’s shoulder.

“I helped him return home. He didn’t help you return?”

“Uh,” he replies, faltering, too late to lie. Saeko and Kiyoko exchange a sideways glance. “I haven’t seen him since… In a little while. But he’s helped me! I’m declaring them both,” he says, back to his fearless firmness, and tries his best to stand tall once more.

“You are _never_ stepping foot in the human realm again without an escort,” Keishin says, but this time it’s more of a lament; he seems far too exasperated to keep up his blustering anger. Saeko is certain the priest petting his feathers has a lot to do with that.

“Deal, but after I’m done here,” Shouyou maintains.

“Done with _what_?” his mother asks in concern.

“H-He’s sworn to help me stop the coming apocalypse,” Tobio announces in a quaking voice. Kiyoko’s lips thin, just the tiniest amount, as she manages to restrain a proud smile. “He hired me,” the witch adds, and Kasa punctuates it with a caw.

“He bought him out from underneath an old god,” Saeko kindly tells them, and Shouyou stands even taller, now on the tips of his talons, balancing precariously against Tobio’s arm. “An’ he’s teaching that familiar some magic, too. I heard something about trading away an eventual First egg…?”

Tobio goes scarlet, but bravely continues facing the tengu, who have both gone ashen. “Th-That’s right,” he stammers out, and Saeko thinks he’s now more embarrassed than afraid, which is a great step forward. “He—U-Um, he’s already promised me payment, so if he isn’t around to secure the services he paid for, then the crow clan could lose out on a large future investment, and you would have a witch with tengu magic who is not affiliated with you, which would be a huge scandal.”

He lets out a breath when he’s done, and Saeko shoots him an unsubtle thumbs-up. Keishin, looking like he just aged twenty years, gives Kiyoko a particularly baleful expression. “You told him to tell me that,” he says without inflection.

“We were hired to bring back your son, and we have. What he did on his own in the human realm until this point was beyond our control,” Kiyoko coolly replies. 

“Weren’t you sticking your noses into the other missing egg, too?”

She shakes her head, but doesn’t express any surprise at the confirmation; Saeko frowns, because she _is_ surprised. More surprised he’s admitting it to them than anything else, but they must be desperate. Not that she blames them if Ushijima is on the prowl for the egg, too…

“We got one back, and we have Shouyou back,” Takeda breaks in, ever-optimistic, and Sorano nods in quick agreement. “This is already good, even if he needs to stay here for a little while longer to help Kageyama with something.”

“We’re helping stop the apocalypse!” Shouyou reminds them.

“Yes… That,” the priest says, awkward, and his smile falters just a little. “How exactly do you two plan on doing that? Last I heard, most of the witch covens are scrambling to do the same, and Kiyoko hasn’t foreseen anything specific, has she?”

Another shake of her head. Tobio and Shouyou, however, don’t seem deterred in the least. “I know how he’s doing it,” the witch announces like it’s nothing, “and I know what kind of circumstances he needs to actually summon it. We’re going to track the ingredients until we find him.”

“Kenma can help!” Shouyou adds. “He’s already run into him once!”

“We’ll also help them,” Kiyoko says, and Sorano finally lets out a relieved sigh. “We have a vested interest in stopping Ushijima, you’ll recall. We won’t let any harm come to the boys.”

“And I’ll protect Shouyou this time, too!” Natsu declares. Saeko hides her grin even as her poor mother begins gnawing on her lip.

“Natsu, sweetheart, you’re not going with them. Shouyou will check in _weekly_ with us and Father Takeda, but you and I are staying home,” she says, to the little girl’s _immediate_  distress.

Natsu yanks hard on Shouyou’s hand, tugging him down to her level, and his connected hand pulls Tobio down with him, too. “I’m helping him! He got lost and hired a _witch_ last time you let him go off on his own!”

“I didn’t _let_ —”

“Hinata,” Keishin growls, and both siblings snap to terrified attention. “Girl, you are staying with your mother. Your flight feathers aren't in and you _can’t_ leave tengu space until you’re more than a chick. Boy, you will check in with us weekly and update us on what you and the witch are doing. Shimizu, you too. If _anything_ happens to one of our own, there will be hell to pay.”

Kiyoko and Saeko both nod this time, because it’s not as if they planned for anything different. Just having a tengu on their side is a great relief, both power-wise and for the connections it brings, and Saeko actually believes in the kids. They and Hitoka had managed to cure the curse, and it was Tsukishima and Asahi who got the other egg back—they’re all pretty capable.

“Also, Hinata, you are _forbidden_ from ever declaring tengu friend again,” Keishin finishes, despite Shouyou’s squawk. “You don’t need your own harem for fuck’s sake.”

Saeko _finally_ bursts into laughter.

 

\--

 

Lev picks them up.

Waiting for him had been the most harrowing hour of Kuro’s life. Kenma had only been awake long enough to vomit a disturbing amount of black blood, and Kuro had slipped into unconsciousness once, too; Bokuto had been beside himself and assumed they were both dying.

 _Probably_ somewhat true, worryingly close, especially since Kuro had woken back up wondering why it wasn’t raining, and speaking another language.

He thinks it was Turkish. He’s not sure why.

It was instinct that made him call Lev rather than Tadashi, but he doesn’t feel like it’s wrong; Lev had picked up, demanded to know what was wrong, and immediately said he was on the way. Lev, for all his inquisitiveness, is quick to act when it counts. He’s dependable. He’s good for Kenma. Kuro feels a sad sort of gratitude that they had to call on him at all.

Bokuto falls eerily silent when they pile into the car. His only words are to mumble out Kenma’s ignore-me spell when he awkwardly clambers into the front seat; Kuro pulls Kenma into the backseat and they lay down, the witch laying on his stomach, Kuro winding around them both with a form he can’t quite force to settle again. He worries about what that means.

Kenma’s breathing is shallow and quick; Bokuto doesn’t speak, not even to complain about his injuries; Lev glares through the windshield like he’s contemplating murder.

Kuro is very tired. He’s strangely not afraid, not outside of his usual fear for Kenma’s safety and health—this is the closest he’s seen Kenma to death, and thus himself to death, and he feels… not much. He thinks he should feel more.

Kuro would normally care more about a rare car ride, or even make remarks about Lev driving, or run his mouth in any general direction to cover up what he’s concerned about.

“Everyone’s so quiet,” Lev says with a poorly suppressed shiver.

Nobody answers.

Kenma slurs something against his neck when they reach the city limits, but aside from that, he’s out. Bokuto eventually does lapse into stilted, jittery conversation with Lev (who seems both relieved and confused). Kuro thinks he dozes off as well until he’s suddenly aware that they’ve stopped. Next thing he knows, there’s a lot of raised voices and someone is trying to pull Kenma from him.

Kuro lashes out and barely stops his claws a hair’s breadth from Alisa’s wide mismatched eyes at the same time that she abruptly realizes that the black mass in the backseat is sentient and moving.

“Охуе́ть,” Alisa breathes and Lev _finally_ pulls her away. She drops Kenma’s arms and he limply flops back into Kuro’s embrace. Kuro tries to soothe his buzzing nerves by running his fingers through Kenma’s hair. All of the calmness from before has evaporated, replaced by ugly tension. “Лев, что за нахуй?!” Alisa exclaims.  [8]

Bokuto slumps down in the front seat, unsubtly avoiding eye contact.

“Help me get them inside?” Lev asks.

“When you asked to borrow my rental, I didn’t think—”

“Kuro, let me carry Kenma upstairs,” Lev says, to Alisa’s growing worry, and he helps maneuver him out into the muggy city air.

Kuro still can’t settle, and he doesn’t want to be the one to explain himself to Lev’s sister when he barely knows a thing about her, and he hopes she can’t see his scowl. He slithers around to the other side of the car, opens the door for Bokuto, and asks in a low voice, “You doing okay?” He’s mad he didn’t check in on him earlier. (He’s mad that any of this happened, and now that his shock has been broken, it only increases.)

“Just fine,” Bokuto squeaks, still aggressively avoiding looking at Alisa. There’s blood soaked all over into the front seat, smeared against the center console and halfway up the dash, but the only discomfort Bokuto actually shows for all of his injuries is when he jostles his broken wing. He takes Kuro’s offer of help and limps his way into the apartment after them.

Kuro hears Alisa follow them after a soft Russian curse.

And they hear Yaku’s bellow far before they see him. “What the hell have you done?!” Kuro’s mood darkens further.

Bokuto isn’t incredibly heavy considering his size, but it’s laborious to haul him up the stairs one step at a time, and especially since Kuro is having trouble remaining upright and solid. He sets him down on the top step, and Bokuto doesn’t complain, although Yaku’s face when he sees them is rather a thing of beauty. “Hey,” Bokuto says, raising his uninjured hand, and Yaku’s ears fold back.

“Is that your _cat_?” Alisa asks when she comes up the stairs behind them and lays eyes on the suddenly _very_ guilty-looking feline. “You know what? Нет. We will talk about this later, Лёвочка. Right now, your friends are bleeding all over your carpet.”  [9]

Bokuto looks down at the mess with a surprised start.

“Alisa is right. Put Kenma to bed and put the bird in a shower,” Yaku agrees, then casts a particularly judgmental eye over Kuro.

Before he can strongly recommend anything, Kuro folds his arms and gives him a narrow-eyed glare. “I won’t bother you, just don’t kill Kenma while I’m out.”

“Out?” Lev asks in shock.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he replies vaguely, wearily. The sudden anger simmering in him is close to boiling over and he doesn’t want to feel restless around the others. “Just have to take care of something.”

 

\--

 

Kiyoko rubs her eyes. They itch, from any combination of exhaustion and stress and the dry smoke of the incense, and she knows she ought to try to go back to sleep. It won’t work, but she should _try_. She wants to. Waking up to deal with tengu had been a special kind of hell, and she’d much rather continue trying to get something close to constituting a normal amount of sleep, but it doesn’t look like it’ll be happening.

Maybe if she gets up and lights something _else_ rather than the old cedar shit she’s been using.

There’s a loud _ding-dong_ from downstairs, followed by insistent knocking and the clatter of someone trying the door.

Or there could be an early customer, and she’s definitely not getting a nap today. Sunshine, at the foot of the bed, sits up with his ears pricked.

Kiyoko considers ignoring them, just for the _thought_ of more rest, but when the sting of breaking wards hits her, she knows she must get up. She rubs at her eyes again, slides on her glasses, and pulls on her robe when she hears the front door slam open.

“Kiyoko!” comes an angry, male voice.

Great.

Kiyoko can’t place who, and like hell she’s letting anyone break into her shop, but would it kill the universe to give her a break, for just one morning? Maybe she can mix up a strong sleep draught after this. She grabs the sleep soot she keeps in her nightstand, ensures both animals remain in the bedroom, and tiptoes downstairs.

She mercifully does not find anyone ransacking the place, nor any vindictive men with guns. She does, however, find an unsettled demon winding his way around cupboards and table legs, looking for something with hollow eyes narrowed into angry slits.

It takes Kiyoko a _long_ moment before she realizes that this is, yes, Kuroo Tetsurou. She hasn’t seen him like this in months, and worry gnaws on the edges of her fatigue. “Kuroo?” she calls tentatively, and his head snaps up to stare at her. “Are you alright?” she asks, on autopilot a moment too long before the Upset Intruding Demon advances on her.

“ _You_ ,” he spits, towering over her, stretched thin but no less menacing. “Where is Yui?”

“Yui?” Kiyoko repeats dumbly. There a beat of fear— _how does he know_ —followed by suspicion— _Kenma would tell him_ —which is then replaced by new, fresh dread. “What happened to Yui?”

“We’ve kept your secret, played nice with whatever you have going on with the archangel, but I draw the line when she tries to eat my friends!” Kuroo snaps, and Kiyoko feels the blood drain from her face.

Her mind flashes to Yui, covered in the innards of whatever creature Kiyoko has brought her, chatting while eating with the same gusto as usual, words barely covering up her growling stomach. She _knows_ she’s been hungry—she’s been trying her best to help with this, but she fears Yui’s appetite, and is helpless in the face of it.

She thought she’d been getting better recently as her power balanced out, but Kiyoko apparently had thought wrong.

 _Is she hiding this from me?_ is followed closely by _What happened with Kuroo?_ “Is she—is everyone alright? What exactly happened?” Kiyoko asks, calmly, and gestures for him to sit down on the stool beside him. He does not.

“She tried to kill Bokuto!” Kuroo snarls; she feels like she’s been doused in ice water. “He and Kenma—okay, they fought back, but I at least tried to talk to her! And you know what she said to me?!”

“I—No.”

“She asked why Sugawara hadn’t _banished me_ yet. I want to say I trust him. I want to say I trusted you.” He pauses, not so much deflating as taking a breath she’s not certain he legitimately needs. “I never wanted Kenma to be right about you, Kiyoko. But I need you to tell me, right now, that you’re not going to let Yui get away with this. That you haven’t been letting her go around eating tengu and killing people!”

“No,” Kiyoko says, far too weakly. She clears her throat, meets his eye without fear, and repeats, “No, I have not. I was unaware Yui had approached anyone.”

“Approached isn’t the right word, princess,” Kuroo humorlessly informs her. He shrugs, then gestures down at his form. “Kenma got messed up again. Bokuto isn’t much better. Frankly, I don’t care right now what kind of plans you two are making that she’s so keen on killing to protect—”

Kiyoko finds herself with her heart lodged in her throat. _That_ is what Yui had done? Yui had _killed for them_? If it wasn't just hunger—Kiyoko would do a lot to preserve their plan and ensure that the apocalypse does not come about, probably do enough to be scary. But for Yui to be going to such lengths without telling her?

Part of her is hurt, but the larger part is _afraid_. They hadn’t agreed to cross that line together. This is _her plan_.

“—next time we cross paths with her, we’re actually going to put her down if it comes to that, okay? So tell her to _back off_!” Kuroo finishes in a bark.

Kiyoko blinks, twice, up at him. “Put her down?” she echoes, disbelieving. For a moment, she can only scoff at the idea, but then her half-groggy, half-scared mind reminds her that it’s Kenma who she stole the angelic grace spell from in the first place; if any one person could do it (discounting those with questionable ancient deity alliances), it would be Kozume Kenma.

She can’t allow that. She can’t give up Yui again.

“She’s not here, is she?” Kuroo asks uneasily.

“No, she’s not. Neither of us thought it wise to house an archangel in the city. _How_ exactly did you run into Yui?” Kiyoko asks through gritted teeth.

He squints at her choice of phrasing. “Bo was probably going after that damned dragon.”

“ _What_ dragon—”

“And so were we, because Kenma is still terrified of getting tied down by anything, and now he’s going to be _even more scared_ of you and Yui. Again. So thanks for that!” Kuro exclaims without apparently having heard her at all.

Kiyoko does not bristle, though the accusation does not sit lightly with her. “I have never,” she tells him levelly, “wanted either Kenma or you to be afraid of me. I’ve given you both the space I thought was prudent, even after you stole from me. I don’t want to be an enemy. Neither does Yui.”

“Bokuto’s going to throw a fit, and so is Akaashi when they find out. That’s on you to deal with. I don’t give a shit so long as Yui doesn’t go near any of them ever again. Understand?”

“…Yes, I understand,” she coolly replies.

“Do you?” Kuroo presses. Kiyoko narrows her eyes a fraction, and he continues, “I’m serious, Kiyoko. I _never_ want angel shit anywhere near Kenma or myself or the tengu again. We’ll do a lot more than clip her wings and put her out next ti—”

He’s flat on his back and she’s standing over him with white fire dripping from her fists before she registers what she’s saying. “ _What_. Did you do. To Yui.”

Kuroo scrambles back until he hits a cabinet. Bundles of dried herbs fall, startling him enough to get him to duck down into the shadow and pop up again behind her. Kiyoko whirls around, running exclusively on anger and reflexes, and backhands him across the face.

He’s softer than she’d anticipated. Kiyoko does not expect him to go down like a sack of potatoes again, however, and she once again stands over him. This time, he crouches before her, holding his cheek and hissing out curses between his sharp teeth.

She hadn’t meant to come to blows—losing her temper is usually not something Kiyoko worries about—but now that she is here, now that the thought of hurt Yui is in her mind, she’s not sure how to back away from this. They hurt Yui. _They hurt her_.

Kiyoko, paralyzed above the bleeding demon, is not sure whether her knee-jerk response was in response to the thought of Yui being in danger or Yui’s place in her plan to stop Ushijima being in danger.

Kiyoko will not give herself the benefit of the doubt with something like that. It sickens her.

What makes the situation infinitely worse is when Kuroo looks up at her and she reads fear in his expression. She just gave him a reason to fear her for the first time; she just proved Kenma right.

Kiyoko steps away from him and lets the magic die from her hands. Kuroo scrambles to put space between them again, wary, and she can’t raise her face to him again. “Just go,” she croaks, and she’s not sure if her voice breaks out of oncoming stress tears or revulsion at herself.

He raises back to his normal height, carefully circling her, but does not immediately leave. “I want you to promise me that you’ll keep Yui away.”

Yui has apparently done so much already without her knowledge. Kuroo, ironically, is placing more faith in Kiyoko’s control of the situation than she is. “I’ll make sure of it,” she tells him. She thinks he nods, but he departs soon after, leaving just the mildest smell of demon in his wake.

Kiyoko collapses against her table. She doesn’t know what to tackle first.

 _Is Yui a threat to others?_ She had only planned for _Yui_ , not an archangel. Kiyoko’s view has been too biased, but she’d never imagined that Yui would actually become something Kiyoko had to put down. It’d been a deep, dark fear, niggling in her heart, that it was a possibility. She hadn’t expected to approach it so suddenly.

And what if Yui is becoming a threat? Kiyoko has the technical knowledge to banish her (probably), but certainly not the strength. Yui would be just as much of a threat, if not more, than Ushijima and his lot.

She doesn’t know how she could stop that.

 _Yui is hurt, she got into a fight._ She doesn’t know how to find her, not if she fled the forest. And what about the tengu? Kiyoko is certainly no friend of them, not after what she’s done with Shouyou. Suga, yes, but she can’t ask for his help if he doesn’t know what it’s for. Kiyoko doesn’t know how to help except to continue doing her best to hide her existence.

…Even if ‘her best’ involves half a dozen too many people knowing about her existence. She doubts Ushijima would be able to figure out any specifics, but knowing concretely that they joined forces would be enough of a problem. Most of her plans revolve around him taking specific paths to summon the old god; she can’t plan for many sudden moves on his part.

No matter how she looks at this, Kiyoko doesn’t know how she can keep doing this alone. She thought she’d been in this with Yui, but how can she truly say that? How can she say that _now_? They’re separated, Kiyoko is keeping her a secret from everyone she cares about, and in the end, Kiyoko is really only using her as a weapon, isn’t she? And what if Yui has become some _thing_ that she can’t control, reason with, or becomes another danger?

Kiyoko wipes her tears and vows to do better.

 

\--

 

Suga’s head falls from his shoulders and the damned sword finally burns Daichi’s hands.

At the same time the sword falls from his grasp, he jars himself out of his nightmare. He’s awake before he hears the _clang_ of the blade or the _thump_ of Suga’s severed head. Daichi’s chest heaves, and he’s uncomfortably aware of the cold sweat he’s covered in; he scrubs a hand over his face and pushes back sweat-slick hair. Suga, big surprise, has stolen most of the covers, and Daichi feels cool in the dark cabin.

He reaches over a hand just to make sure the Suga lump is still next to him. Yes, he is, and he’s breathing. His hair is stark against the patterned fabric of the pillow, but Daichi can’t help but tug on the blankets until he can see that yes, Suga’s head is still attached to his shoulders.

It’s stupid.

His waking mind chases away the dredges of the terror, and he knows that, too. But he can’t help the self-depreciation.

Suga makes a small sleepy sound and tries to nestle, fruitlessly, back into his blankets. Daichi guiltily tucks him back in and slides up so he’s curled around him again; Suga is sleep-warm but his feet are still icicles and Daichi smiles against his hair. _Suga is here, Suga’s normal._ Or as normal as he can be. Daichi’s getting used to it, in increments, slowly.  _Suga is alive_.

“Mmmsh,” Suga murmurs, and with a long groan, he turns over so he’s facing Daichi. His eyes are shut, face still lax with sleep, and Daichi doubts he’s any true measure of conscious.

“Go back to sleep,” Daichi whispers and tucks a lock of his starlight hair behind his ear. Suga snuggles in closer and tries to duck his head beneath Daichi’s chin. He ends up headbutting him—not that it wakes him.

Daichi rubs his jaw, wincing, and wonders how he could ever think anything was enough to take out his stubborn, hard-headed boyfriend. (Ignoring the fact that Daichi has had literal nightmares of the memory of stepping over Suga’s decapitated corpse.)

“Nigh’-mare?” Suga asks against his neck.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Heart’s pounding,” he whispers. He cuddles up again—too late Daichi recognizes his octopus moves, twining and winding all manner of limbs everywhere until it’ll probably take another three hours for Daichi to have his own side of the bed again—and Daichi can feel the even, slow tempo of Suga’s own heartbeat against his chest. It’s soothing. “You ‘kay?”

“I’m fine.” It’s not a lie; Suga’s presence is all the reassurance Daichi needs. He may not be prepared for magical bullshit, but he _can_ deal with it by reminding himself of the facts. And Fact #1 is that Suga Won’t Die.

“Mmkay,” Suga says around a wide yawn. He kisses Daichi’s neck, clumsily, and tightens his hold on Daichi. “’m still here. Go back to sleep, ‘night. Love you.”

Daichi gets as far as an automatic “Lo—” before he realizes what Suga had actually just said. (And what he’d been about to respond with.) “…Suga?”

Suga, _of course_ , is out like a light, despite Daichi’s murmurs and gentle shaking. Daichi can only grin helplessly against Suga’s hair; what else can he do? _One day_ , he’s not going to let Suga get away with these sleepy exclamations. As much as he loves them. He’ll have to tease him about it in the morning, just to see what kind of face he makes, especially since he’s not privy to the pleased way Daichi thinks his own cheeks are pink right now.

“Love you too, you narcoleptic nerd,” Daichi says and kisses the crown of his head. When he drifts off again, it’s blessedly dreamless, and entirely too hot with Suga wrapped tight around him.

 

\--

 

“I’m so sorry,” Kiyoko says for probably about the eighth time. Hitoka slides over another cup of tea, and Kiyoko begins gulping it down despite the scalding temperature. “I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“It’s not intruding,” Hitoka firmly replies. She looks from her own mug to where Kiyoko’s fingers are wrapped around hers. “I said you were always welcome, and you _are_. Even if it’s a dingy little dorm room.”

“Your room’s nice,” Kiyoko mumbles. She downs about half of her tea before Hitoka reaches over and pries her hands off of the chick mug and intertwines their fingers instead. It’s a bold move Hitoka wasn’t sure she had the courage for until it was done, but the way Kiyoko eases into a soft smile erases any doubt in her heart that it was a good move.

(It’s a good reminder that they _are_ in this together and she _is_ good enough for her, despite what Hitoka sometimes fears.)

Hitoka doesn’t press Kiyoko for information this time. Kiyoko would tell her if it were necessary… so it probably isn’t. Which is also untrue, because seeing the normally composed Shimizu Kiyoko show up on your doorstep looking two moments from tears is Important and Needs To Be Fixed. So, necessary. …To Hitoka, not to Kiyoko.

Kiyoko hadn’t cried at all, but she’s drinking tea like it’s going out of style, and she has yet to really meet Hitoka’s inquisitive gaze.

But she does, _finally_ , bring it up after Hitoka laces their fingers. “May I ask for some advice?”

“Yes! Yes, of course!” she replies, too eagerly, but Kiyoko’s smile widens into something reassured and infinitely more beautiful.

“How much would you hide for the greater good? Say you’re trying to do something to help a lot of people. But you have to keep secrets for it. From people you care about.”

Hitoka’s heart sinks even as her expression remains resolute. So this is about Kiyoko’s plan for the apocalypse, as far as she can guess—what else could it be about? _Maybe something to do with Sugawara?_ “That sometimes can’t be avoided,” she replies neutrally while she tries to figure out what would help best. What would help the situation best—and what would help Kiyoko best?

Which would Hitoka pick?

She has a feeling she’s paralleling Kiyoko’s worries.

“But what if this hurts people? And what if it doesn’t come down on you to protect that secret? How can I ask _others_ to do this if they don’t know what they’re protecting?” Kiyoko continues and squeezes her hand hard. “It’s one thing to ask them as a personal favor, but if sh—this begins hurting people, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“Informed consent is important. But so is keeping people safe.” There’s surprisingly little sting about not being included in this big secret, but Hitoka is pretty used to Kiyoko doing this by now. It’s the lack of hurt that allows her to tell her, “There’s no rule for what is important enough to do this kind of stuff for. I-I know that there’s a lot of big stuff on the horizon, and I know you’re going to protect us all. But I know you don’t like hurting people.”

“No,” Kiyoko sadly agrees.

“But that’s what you have me for,” Hitoka declares.

Kiyoko _finally_ looks up at her, and she can only read surprise in the many emotions that flit across her face.

“I’m a healer, and sometimes bad things happen even while we try to do good. I can fix things if they get messed up. I think everyone knows that bad things happen, a-anyway, and you don’t have to worry about them hating you. We trust you, Kiyoko. We trust your judgment and whatever you’re planning, even if you have to keep it a secret,” Hitoka tells her and hopes she comes across as sincere instead of piling more pressure onto her. Because that’s the last thing Kiyoko needs, and Hitoka doesn’t want to be responsible for some sort of horrible breakdown—

Tears drip down Kiyoko’s cheeks.

Hitoka goes rigid.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko says and moves her glasses to wipe at her eyes. “That just—came at a very good time, th-thank you, but I’m sorry that I have to keep this from anyone at all. From you.”

“I’m sorry!” Hitoka echoes back in a squeak.

“Y-Your support means a lot to me. It always has.”

“I’ll support you no matter what!” she hastens to continue, glad she found this bit of progress. Glad she got her to smile again even if there's crying involved. Kiyoko doesn’t respond, but she allows Hitoka to tug her against her chest, and she strokes through her dark hair until her shoulders stop shaking.

 

\--

 

Kenma wakes up to low voices and too much heat surrounding him. He squints and finds tan hair tickling his nose, someone purring with his back to Kenma’s chest: Morisuke, in human form, little spoon.

So the big, lanky thing wrapped around behind him must be—

Kenma twists to find green eyes peeking out beneath silver bangs. Lev tightens his hands around Kenma’s waist, and Kenma is torn between alarm and embarrassment. “Shh,” Lev whispers in his ear, and Kenma swings into embarrassment at the inadvertent intimacy of this scene. “They’re pretending they aren’t arguing.”

Kenma doesn’t have to ask who they are, since soon he hears what is undoubtedly a pair _trying_ to stay quiet and miserably failing. It doesn’t help that they’re in the _same room_. Morisuke scoots down, enough to clear Kenma’s sight, and he discovers Kuro and Bokuto, crouched down near Lev’s closet, hissing at each other and the latter slowly bleeding through a too tight shirt that must be Lev’s.

Not that it seems to deter him at all. “We can fix this there!” Bokuto grumbles, looking as irritated as Kenma has ever seen him. “Not like I’ve seen human magic fix much.”

“We can take care of ourselves!” Kuro replies through gritted, sharp teeth. He appears to be having difficulty staying upright, but Kenma _is_ glad to see that he’s still human in appearance. He has vague memories of Kuro losing form, but if he’s already settled again, then maybe not.

“Let us help you! You and Kenma both!”

“We’re  _fine_ on our own!”

“Do you feel fine on your own?” Morisuke asks wryly, and Kenma ducks behind him when both Bokuto and Kuro snap their attention over to the bed. Lev puts out an arm to stop them from approaching, but Kenma cannot hide from Morisuke when he rolls over to face him. “This is the second time you’ve collapsed because of this, recently. That’s _not_ fine.”

“I’m not dead yet, am I,” Kenma humorlessly replies.

“Even Kei has the grace to ask for help when he needs it, and he doesn’t have tengu fawning over him.”

“Yeah!” Bokuto agrees. “I’m sure our healers can look at you two—”

“Is a side effect of having a demon leashed to you a self-destructive streak?” Morisuke asks, cutting across Bokuto without batting an eye.

Kuro’s hackles raise at that, and Lev sits up, pacifying words on the tip of his tongue, but Kenma beats them all to a reply. “That’s not Kuro, it’s on me. And if you don’t like it, you can stop worrying about me so much. You won’t hurt my feelings,” he tells him levelly. After a moment, he adds, “And that’s not part of my self-destructive streak, either, so you don’t have to worry.”

Morisuke fixes him with an _incredibly_ unimpressed look, and it’s rather telling that only _then_ he decides to stop purring. Kenma misses the soft vibration, but he won’t let the bakeneko get into another fight with Kuro, nor will he let him be curt with Bokuto, either. Bokuto definitely doesn’t deserve that right now, not when he’s already fighting with the others.

Kenma wishes they’d all stop fighting.

“Thank you, Lev,” Kenma says and shuffles toward the foot of the bed. Lev looks torn between them as he chews on his lip, and Kenma looks away from him. “Come on, Kuro. We’re going now.”

Nevermind the fact that he broke his broom, still aches all over, Kuro’s barely keeping together, Bokuto looks ready to pounce on them—

Kenma takes one step off the bed and his knees buckle.

Nevermind the fact that he apparently can’t fucking walk yet.

It’s Morisuke who tugs him back upright, gently manhandling him back onto the bed, and Kenma uses his loose hair to hide his burning face. “At this point, you’re supposed to swallow your pride and accept that we care about you,” he deadpans. “Even if you're a brat at times.”

 _It’s not pride_ , Kenma thinks, but can’t vocalize it. Let him think what he will.

“We have _really talented_ healers,” Bokuto points out, earning an immediate scoff from Kuro.

“And they’ve worked with a lot of demon contracts?”

“Can tengu even get contracted to demons?” Lev wonders aloud, and Kenma snorts at the mental image of Bokuto _or_ Akaashi saddled with Kuro. “Do they work often with witches?”

“Well, not really,” Bokuto fields sheepishly, twiddling his thumbs, avoiding eye contact. “But it’s a fresh perspective! We _can_ help humans, and—and if nothing else, you can come get your stuff.”

Kenma is aware of Kuro’s eyes on him, watching him for a sign of how to react. “…We’ll get our things, and apologize to Akaashi, too,” Kenma sighs.

It ought to be illegal how Bokuto lights up.

It quickly turns into an escort mission, and Kenma ends up as the annoying one who can’t keep pace with the rest of them. His magic seems to be on the fritz, but Bokuto can cast the ignore-me spell on himself, at least; Kenma ignores the twinge in his chest at seeing his own magic used by another. Morisuke borrows a hat from Lev and wraps his tail around his waist, and Kenma changes out of his ruined clothes and also borrows something from Lev.

“It’s a good thing I’m so big,” Lev declares, ignoring the irate way both Kenma and Morisuke huff into the too-big clothes. “But I’m going to have to go shopping again soon if everyone keeps stealing them. I’m not very good at getting blood out.”

“I’m sure Alisa will _love_ to go with you,” Kuro innocently remarks.

Lev shuts up with a sound that can only be described as _eep_.

Only Bokuto is immune to the horror that is Haiba Alisa With Magical Knowledge; Kenma feels him staring at him from behind, and sweats it until Bokuto murmurs, “That’s big enough to look like a dress on you. What kind of tengu do you think you’d be?”

“Sorry, but he’d be a cat if he were a spirit,” Morisuke drawls in something approaching protective.

“Tengu are stronger, and Kenma is the strongest witch I know,” Bokuto replies. He probably means it harmlessly, but Morisuke bristles.

“Wouldn’t Kenma be a demon?” Lev asks, probably _also_ meaning it innocently. “He’s already halfway there, kinda…?”

“Lev, just shut up,” Morisuke sighs.

“Are we going to the tengu realm, too?” he asks instead of following orders, but Kenma considers it a small miracle that he changed the subject. Bokuto barks out a laugh and Lev droops.

“I’ll text you some pictures,” Kenma offers.

“I thought human things didn’t work in other realms.”

“Kenma’s phone and laptop worked there fine,” Kuro says, perking up with curiosity. Bokuto nods along, and Kenma’s shoulders touch his ears as he hunches away from their attention.

“Well… I started spellwriting because of technomancy, so…”

“So you wrote a spell to get human technology working in another realm,” Morisuke translates, and Kenma nods as the tall trio coo, impressed.

“I needed wifi,” Kenma adds under his breath.

“What’s wifi?” Bokuto asks blankly.

“I’ll explain it later, Bo,” Kuro replies. Kenma would pay a sizeable amount of money to hear Kuro’s explanation and hopes he’s around for that particular trainwreck.

They leave Lev and Morisuke in the goblin market, and the atmosphere immediately changes now that they’re alone with Bokuto. If he notices, he does a stellar job at not letting it show; he leads the way with a hum, happily limping along, oblivious to the way creatures and spirits stare at his blood-soaked shirt.

 _Why is he so worried about fixing us when he’s still hurt?_ Kenma wonders, suspicious and amused in confusingly equal parts. He knows higher spirits are hardy, but _shit_. He’s still limping, too, but despite the mess he is, the only discomfort Bokuto has shown was when he moves his broken arm-wing.

“Stay close to me,” Bokuto mutters and grabs their hands to lead them through the realm door.

Kenma wishes he hadn’t flinched from the contact, but the damage is done, and Bokuto is quick to let him go again on the other side, even when he and Kuro remain connected.

“Uh, we should probably find Akaashi first—” is as far as Bokuto gets before they’re swarmed.

It’s the two guards for the portal at first, noticing the blood and pointing pikes at them, but they’re quickly followed by the winged woman from before. Kenma immediately attaches himself to Kuro, and Kuro raises his arms in surrender as Bokuto is forced away from them. There’s too many questions, everything about Bokuto’s state to the status of the demon to how it happened—and the trio have the supreme misfortune to have “Did they do this to you?” be the last question hanging in the air when everything falls silent.

Akaashi, dressed in a guard’s uniform but sans helmet or weapon, shoves one of the guards out of the way and _stares_ at Bokuto.

“H-Hey,” Bokuto says with a crooked grin, frozen from where he’d been trying to drag the pike’s point away from Kuro.

Akaashi drags their eyes away from Bokuto’s injuries long enough to stare at the other two with a terrifyingly unreadable expression.

“You need to see a healer,” Akaashi tells him.

Bokuto nods, too eagerly, but doesn’t release his grip on the pole. “So does Kenma—”

And that starts the arguing all over again. Kenma digs his fingers into Kuro as they’re pulled apart, and for a moment it looks like the guards will resort to violence to subdue them. But Akaashi elbows their way into the fray and puts themselves bodily between one of the guards and the witch.

“Calm down,” the winged woman calls, to the clear annoyance of the guards.

“Listen to Suzumeda,” Akaashi grinds out, although they also seem irritated. “Listen to the spirit of justice. These are our friends.”

“Only one is tengu friend,” Suzumeda replies. Akaashi’s expression dips into a glower and Bokuto lets out a squawk of outrage.

“Forgive us if we’re alarmed if you come back looking as if you’ve been chewed on by a dragon. Again,” one of the guards says flatly, and Bokuto lowers his head. “No one declared them as guests, either, nor were proper protocols followed—”

“They were staying with us, we already declared that,” Akaashi interrupts.

“They left,” Suzumeda once again supplies. “Upset,” she adds to Akaashi’s further aggravation.

“That was just a little, uh, spat,” Bokuto nervously answers, and that once again begins the jostling as the tengu bristle at the thought of anyone harming one of their own. The situation only gets worse when he, in an effort to drag Kuro away, gets knocked to the ground and he lets out a yelp of pain.

“Spat?” one of the guards demands and rips her pike out of Akaashi’s grip to level it once more at Kenma. “Were you attacked?”

“That has nothing to do with today! This wasn’t them!” Bokuto snaps, and at least Suzumeda helps him back to his feet, but she tugs him from Kuro at the same time. “They saved my life, and I want to declare the witch tengu friend for it. So they’re both covered—”

“Not if he has outstanding issues,” the other guard replies.

“Kuro is tengu friend,” Akaashi repeats in a growl.

After a long, tense beat, he lowers his weapon and Kuro lets out an inappropriately large relieved sigh. “There are two issues at hand, and they ought to be resolved separately,” Suzumeda advises, and both guards shoot her another dark look.

“I think we can handle tengu affairs on our own, thank you.”

“I’m only trying to help,” she replies with a defensive fluff of her wings. “Bokuto is hurt, and it helps no one to falsely point fingers. Don’t be hasty.”

“Kenma didn’t hurt me today! He _saved me_ , and I want to make him a friend!” Bokuto loudly insists.

“ _Today_? If there was an altercation earlier, that must be cleared before anything else.”

“Can we lower the pointy things and the voices?” Kuro tries, to the group’s collective irritation. He backs down like a kicked dog, and tries to slink over to Kenma, but is blocked by one of the guards. He circles around to Bokuto’s side and Bokuto clings hard to his arm as soon as he’s near.

Kenma appreciates Akaashi’s physical support right now, but he _really_ wishes they’d listened to Kuro and stopped yelling for two seconds. Honestly, that’s worse than the weapons, and it doesn’t help that he just wants to sit down and plug his ears for a bit. _Just throw me in jail if it means you shut up_ , he bitterly thinks.

“Did you, or did you not, have an altercation with Bokuto on the day that you willingly left tengu space?” one of the guards demands, clear at last.

Kenma nods before he can see the frantic way Bokuto is shaking his head behind the guards.

“No!” Akaashi tries to get between them again, but this time, Kenma is yanked away, arms twisted behind his back. “No, that was nothing,” Akaashi repeats, forcing a calm. Kenma is frozen in fear, heart thrumming somewhere in his throat. “That was a personal affair and has been resolved.”

“Attacks on tengu in their space by non-tengu persons supercede personal privacy except in cases of domestic disputes,” one of the guards recites. Akaashi’s lip curls and Kenma quakes in the grasp of the other guard. Of course it wouldn’t be as simple as Bokuto had implied; of course they were going to get in trouble.

It’s _stupid_ , so stupid, largely miscommunication mixed with the admitted stuffiness of the bird spirits, but Kenma’s fear mutes him. He doesn’t know what another misstep could do. There’s a slim chance he could surprise them, slip free, and bolt for the realm door, but that’s only if Bokuto and Akaashi don’t try to catch them—and Kenma isn’t certain what the valkyrie is capable of.

But without his magic—

“Bokuto Koutarou declares the human witch Kozume Kenma to be his mate,” Bokuto announces loudly.

No one says anything.

Kenma is _really fucking sure_ he hadn’t heard that correctly.

“It was a personal issue,” Bokuto continues when it becomes abundantly clear that no one is going to dare follow up to _that_. “And now it’s going to remain that way. Let him go and let us call the healers already!”

 _Still_ no one says anything. Kenma feels like he’s going to vomit. He can feel the guard’s reluctance before he’s released, and the only real thing that breaks the deafening silence is the sound of Akaashi facepalming.

 

\--

 

Ryuunosuke isn’t sure who will kill him first: Kiyoko or Saeko. It could be a race. Maybe they’d team up.

Tadashi fumbles and drops the silver bowie knife he’d been loaned, then jumps at his own noise.

Maybe Suga will get in on the action, Ryuu supposes.

“Sorry,” he whispers, and startles _again_ when Yuu yanks off the antler he’d had hanging around his neck, reappearing without a sound.

“Yama, it’s _just_ a fear spirit. You don’t have to be scared yet!” he says, meaning to be reassuring. That’s how Yuu usually works. But Tadashi nods like he’d been scolded.

Ryuu pauses and shoulders his bag. Taking a deep breath, he forces on a grin and turns to tell Tadashi, “Higher spirits are tricky fuckers, but honestly, nothing too terrible. They don’t make a habit of eating humans like wendigo, at least.”

“There’s nothing to fear but fear itself!” Yuu adds.

“B-But this is the one that hurt your sister, and…” Tadashi toys with the sheathed knife, brow furrowed, mouth twisted in a trembling frown. “And I’m not sure why you need me here.”

“One,” Ryuu says, pointer finger out, “you have magic, and Noya an’ I are kinda shit at that. That also should make you more resistant to any fear thralls, too, so _chill_ , kid.”

“Two,” Yuu continues with that many fingers, “you wanna train to be a hunter or an exorcist? That means on the job training! And since we’re your experienced, talented elders here, we’re more than happy to take you on as an intern while Suga is off fucking around with Daichi.”

“Okay,” Tadashi replies, softly but with more firmness than he’s shown thus far.

“Good. And three, you’re staying out of the fighting, anyway. You’re just here to keep the thing contained while we eviscerate the fucker,” Ryuu finishes. Tadashi looks at him through his bangs, then raises his head fully when he sees the sharp grin Ryuu doesn’t have to fake anymore.

They usually aren’t allowed to take on revenge jobs. Tadashi doesn’t need to know that yet.

“Here.” Yuu yanks Tadashi down to his level—the gangly teen flails—and drops the leather string with the antler tied to it around his neck. It bounces off his chest, and Tadashi vanishes from sight. “You got that intangibility spell that Kenma made for you, too, right? Congrats, you’re an honorary ghost tonight.”

Yuu turns, but not fast enough for Ryuunosuke to miss his expression at his own words. He doesn’t comment, but instead waves in the general direction of Tadashi. He’s easier to keep an eye on out of his peripherals, but paying that much attention to him like that is headache-inducing, so Ryuu will rely on him to take care of himself.

They’d already had the If We Tell You To Run, You Fucking _Run_ talk with him (multiple times), so he should be safe. Honestly, Ryuu isn’t _that_ worried. He’s killed spirits like this before, though usually with his sister, or at least a dog to help sniff out any hiding spirits. Yuu’s new mutts aren’t trained yet, and he’s very insistent that they’re _pets_ , anyway, so that means Ryuunosuke leads the way with his camera held out, eyes on the screen.

Of course the fucking fear spirit decided to hide out in an abandoned train depot. Of course it’s overcast and dreary and darker than usual today.

“At least we got your new secret weapon,” Yuu says with a grin like he’d sensed Ryuu’s nerves. Little shit probably had.

“That’s for old gods,” he replies with a frown. “We only got so many.”

“Secret weapon?” Tadashi asks curiously.

 Yuu spins on his heel, walking backwards, rifle held in the crook of his elbow while he gestures excitedly around it. “It was Ryuu’s idea, and it was a bitch and a half to track down, but we got vorpium bullets! It worked on the cat guy, so it should work on any others, right?”

“Vorpium coating on .22 ammo,” Ryuu dryly corrects, trying hard not to let Yuu’s praise fluster him. “It’s too soft to be used for all of it. Expensive shit, but we have a dozen rounds, and that should put a dent even in a Great Old One’s ass.”

“We also have buckshot! Six shots, mix of vorpium and silver and purifying salt.”

“It won’t do outright damage but it’s going to hurt _something_ like a son of a bitch.”

Tadashi makes a thoughtful, impressed sound, and Ryuu tries hard not to let that go to his head, too. It _was_ a pretty amazing idea, huh. The asshole kitsune in the market had tried to fleece him, but Saeko had knocked some sense into him, and while Ryuu has all faith that Kiyoko and Suga will put the brakes on the apocalypse, he likes being prepared.

And, if nothing else, they can use it on other big, scary monsters. There’s no shortage of those in the world.

“What d’you think vorpal stuff would do to dragon scale?” Yuu asks conversationally.

“Borrow Sawamura’s sword and try to stab Oikawa. His shapeshifter bodyguard would let you test it, I’m sure.”

“Iwaizumi’s nice,” Tadashi mumbles.

“And he probably would be pretty pissed if we ruined his skin,” Ryuunosuke agrees with a shrug. “But I don’t know where else to find a dragon this time of year.”

Tadashi fidgets, a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye.

There’s a clatter of noise down the hallway, and Ryuu’s fist shoots up in a _hold_ motion. In hindsight, he isn’t sure if Tadashi ever got the memo on such things, but he follows their lead. Ryuu creeps forward, handgun held at the ready, and approaches a doorless gap in the wall. He spots a shadow of movement from it, and thinks, _bingo_.

He gestures the other two forward, and he and Yuu spring into the room with weapons held out.

They do not find a fear spirit.

Ryuu catches just the barest flicker of movement before they discover that they’re pointing their guns right between the eyes of Azumane Asahi.

Training prevents Yuu from dropping his rifle altogether, but his arms go limp and the tip of it clatters against the floor.

Asahi does not startle—his eyes hardly widen—but he puts his hands up like he’s surrendering. He doesn’t make a sound.

Yuu starts forward, expression twisted into something far too personal and vulnerable for the situation, and he throws himself toward Asahi before Ryuu can rein him back. “A-Asahi,” he says, voice cracking, and Asahi steps back only _then_ looking afraid.

“Wait, Noya, that’s not—”

Asahi turns and flees through the far wall, and Yuu vaults over the broken desks and is through the far door before Ryuu is halfway up the mound of broken wood. Ryuu lets himself slide back down to solid ground, swearing, and searches the room for anything else.

“Yamaguchi, go after Noya, and seal the place behind you. That wasn’t Asahi, make sure he knows that!” he growls. Yuu’s shouts for him echo off of the empty walls, and Ryuunosuke hopes Tadashi followed his orders.

Is it weird to hope to be alone with an unknown creature? Eh, maybe.

“You have her eyes,” a new voice purrs, behind him.

Ryuunosuke whirls around but finds his gun and camera both pointing at nothing.

“You’re supposed to be professionals, right?” comes the insidious croon, too close again, and Ryuunosuke tries to elbow whatever it is before turning. He _thinks_ he feels something brush his arm, but he finds nothing again. “Granted, I’m not playing very fair! But it’s kind of funny to see the short one run off so fast.”

“What the shit are you supposed to be,” Ryuu snarls, eyes still searching out _anything_ else in the room with him. It’s definitely not a goddamned fear spirit. _Think, fucking think! It can make illusions, but we both saw it. Invisible? Fast? Human speech_ —

“It was hard tricking two psychics, but the results sure were worth it. Of course, this time I’d actually like to _eat_ something, but I knew if I kept leaving a trail I’d have more than enough trigger-happy hunters lining up for my dinner plate.”

With a chuckle, Ryuunosuke’s opponent detaches from the broken ceiling, one spindly limb at a time. It's too long, too many joints, none of it making sense. He’s starting to think he accidentally stumbled into the lair of some sort of eldritch horror when the creature’s head flops down to his eye-level. He finds himself staring at a single eye with a slitted pupil and deep colors swirling like galaxies within it.

Fucking. Fuck.

He found a trickster.

The thing slithers around him on knobbly little stumps, a writhing mass of no logic and no rules, and its eye squints shut in a happy, unseen smile. “So, it was your sister, right? The one with the dog? Too young to be your mom, and you don’t come charging into some place like this for a friend with a startling resemblance.”

Ryuu manages to shoot it right in its big, bulbous eye, which pops like a balloon. The thing reappears beside him, in the guise of Saeko, grinning with too-sharp teeth and one eye socket empty and bloody. Ryuunosuke does not hesitate to shoot it again.

“Touchy!” the trickster pouts. He’s viciously pleased to see that this time, when it slinks off, it’s bleeding, even if the colors it drips aren’t quite right.

Ryuu shakes his head to clear his vision. The thing is too close when he blinks, backing him up against the wall, pinning his dominant wrist and forcing him to drop his 9mm. “The fuck is a trickster doing here, anyway?” he grinds out, ignoring the feeling of the monster’s breath on his throat.

“Well, this is the party city, right? What with the apocalypse coming and all that,” it replies, eye crinkling again. “That means there’s gonna be a _lot_ of stupid people, like you and your pals, who are panicking. That’s pretty easy pickings.”

“There are half a dozen covens in this city. You’re going to get hunted down.”

“Pity they all think I’m a fear spirit, huh!” It laughs, not maliciously, eye and the skinny little neck tipping back in mirth. “By the time anyone bothers putting a witch hunt together—excuse my language—half the town will be eaten by things far bigger than I, and I’ll be _long_ gone.”

An opportunistic higher spirit, exactly what they need. The grip on his arm is like steel, but Ryuunosuke isn’t helpless, and the thing made the mistake of leaving his other arm down by his side. He pulls out the .22 pistol from his thigh holster and shoves it directly into the trickster’s eye. It shrieks and coils away like an injured snake; Ryuunosuke shifts his arm so he has _its_ arm in his grip now, keeping it from skittering backwards as he unloads the clip into it.

By the time he’s done, there’s blood and eye juice splattered everywhere. He releases it and swings his other arm around to point his 9mm at it, and feels no remorse despite the way it cowers and curses at his feet.

“The thing about baiting hunters is that we’re _not_ stupid when it comes to monsters like you.”

“No, you’re very helpful!” a new voice rings out.

Both Ryuu and the trickster blink, and surprise stops him from pulling the trigger for a hair too long. A man with red hair and red fox ears floats down next to them, reclining in the air, chin in his hands. A crooked fox tail swings idly behind him.

 _Shithead must’ve come in during the shooting_ , Ryuu sourly thinks, but doesn’t pull his gun from the trickster. “Here to steal a kill? Your next dinner?” he asks, sneering as hard as he can.

“Neither, actually,” the fox spirit replies.

“You friends with it?” Quick as he can, he pulls the knife on his belt free, even if the fox is on the wrong side for him to properly point it. He _could_ try throwing it at him, but he doubts that it’d work.

Ryuunosuke realizes who the fucking fox is at the same moment that he feels a warm blade at his throat. “We have need of a higher spirit,” Ushijima says flatly from behind him.

“Yikes,” the trickster says and begins shuffling away. The fox guy drops down to sit on it.

“Motherfucker,” Ryuunosuke hisses and slowly re-sheathes his knife. Ushijima doesn’t waver until he lowers his gun, too. If he had any confidence of being able to kill the trickster with one or two more shots, then he probably would’ve went for it.

Ushijima slides past him and the trickster narrows its ruined eye up at him. “You’re the party animal then, huh? The one working for the big-shot? You got a real nasty curse on you, that’s not going to go away with a paycheck. What’s it payin’ you, huh?”

Ushijima doesn’t react and reaches down to grasp it by its spindly neck. He hoists it up and it scrabbles at him like a spider. Ryuunosuke could probably shoot him in the back, if not the back of the head, but the redhead’s sharp eyes are on him.

Kiyoko and Tadashi both told him what sort of monster Ushijima has become. Ryuu can’t take all three of them out, or even two of them, not alone, not quick. He’d kill the trickster if he could, but he can’t, nor can he even incapacitate the other two long enough to buy himself the time. He doesn’t even care what would happen to himself afterward, but he still can’t do it alone.

 _Now would be a_ really _good time for my backup to arrive_ , he thinks, but of course he’s not the lucky one.

“What’s so great about ending the world, anyway? Or the city, or anything?” the trickster tries, but it’s not as pleadingly as Ryuunosuke would expect. “What is it that you want out of this? Or do you just like this ugly mug _that much_?”

It slips out of Ushijima’s hands and reappears as something tall, looming over all of them, colorless and horned in too many directions. It crinkles its empty eyes and grins with too many teeth, teeth that don’t make any more sense than its antlers, and even if it’s a copy it _hurts_ to look at it.

It’s enough of a shock to still Ushijima, and Ryuunosuke takes his shot. Shots. One into the back of the witch’s head, and he goes down with a curse, and the rest of his bullets end up in the trickster. It laughs, panicked and high-pitched, trying to squirm out of the way, form twisting and turning as it rolls around the room. Finally, it gives up on its borrowed form and reclaims its true form, lashing out with needle-like limbs.

The fox yips as one catches him, and Ryuunosuke ducks under one to end up with another through his shoulder. He kicks at another to stop it from going through his stomach, and it glances off his hip instead. The trickster’s cackling winds up, louder and going up in octaves when it realizes that it has two of them in its clutches.

Ushijima stands again, now behind it, and Ryuunosuke sees a flicker of _something_ behind him. There’s enough magic suddenly in the room for even him to feel it, and he spits the awful taste out of his mouth as the trickster slowly turns in horror.

“ _Sleep-bind-freeze-control_ ,” Ushijima rasps with scarlet on his teeth. The trickster goes rigid, and slowly falls over, dragging Ryuunosuke and the spirit with it. Ushijima scrubs a hand over his face with a heavy sigh like he’d just had a long day at the office.

Ryuunosuke cuts himself free, not bothering with the leg still stuck in him, and points his gun straight at Ushijima. It’s a hollow threat.

Ushijima gives him a level look. “Move, so I can get my friend free,” he orders. Ryuunosuke does not move, does not falter. Ushijima walks right up to him, letting the barrel press against his chest, and forces Ryuunosuke’s arm down himself.

Ryuu can’t bring himself to pull the trigger now.

“I’d like to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, and since you’re not a threat, I don’t have any real quarrel with you,” Ushijima says simply. Ryuu bares his teeth at him, but the bony limb through his shoulder is making his arm ache, and he fucking hates it, but he eventually lowers the gun. It’s a defeat.

For now.

If they were able, they would have grabbed the trickster and had the fox spirit jump with it, so that means that they have to drag it out of here. That gives him time, time to track down Yuu and Tadashi, time to figure some way out of this that doesn’t involve handing Ushijima one of his last ingredients. The higher spirit and the tengu First egg are the last easily-tracked things.

Ushijima murmurs something to the fox spirit with a softness that’s at odds with his six-foot-plus, blood-blade-wielding, professional-killer persona, and even more at odds with the way he hauls the trickster up over one shoulder like it weighs no more than a pillow. It slips through his fingers, not anything purposeful but a simple matter of its fact, but he tightens his hold and shifts it around until he can haul it out with ease.

Ushijima nods to him as he passes him, like a sign of respect or gratitude or something. Ryuunosuke balls his fists until his nails digging into his palms draw blood.

The fox spirit gives him a peace sign as he floats out after them.

Ryuunosuke waits exactly one heartbeat after they leave, then bolts for the other doorway. The burning pain at his hip is easier to ignore than the one in his shoulder, but adrenaline and sheer fucking _indignity_ spur him onward.

“ _Noya_!” he bellows. Who fucking cares if Ushijima and Fox in Socks hears him—they’re pretty damn stupid if they had truly thought he’d come alone, anyway. “Yamaguchi?! Noya—get your asses back here _now_!”

He doesn’t hear anything over his own thudding heart and the pounding of his boots on the broken tiles. Fuck. Well, it’s not like the situation is any worse without them, right? Sure, Ushijima is walking away with one of the last keys to the end of days, and sure, Ryuunosuke may be the only thing standing between them and their goal. And sure, it’s not like Ryuunosuke wants to deal with a trickster after saving its ass, either.

But by leaving him in one piece, Ushijima made the supreme mistake of giving Ryuu _time_.

He finds a set of stairs that aren’t too horribly mangled, and it’s not too hard to crawl through broken pillars and rebar. There’s only three stories to the place, and this stairwell goes all the way up.

Ryuu slings off his backpack as he bursts onto the roof. It’s still gloomy out, misting finely, threatening further rain. But for the moment, it’s clear.

He heads to the nearest edge of the roof and looks for any movement. Ryuu circles halfway around before he finds them: the trickster is twitching again by now, and Ushijima has stopped, about a hundred yards out, presumably to re-spell it.

Ryuunosuke pulls out his .22 rifle from his backpack and digs around until he finds the expensive, god-killing shit. He hopes he doesn’t have to use it for its intended purpose, and he hopes to _fuck_ that this isn’t a waste should he need to use it for its intended purpose. He really only wants to take one shot.

He gets the trickster in his sights, exhales to steady himself, and pulls the trigger.

The bullet pierces straight through the spindly, illogical body, and the trickster jerks and shrieks, pain overriding any witch magic on it. Ushijima starts, whirling around—the fox spirit tries to pull the trickster back while it flails—Ryuunosuke yells “ _Fuck!_ ” because this can’t get any worse with that addition.

He thinks, briefly, about going for Ushijima. Ushijima is an asshole and a traitor to humanity and probably at least half-zombie, but he wasn’t Ryuu’s target for today, and according to the magical populace at large, he’s nothing that deserves a death sentence. _Yet_.

It’s unfair as all fuck and Ryuunosuke grits his teeth as he lines up another shot at the trickster. Maybe if Ushijima kills him today they’ll finally have enough dirt on him to send some proper hunters after him. 

With his second shot, the trickster dies. Its body begins melting into multicolored, steaming goop at the same time that Ushijima turns and starts sprinting back toward the depot. Ryuu can see the murder in his eyes even from where he is.

His fingers itch to load another bullet. Surely it would do _something_ to him. He has a human body, fragile and squishy and full of organs to be punctured, but… He doesn’t know what shooting anything even nonvital would do with vorpium metal in a human body.

Right when he lowers his sights down to aim at a leg, two things happen at once: Ushijima jumps into the air with the aid of magic, height halfway up the building even if he’s not quite close enough to be a direct threat yet, and there’s _another_ gunshot.

Ushijima tumbles backwards through the air from the force of it, seeming more surprised than anything else. He hits the ground and Ryuu leans over the edge of the building, scanning for his mysterious buddy—

It’s Yuu. Of course it’s Yuu. He’s leaning out of the furthest window on the second floor, rifle beneath him, Tadashi nowhere in sight. (Of course.) Ryuunosuke can’t quite make out his expression from here, but he makes a gesture that he hopes to hell is a thumbs-up. Ryuu’s going to act like it is.

Ryuu drops his rifle, pulls out his 9mm, and loads a new magazine in the time it takes for Ushijima to get unsteadily back to his feet. It looks like Yuu read his mind and got him in the thigh; Ryuu fucking loves being on the same wavelength. “Oi, assface,” Ryuunosuke calls down to the witch, hoping to draw attention. He lifts his free middle finger and sticks out his tongue. “Guess who stole the kill?!”

Ushijima does, in fact, turn back to him. His jump is wobbly, but he rights himself in the air, far too quick for Ryuunosuke’s tastes. Ushijima casts some sort of magic over himself, and Ryuunosuke unfortunately figures out what it is when his next shot deflects off his other leg.

Okay, so bulletproof, pissed, big and scary and powerful, yadda yadda yadda. Ryuu already feels better with Yuu at his proverbial back, but this poses a problem if they don’t figure out a way to call Ushijima off. Or, alternately, run like fuck.

They have no bargaining chips and Ryuu’s only ace in the hole are the vorpium bullets. Of which he has ten left. It should punch through magic, but if he ends up blowing through his entire stash today, he’s going to be pissed. Rightly so.

Pissed, but not dead.

Ushijima’s next jump brings him level with the roof, and he has pulled his own blood into a wicked, curved blade. He’s close enough Ryuu could probably hit him in the head if he threw his gun. He’s going to land next to him, or on him, and Ryuu won’t be able to grab the rifle back in time, even if he dives for it. But he’s gotta try—

Another gunshot rings out, this time punctuated with an animalistic _yip_ like someone shot a dog.

Ushijima’s eyes go wide and he misses his landing.

He tumbles onto the concrete with a pained grunt, hardly an arm’s length from Ryuunosuke, and doesn’t pay him any mind at all as he scrambles around and rushes back to the edge. Ryuunosuke can see the fox guy is down now, bleeding and unmoving.

Ushijima doesn’t spare him a second look before launching from the corner of the roof and landing heavily three stories down.

Interesting. But also for _later_. Ryuunosuke grabs his shit, throws it into the backpack, and hauls ass for the stairs again. He collides with an unseen teenager halfway down, and Tadashi yanks off the antler to reveal wide, fearful eyes. “We gotta go!” he exclaims.

“No shit!” Ryuunosuke retorts and shoves him back the way he came. “Grab Noya and—you can’t shove us through walls, too, can ya?”

“No, sorry!”

“That’s fine—you go out, make sure those two are gone, and run like hell back to the truck. Call Kiyoko, and take it and—”

“I can’t drive,” Tadashi interrupts in a panic. He catches Ryuu by the elbow when he tries to barrel down the wrong hallway, and steers him towards Yuu, who pops up at the other end, rifle held like a trophy above his head.

“They fucking ran! They jumped, so foxy’s still alive, and Ushijima thinks it won’t kill him!” Yuu calls.

“It _won’t_ kill him,” Tadashi mutters. Yuu throws himself at them as soon as he’s near, and Ryuu catches him effortlessly. His eyes are rimmed red and there’s what looks to be a burn on one of his hands, but he’s in one piece, and doesn’t have a piece of trickster leg sticking out of him, so he’s doing better than Ryuu is.

“New plan: _I_ drive, Noya calls, and Yamaguchi lets us be lucky enough to get out of here in one piece.”

“Why do I have to call her?!”

“She can’t be mad at you!”

They don’t get reception until they’re almost to the corpse of the trickster. Tadashi wrinkles his nose at the sight of it, and Yuu pointedly looks away from it. Ryuu sighs, rolls his eyes, and drags the solid bits along after them. It’s going to make a mess of the truck, but oh well. They came out of this in one piece and _technically_ killed the monster they were after, so he’ll consider this a win.

 

\--

 

“Where are you hurt?” Akaashi asks as soon as they’re around a corner and out of sight of the guards.

“I’m fine,” Kenma automatically replies, then he realizes what he’s said. He slowly lower his shoulders from around his ears.

“Why does Koutarou think you need a healer?” they ask.

Kenma does not respond this time. Akaashi sighs, after a little bit, and glances back at their mate. _Their_ mate. Plural, this time. Kenma wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and does not turn to look at Bokuto.

After some initial arguing wherein Bokuto did _not_ back down and Kenma resolved to shut up forever, they were allowed the leave. The valkyrie followed them anyway. Suzumeda is still talking with Bokuto, not in low tones so much as faintly exasperated ones, but she doesn’t seem mad or hostile. Bokuto hasn’t shooed her away, nor has Akaashi mentioned her presence.

Kenma, as terrible with directions as he is, doesn’t know where they are. Kuro is behind them, next to Bokuto, and Kenma would rather gnaw off his arm than cling to Akaashi, but it’s a close thing. He’s lost, with people he’d rather not see (or be mated to) right now, and he doesn’t know what will become of them. He thinks he dodged one bullet, but getting tied back to the tengu again seems to be little improvement.

“Breathe,” Akaashi tells him, gently. Kenma un-hunches his shoulders again and takes their advice.

They end up in a different part of the residential area than Akaashi’s place is, so Kenma can only surmise they’re at Bokuto’s or the healer’s. He doesn’t really want to deal with more strangers right now—shutting down may be the wisest choice of action if he wants to avoid blowing up at anyone. Again.

“I’m just—it’s not _bad_ , it’s using the system to help someone!” Bokuto snaps at Suzumeda, nose in the air, an angry flush on his cheeks.

“If you two care about each other so much, why did you fight to begin with?” Suzumeda asks flatly.

Kenma wishes he didn’t have to hear this conversation.

“You can be mates with someone to protect them,” Bokuto points out, and Akaashi, for some reason, flinches at his words.

“You care enough to want to protect him. Are you being truer to your own feelings or to your loyalty to the witch?”

“Spirits of justice are so _stuffy_!”

“Says the tengu,” Suzumeda replies, impossibly flatter. She sighs, shakes her bangs out of her eyes, and glances off to the side at Kuro. “Bokuto, it’s best if you don’t get into more trouble, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t a dragon.”

“This is a witch and a demon.”

“Kaori,” Akaashi breaks in, turning to face her with a coldly neutral expression, “please keep in mind that you are a guest of our space and it’s _our_ value system that is ultimately the rule here, even if we appreciate your role.”

“He’s going to have more shit to deal with,” Suzumeda replies with a point at the sulking screech owl tengu beside her. “The council is already judging you two, isn’t it? I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”

“Thank you for your concern, but kindly leave now.”

She makes a face, but with a flap of her wings, she departs. Akaashi massages their temples with a weary sigh. They don’t look up, but must feel Kenma’s eyes on them, because they break into a humorless smile.

“Tengu politics are just as fun for us as they are for outsiders,” they deadpan. They sigh again and raise their gaze to look at Bokuto, who still sulks. “You can’t fly on your broken wing, so wait here. Kenma, please hold on.”

That is as much warning as he gets before Akaashi scoops him up. Kenma goes rigid at the contact, only one hand grasping Akaashi’s shoulder for support, but they drop him off several stories up without incident. They don’t comment on the awkward flight. They’re alone, momentarily, so Kenma takes the opportunity to blurt out, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Akaashi asks with a cool look.

“I didn’t want this to happen.”

“You’re not coming between us, not the way you think. I think Koutarou is owed more apology than I, however.” Akaashi glances down at their fuming mate, then back up to Kenma. “I haven’t touched your things, and you’re welcome to stop by and take them when you’re done here. But, whatever happens, I’m not letting you leave until you apologize to him.”

Kenma nods, and Akaashi hops back down to fetch the others. They deposit an incredibly frazzled Kuro next, who clings to Kenma. Kenma only finds reassurance in his touch; they don’t speak of what just happened or what they’re going to do, but instead of whether or not Kuro can handle all the flying that another stay here entails.

Bokuto and Akaashi come up last, and Akaashi must have said something to him, judging on the lack of pouting. “Welcome to my home,” he mutters and limps inside, leading the way with a flick of his wrist to open the door. It’s designed much like Akaashi’s, with soft curves and dark wood, but it’s messier and smaller. Kuro almost trips over a skirt in the entryway and Akaashi snorts at the state of the place.

“The healer will be here in about an hour, but I can check you over if you’d like,” Akaashi politely offers.

Kenma shakes his head despite Kuro’s pleading look.

“That’s what I thought. Koutarou, come here so I can stop your bleeding.”

Kuro and Kenma stay in the living room, alone again, and Kenma reaches over to twine their fingers together. Kuro lets him lean against him. As much as he wants to, however, Kenma knows they can’t discuss many things here; tengu ears are sharp, and Kenma won’t put Kuro through another solo trip down several stories if he can help it. “You’re okay, right?” Kuro murmurs against his hair.

“I’m still in one piece.” _I feel like I’m going to throw up and I want to sleep for seven years_.

Kuro places his free hand against Kenma’s forehead, and the witch scrunches his nose. “You’re still running a fever. Let them help you.”

“Like Bokuto just _helped_ me?”

“He stopped them from throwing you in prison or chopping off your head or something, and you know it,” he scolds, and Kenma thinks that’s unfair.

“ _You_ wanted to be Bokuto’s mate. Akaashi wants that. I want to be left alone.” Kenma is _staunchly_ putting any thought of marriage rituals or consummation from his mind, because he's Certain he will do more than slap someone should that arise.

“Bo isn’t a bad guy.”

“No.”

“It’s all political, isn’t it?”

“Who even knows with tengu,” Kenma sighs.

When Akaashi reappears from the hallway, their expression doesn’t let on that they’ve heard any of it, though they must have. Kuro stands, tugging Kenma up beside him, and Kenma clings stubbornly. “Where’s Bo?” Kuro asks.

“He’s changing into something less ruined. Would either of you like to talk about what just happened?”

“No,” Kenma replies, cutting across Kuro’s response. His demon rolls his eyes. Loudly.

And then, weirdly, he lets the matter go. Kenma peers up at him suspiciously; he was braced for another argument. “Do you have a place Kenma could lie down, maybe? He has a fever and I’m surprised he’s still upright.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow, but leads them toward the bedroom, where Bokuto is sulking into a mirror as he pokes at his un-styled hair. He hastily sweeps claws back through it to get it out of his eyes when he spots them come in, but it falls back down a moment later. “I’ll get you a cold cloth,” Akaashi offers.

“Good idea!” Kuro detaches Kenma, with force, and tells him, “Wait here,” like he’s the one giving orders. Kenma is too shocked to do much more than stare. Kuro leaves him in there with Bokuto, shuts the door behind him, and asks Akaashi on the other side, “Lock them in, please?”

And the asshole does it.

Kenma is A: _incredibly_ shocked Akaashi would lock them in here alone, and B: going to make sure that Kuro _never_ uses one of Sugawara’s ideas ever again. _Sugawara probably talked to Akaashi_ , Kenma realizes with a frustrated sound. Bokuto jumps at the noise. The tengu looks like he’s just been locked in with a predator three times his size with teeth as long as his arm.

Kenma doesn’t say anything, goes over to the bed, and perches on the edge. It stops the room from swimming.

“Um… Why did they just lock us in here? We’re not in any danger of hurting ourselves, are we?” Bokuto hesitantly asks.

Akaashi either trusts Kenma a lot, or Kuro a lot. “I’m sorry,” Kenma tells him, curt but sincere. “I shouldn’t have hit you, and I’m sorry for hurting you.”

“That’s okay!” Bokuto quickly replies, and to Kenma’s discomfort, flops down onto the bowl-shaped bed next to him. Their legs are touching. “I probably shouldn’t have gotten in your personal space, right?”

 _That’s not it_. And Bokuto is still oblivious to how close he is to Kenma right _now_.

“Or, was it the kiss thing? You don’t have to—well, I mean, I kinda _thought_ we liked each other, just a little, but don’t worry! That has nothing to do with my decision today!” he declares, and strangely enough, that eases a little of the worry in Kenma’s heart. Bokuto rolls over onto his back, not looking at him anymore, and tries to put distance between them; he fails and shifts back down to where Kenma’s weight dents in the edge of the low point of the bed. His injured side presses against Kenma’s lower back. “Attacking a tengu in our territory means you lose a limb or get punished by the tengu. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t know how well you can cast spells with your left hand,” Bokuto adds.

“…Thank you, then,” Kenma mumbles.

“I couldn’t declare you friend for saving my life until after the first thing was taken care of,” Bokuto continues. “Okay, maybe I panicked, but it was a stupid little fight and I didn’t want you to get into trouble.”

Stupid little fight, right. If that’s what he wants to label it, sure.

“And okay, they’re probably going to be mad at me for awhile, but that’s okay too! It won’t come down on you, promise. They probably won’t let me declare friends or mates again, but… at least I got Akaashi, and you, but I kinda wanted to see if they’d let me declare a demon…”

 _Kuro’s going to be disappointed_ , Kenma thinks, disappointed himself in a way that’s confusing to think about. It shouldn’t stop them from messing around, but it seems unfair that Kuro is the one left out when there had been such immediate chemistry between them.

“And I’m not a mind reader!” Bokuto bursts out in a frustrated huff. He kicks his legs against the bed, turns onto his side, and curls around Kenma’s back. Kenma freezes. “You’re gonna have to talk with me if they’re not letting us out until we talk it out. Am I really so bad to talk to?”

“Um, no. I’m just… not good at that.”

“ _Talking_?” Bokuto asks incredulously.

“Yes.” Talking, being near people, having their attention on him. Kenma is a ball of magic and social anxiety, and he doesn’t even have the magic right now.

“You talk with Kuroo,” he grumbles, and burrows deeper into Kenma’s waist. “Are you mad at me for what I did?”

“…Which time?”

“I don’t know much about how humans did it, but you’re supposed to be happy to be with someone, right? Mates or marriage or whatever. Do you even _like_ me? I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t, I don’t even like me half the time, and I’m sure Keiji just puts up with me—”

Kenma puts a hand on Bokuto’s trembling shoulder, and he halts like it’s a switch. He cranes his neck around to look up at Kenma, his eyes dry and clear but expression something fragile, and Kenma realizes he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s gotten this far.

Bokuto has no issue filling the silence. Kenma is, on some level, grateful. “You get like that too, don’t you. Except you push it all inside but I push mine out. And you have Kuroo and I have Keiji and they’re probably too good for us, but honestly I don’t mind spending time with you or Kuroo either, and, like, you’re both pretty cool considering you’re not tengu.”

Kenma snorts before he can help himself. Bokuto looks up at him, so he forces out, “You’re pretty cool considering you are a tengu. Sometimes.”

“I’m a tengu _all the time_!” Bokuto squawks.

And Kenma sighs. “That’s why you’re only cool part of the time.”

Bokuto settles back into the bed, this time with his eyes half-closed, lips halfway curled into something pleased and sated. Kenma arches an eyebrow. “You smiled. A little. How can you be so cute for a human?”

“How can you be so shameless for a tengu,” Kenma shoots back and turns from him. His face feels hot, too hot to just be the fever anymore. He doesn’t think Akaashi is coming back, but a cold cloth _would_ have been nice. It’s not like he can make one himself right now.

But then again, he’s not stuck alone in here.

He isn’t sure what to use, since they don’t have pillowcases and he’s not wearing enough to give up anything, but Bokuto sits back up when he notices him searching. “What do you need?”

“Um. A small cloth or something. And a cooling spell.”

Bokuto catches on immediately, and gets up to rummage about the room. He comes back soon with a folded headband, already coated in frost, and proudly holds it out. It borders on _too_ cold, but Kenma presses it against his forehead with a relieved sigh. Kenma then rubs his cheeks and neck with it so he can keep an eye on Bokuto while he settles back into the bed.

He’s even closer this time, and Kenma quashes the fear that he’d viewed this as some sort of trade— _he doesn’t work like that, or at the very least he would’ve asked about it_ —but somehow, it’s Kenma who ends up on top. Bokuto presses him down until his head is pillowed on his feathery lap, and Kenma keeps the cloth tight over his face so he doesn’t have to look up to see what kind of expression he’s making.

Bokuto is stronger than he’d thought. It doesn’t fill him with fear, so much as interest.

“Thank you,” he mumbles awkwardly.

“If you’re not so good at talking, you can nap until they let us out. I can talk for us? Or maybe I’ll nap too because _honestly_ fighting a stupid fucking archangel first thing in the morning is pretty exhausting,” he says, and punctuates it with a loud yawn. Kenma thinks it might’ve been for show.

But a nap sounds alright, if he can calm himself down enough to do so. Racing thoughts of _mate_ and _tengu healers_ and _unfair to Kuro and Akaashi_ and _black blood_ still drag at his mind. Why does Bokuto think he can sort out _them_ at the drop of a hat when he hasn’t sorted out any other part of his stupid messy life for months now?

Ever since the blood had gotten spilled into the circle, actually.

Kenma’s thoughts just about carry him away again, not into sleep but perhaps into a lull, cool cloth gently covering his eyes and forehead, but he’s interrupted by Bokuto folding himself over to lean down enough to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

Kenma’s palm catches the bottom of his chin, and Bokuto’s teeth _click_ together before he reels back with a whine. Kenma bolts up, eyes narrowed, cloth falling by the wayside; Bokuto nurses a bloody tongue behind the claws clenched at his mouth.

It’s still Bokuto who speaks first, hasty and sincere, “S-Sorry! That wasn’t—Kuroo told me you can kiss people goodnight, and you were going to sleep, so—I just want things to be _okay_ but I keep fucking up and I don’t know how to do human things for you!”

Kenma scoots away until he’s no longer by Bokuto’s lap, but takes the cold cloth and presses it to Bokuto’s mouth. He won’t meet his eyes, but he tells him, “You’re _not_ human, so don’t try for my sake. You’re kind of bad at it. …You _can_ kiss someone goodnight, but it’s usually not on the mouth.”

“Where, then?”

“Forehead, I guess?”

“Why?” Bokuto asks, nose wrinkled above his hands.

“It’s tender,” Kenma replies. He’d never given much thought to forehead kisses before. “You’ve kissed others on the cheek, so you know it’s not all about the mouth. I don’t know what else to tell you. But use Kuro for your practice, not me.”

“You’re the one going to sleep.” Bokuto holds out the cloth, now dotted with scarlet, like a peace offering. Kenma folds it over so the clean side rests against his warm skin again, and he can see the fresh frost on it. “I won’t do it anymore. I just don’t want you to stay mad at me forever,” Bokuto tells him.

Kenma buries his face in the cold fabric. “…I’m not mad, and I don’t want to _be_ mad at you. I just don’t like that kind of stuff. I don’t like surprises.” Then, quieter, feeling embarrassment crawling up the back of his neck, he adds, “Kuro asks before.”

“Will you rest and can I kiss you goodnight without you hitting me?”

Okay, now he just feels guilty. Kenma moves the cloth, covering his mouth and nose, and squints at the horribly earnest tengu across from him. “…I’ll be _next_ to you,” he stresses, and curls into a little ball with his back to Bokuto’s legs.

He feels the lightest of brushes against his temple from Bokuto’s lips. Kenma does not lash out this time.

Ten minutes later finds Kenma with Bokuto wrapped around him, snoring against his hair, and with the witch staring up at the ceiling wondering how he ever thought this particular person capable of any sort of maliciousness. He's not happy about this, but he's less uncomfortable, and that brings its own kind of satisfaction in turn.

 

\--

 

“So, married, huh,” Kuro says loudly. Akaashi, in the kitchen, pretends not to have heard. Again. “Is this going to be something that makes everything worse? Because I’m on Kenma’s side no matter what, but I really don’t want to freak out and leave you two again. That _was_ a good thing, right? The marriage thing?”

“Depends how their talk will go,” Akaashi replies when they reappear with two steaming mugs of tea. They hand one off to Kuro and he holds it just so he’ll stop fidgeting with his hands. “If this doesn’t work out for the better, I’m going to have strong words for Sugawara.”

“Well, I trust him. Probably.”

“Hm,” Akaashi grunts and sips at their tea.

Kuro drums his nails—too long and still dark like they’re painted—against his mug nervously. “Just to be clear,” he says, and Akaashi looks up at him, “I like you both. You’re good people—great—and. Uh. Yeah. I _like_ you, right?”

“Right,” Akaashi replies warily.

“But I gotta be on Kenma’s side, no matter how this turns out. Even if I push him to play nice and realize that you two aren’t going to eat him, if he’s out of here, so am I. And that could take awhile. It took _forever_ for him to believe that I didn’t want to eat him.”

Akaashi studies the mug in front of them, eyes lowered once more, and Kuro, in turn, studies the fan of their long lashes against their cheeks. “Do you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have to be on his side?”

Kuro sets his mug down on the little table in front of him. “Even if I wasn’t contracted to him, I love Kenma. And he loves me.” Akaashi makes a rather rudely noncommittal noise at that, and Kuro frowns.

“Sorry. It’s just been a day,” they say, and Kuro nods, though now he’s the one feeling a touch wary. “For the record, I’m not as jealous of the mate issue as you likely believe. I’m glad you’re all safe, and I’m exasperated Koutarou had to come up with such a method of protecting Kenma, _and_ I’m frustrated that I didn’t realize where he had gone. It’s… a lot.”

“Oh. Well… I can’t do much for Bo’s sneaking out habits, but we kept him as in one piece as we could, considering the whole archangel thing.”

Akaashi slops hot tea down their front.

“Shit—you okay?” Kuro asks in alarm as Akaashi hisses and quickly sets down their tea. They nod, tight-faced, and strip off their shirt to mop up the rest of the tea with.

“A day,” Akaashi repeats in little more than a groan. Kuro nods, agreeing, but also unabashedly staring. If Akaashi notices, they don’t comment. “What. Do you mean. _Archangel_.”

“I think Bo and Kenma should be here for this part—”

“ _Tetsurou_ ,” Akaashi interrupts. Kuro, even as unused to the name as he is, can’t suppress the shiver that goes up his spine. Alright, maybe not the best idea to piss off the stressed tengu.

“Soooo. We saved Bo from an archangel. You’re welcome?”

“Why is there an archangel.”

“For that, you’re really better off asking Kiyoko, but before you do that, I should probably come clean about going to visit her to try to scare her into keeping the archangel away from now on.”

Akaashi merely stares at him, expression unreadable but eyes uncharacteristically wide.

“So,” Kuro says, fidgeting once more, “that was a thing. Kenma’s going to be pissed, so there’s your warning for that. But I think Kiyoko will help keep Yui away from us now, so we shouldn’t have any more run-ins with her. Bo included.”

Akaashi, with a heavy, _whiny_ sigh, hunches forward to put their elbows on their knees and massage their temples. “Why. _Why_ did Koutarou choose the two largest trouble magnets in the human realm?”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not horribly attached to us, too,” Kuro coos, mostly to break the mood.

The reaction he gets isn’t what he expects: Akaashi’s expression further sours, but there’s an interesting splash of pink across their cheeks accompanying that. “You could be worse,” Akaashi deadpans, and Kuro blinks at him. “Koutarou could have tried to adopt Sugawara or Oikawa instead.”

Kuro snorts back an unflattering laugh. “That’s _mean_ , Akaashi!” he exclaims with nothing less than utter delight.

“You haven’t brought a memetic infection or a skinwalker thief to us yet.”

“Just an archangel and a surly witch.”

“I’ll forgive the surly witch since we’re now, technically speaking, related. The archangel, on the other hand…”

“Ask Kenma about it,” Kuro tells them. “He knows more, and he knows what exactly he did to her, too. It looked nasty, and it almost killed him.”

“And, by extension, you,” Akaashi points out. Kuro shrugs. That still comes weirdly secondary to him. “You have a very strange relationship with Kenma from an outsider’s perspective, contracted or not.”

“I told you,” Kuro replies, with an easy smile, “we just love each other.”

Akaashi picks up their half-empty mug and echoes the smile with downcast eyes. “I know the feeling. But it doesn’t mean any of you are exempt from the repeated _what the fucks_ you will get after I’m sure none of you will expire on the spot.”

 

\--

 

“S-Suga,” Daichi stutters, freezing in place, “what the hell is _that_.” He pushes his glasses up onto his hair to rub at his eyes in disbelief.

“Mothmen!” Suga exclaims brightly. Of course they are. The trio of bright-eyed, waist-high creatures shuffle closer to the flashlight on Suga’s phone, largely ignoring Daichi’s presence. “I think they’re lost, but they’re friendly enough. They probably don’t see many people out here, huh?”

A: Mothmen are real. B: Suga is playing magical Snow White again. C: Suga is outside in the snow in his pajamas, which don’t even include _pants_ , though he at least put on his boots.

“What do they need?” Daichi asks, half-suspicious they’re going to begin gnawing on something.

“Little scarves and maps,” Suga replies. It takes Daichi a moment to realize he’s being sarcastic. “I’ve never seen a live one before, but they’re probably just grounded for the night.” With a gesture and a murmur, Suga creates a small orb of light over his palm, and they shuffle closer to the magic in it rather than his phone. It disintegrates when one of them reaches out, hesitantly, to touch it.

The three squeal and disappear in a flutter of soft wings and whispers. Suga stands, shivering but smiling, and he steps back to let Daichi envelop him in his arms. He feels like an icicle. Daichi presses a warm kiss to the side of his neck, and he leans into the attention with a pleased hum.

“So work just follows you no matter what, hm?” Daichi asks as they head back inside. Suga parks himself in front of the fireplace, and Daichi tugs a blanket from the chair over both of them. He sort of wished he’d had the foresight to bring marshmallows.

“That wasn’t work. Believe it or not, I’m only the shepherd for particular lost souls, not the whole of the supernatural community,” Suga informs him, and sometimes, Daichi _doesn’t_ believe it.

“Lost souls, huh.”

“Yes sir.”

“Wayward ghosts and absolutely _nothing_ else.” Suga glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and Daichi can hardly restrain his smirk. “Nothing like sigbin, or matagot, or demons, and _definitely_ nothing like ancient gods.”

“Well,” Suga huffs, “you do what you can, right? Like hell I’m leaving Kiyoko alone in this, or letting Oikawa get in over his head with every other thing. But it’s mostly ghosts and the occasional poltergeist.”

“That’s—you take care of _poltergeists_? Those are real?”

“Yes, of course? I just took care of one with Tadashi,” Suga replies with clear confusion. Daichi pinches the furrow of his brow. “They’re annoying, but not difficult. Why, do you have a haunting?”

Daichi doesn’t answer, and Suga slowly raises both eyebrows.

“ _You_ have a poltergeist?”

“We have what we tell _tourists_ is a poltergeist. Or, Haruna does. It’s bullshit, but it’s less funny if they’re actually real things…” And now, Daichi remembers when Chikara had politely informed him about the little girl haunting one of their cabins, back in high school, and that had helped spurred his cousin into taking the rumor and spinning it into something horror movie worthy.

God, he’d probably been right.

It hadn’t really been a true issue or anything, just the occasional spooked tourist or vacationer, and he thinks one cracked window a year or two ago. But if there _is_ something in that cabin… Well, Daichi is dating an exorcist, who is right here. It seems a waste of an opportunity, even if he’d rather eat his fist than make Suga work.

“I can take a look,” Suga says, placing a hand on his forearm, like he’d been reading his mind.

Maybe the overthinking thing went both ways.

“It’s probably nothing. You probably get loads of rumors hyped up to draw in people, right?”

Suga smiles, shrugs, and rests his head against Daichi’s shoulder. “Not as many as you’d think. But we also know how to weed that kind of stuff out.”

“I guess you do work for a psychic.”

“Two,” Suga corrects in a chirp. “So, want me to take care of it? I’ll have to put on pants again.”

“We can do it tomorrow.”

“I’ll be awake for awhile longer. Which cabin is it?”

Daichi sighs and supposes he’ll be awake for awhile longer, too.

It’s two cabins from them, and, bundled up properly, they trudge out into the night. The stars are bright, the moon a sliver hanging in the black sky, and this far out, there’s not many tracks to disturb the snow. It’s not too deep, but the crust isn’t thick enough to support them, so each step is a hassle. Daichi is surprised at Suga’s sense of adventure when the temperature is below freezing.

“This is one of the cabins without running water,” Daichi says when it gets close enough to shine his flashlight on. “We usually don’t use it, so it’s probably pretty dusty. I, uh, also don’t have the key for it—”

“I can unlock a wood door,” Suga wryly interrupts. They make their way up to the little porch, and Daichi holds his light on the door while Suga wedges his underneath an arm so he can draw on the snow stuck to it. It opens with a _click_ and a grin from Suga.

They kick the snow off their boots, and shine their flashlights inside the empty, dark cabin. It’s similar in design to the others, although the bed hasn’t been made, and there’s a fine layer of dust over most of it. Suga’s light trails over the bookshelves, the counters, and eventually comes to stop at the foot of the bed.

Daichi, of course, can’t see a thing, save for the motes of dust swirling in the beam.

“Well, it’s definitely a haunting,” Suga says without any of the smugness Daichi expects. He sounds… a little sad. Daichi gives him a sidelong glance; Suga is frowning, faintly, something faintly shuttered in his expression. He catches Daichi’s eye, blinking back into an open, neutral expression, and says, “Oh, right, you can’t see her. …Do you _want_ to?”

“Want to see it?” Daichi echoes dumbly. Suga nods, and then starts digging around in his messenger bag. Of course.

He pulls out a tiny, dark vial with an eyedropper as a lid, and Suga must see some sort of hesitance on Daichi’s face, because he explains, “This is spirit sight draught. I took to carrying around this little thing because of Tadashi, just in case. Well, I guess he doesn’t need it anymore… But useful for you!”

“Is this the stuff that had all those bad side effects?”

“That was because of continued use,” Suga smoothly replies. “Here, lean back and take off your glasses. And don’t worry—you’re pretty lucky yourself, you know.” He grins again, recovered now, and guides Daichi down far enough for him.

 _Don’t make getting lucky jokes_ , Daichi preemptively scolds himself. The eye drops don’t sting, but tingle slightly in an honestly pretty worrying way; he can’t help but rub at his eyes when Suga lets him right himself, and he finds himself blinking down at a little girl standing at the foot of the bed.

She doesn’t look like how he expected a ghost to look. She’s dressed in worn jeans and a tank top, one strap falling down off her shoulder as she glares balefully up at them both. Her hair is long, but unkempt, and there are what he thinks are tear-tracks down her cheeks.

Suga presses a hand against Daichi’s chest, and he backs up a couple steps to let him work. When Suga approaches her, he crouches down, eye-level with her; his voice is soft and his hand is extended when he says, “Hello, what are you doing here?”

The little girl promptly melts into a figure of static and tentacles.

She lets out a screech that has both men reeling, and she slithers between Suga’s legs to dive into a book on the lowest shelf of the bookcase. Daichi expects her to go through, but it’s as if it bounces her back out, and she scrabbles at it with too many limbs while Suga swears and digs around in his bag.

“Well shit, congrats, you have a poltergeist,” Suga says in a near-shout in order to be heard over her crying. “Or something close enough.”

“What’s the difference?” Daichi calls back, one hand pressed to his nearer ear.

“Poltergeists have to be caught or banished—” Suga’s voice rings out too loud in the sudden silence. They turn to find the little girl back again, sitting in front of the bookcase, miserably weeping. She scrubs her cheeks and tries to hide her face from them with her long hair. Suga sighs and slowly withdraws his hand from his messenger bag. “Alright, she’s not a full poltergeist. She’s… on the road to becoming one.”

“What does that mean?”

“This is what happens to ghosts who don’t pass on. This, or demons.” Suga approaches her again, and she hunches her shoulders, but does not begin screeching again. “Hello,” he tries once more. “Is this your book?”

He reaches out and pulls the book she’d been trying to hide in from the shelf. She twitches, just a little, when he first touches it. When he hands it to her, it’s only in her lap for a split second before it falls through to the floor. She starts to cry immediately, and the noise winds up into an outright wail when she dissolves into static once more.

Suga backs away from her, wincing at the volume, and Daichi can’t hear the charm when he begins writing in the air. He reaches over and places a hand on either side of Daichi’s face; instantly, the room falls silent.

The next gesture he makes doesn’t look like his usual marks; he realizes, belatedly, that he’s using sign language. Daichi knows about three words, and none of that is whatever Suga is trying to tell him. The blank stare Daichi gives him must be enough for him to drop it after a few more hopeful moments.

It’s incredibly surreal to watch Suga cast and speak to the ghost/poltergeist without hearing a sound. It doesn’t take him long to put her in a confinement circle, and he begins talking to her again with a surprisingly professional air. Daichi wishes he _could_ hear, shrieking or not, and by the time the little girl seems to calm down, Daichi can hear muffled noises again.

She stands with the first smile Daichi has seen from her, and Suga smiles back at her, more tired than usual.

Then, _something_ happens—Daichi sure as hell isn’t sure. There’s a snap of _something_ in the air, the little girl jumps, and Daichi can abruptly hear again. Suga isn’t fazed. “What the hell was that?” Daichi asks, and Suga raises an eyebrow at him.

He looks between the girl and his boyfriend a couple times, then at a spot on their other side that Daichi can’t see anything in. “Oh, you can’t see this,” Suga says distantly. The little girl stares at the empty spot, book forgotten by her feet. “Alright,” Suga says, addressing her, “I’m going to lower the circle, but I need you to go through. You have to leave your attachments behind.”

“Uh-huh,” she replies, the first coherent thing Daichi has heard from her. Her voice is hoarse, breathy.

The circle of glowing runes fades to nothing, and hardly a heartbeat passes before she erupts into scratchiness and haze once more. She flings herself at Suga, and he begins to take a step back, but she knocks him against the empty spot and he stumbles.

When he makes contact with it, Daichi can _see_ it: a large door, brilliantly bright and ornate in a cute, flowery way, and Suga sags against the open door frame like he’s just stared death in the face.

“It’s mine!” the spirit screams and scoops up the book. She lashes out at Suga, catching him across the arms, shoulders, chest, trying to force him back through the doorway. He takes one step back to catch himself, and his ankle brushes against the light coming from within the door.

He yelps and throws himself forward, hitting the floor and ducking under her attacks. With what must be a _pull_ spell, he yanks her many feet out from beneath her, and grabs the nearest limb to him.

Suga rolls onto his back, throws her over his head toward the doorway, and she grows too many more arms to try to claw her way back. Her screams have taken the form of words, again—“It hurts, it _hurts_ , it’s not mine, don’t make me, _I want to stay here_!”—and Daichi feels sick.

“Pass on!” Suga shouts, desperate, and with one last kick, he shoves her through the door.

Both she and it vanish with a flash of light.

Daichi rubs the spots out of his eyes and Suga’s chest heaves from where he lies, sprawled, on the wood floor.

“Could I have helped,” Daichi starts with.

Suga throws his cast arm over his face to hide, and it is then that Daichi catches how erratic his breathing is. “No,” Suga tells him in a voice very near tears. Daichi shuffles over to sit beside him, too careful not to crowd his space, and rests his hand on Suga’s shoulder. “That was… O-Okay, a lot of time, spirits don’t really _want_ to pass on. That was a Door.”

Daichi hears the inflection and a few things click into place in his mind.

“Only human ghosts create Doors, and nothing can go through one that isn’t that person. Everyone gets their own,” Suga explains through shuddering breaths.

So Suga’s stumble _had_ been a brush with death. Daichi’s hand tightens on his shoulder, then he retracts it, instead reaching over to gently pull Suga’s arm away from his face. Suga turns from him, eyes screwed shut, and Daichi rubs his thumb over Suga’s, up to the edge of the cast and back down again. “You’re okay,” Daichi tells him even though he feels like _he_ may need a moment to process that. How does Suga deal with that constant kind of risk?

“No,” Suga says with an abortive little shake of his head. He glares with wet eyes at the book laying forgotten on the floor. “She wasn’t… I don’t know if she was really a ghost anymore, Daichi. She was turning into a poltergeist, yes, but… who knows.”

“Poltergeists can’t pass on?”

“No. You have to capture or banish poltergeists.”

It only then occurs to Daichi that Suga makes a living getting rid of talking, sentient beings, not all of which have happy endings. His earlier image of it had been similar to him talking to the little girl in the circle; monsters like sigbin or dragons are outliers. There'd been a divide in his mind. He hadn’t thought the monsters would look human. Would have _been_ human.

“Did that count as a banishing?” Daichi asks.

“Depends on whether or not she was a ghost. I hadn’t thought she’d try to fight me like that.” Suga sniffs, snottily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see it like that. Things get messy if they’re in between forms. …We try not to use Doors to kill things often, either.”

“Are you okay?”

Suga only sighs. “Not really. Would you believe me if I said my job usually isn’t this rough?”

“I’d give you the benefit of the doubt,” Daichi replies vaguely, because no, not really. But there _has_ to be good days, right? He’d always assumed Suga took some sort of pride in guiding lost souls into the afterlife like a shepherd. That it’d be like graduation, bittersweet but usually a step of good progress.

He supposes not everyone wants to graduate.

“You tried to banish Tsukishima at one point, didn’t you?”

“Like he’d let me forget that.”

“Suga,” Daichi says with his own sigh, “why do you even have this job if you hate it so much?”

Suga bolts upright so fast he nearly headbutts Daichi. “I love my job!” he exclaims with inappropriate force. Daichi arches an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re getting a _really_ shitty look into a very specific part of it, I’ll admit.”

“As long as you admit it,” he replies, still incredulous.

“But magic is _really cool_ , Daichi,” Suga firmly continues. His good hand finds Daichi’s, and he gives him a squeeze. “I’d sooner eat this cast than let you have some sort of negative view about magic. I may not like the rougher parts of my job, but what job doesn’t come with shitty customers?”

As a retail worker, Daichi can _not_ argue against that.

“More importantly, I’m happy to help keep people safe.”

With that familiar, determined glint back in his eyes, Suga clambers to his feet. While Daichi gets back up, too, he wipes his face with his sleeve, and Daichi pretends not to notice. Suga does one last once-over of the cabin, tries to carve a couple of wards into the wood of the door frame—Daichi puts a quick stop to that, even if it could prevent future poltergeists—and they trek back out into the cold night.

Suga may be dry-eyed and upright once more, but he’s still suspiciously quiet. Too serious. Daichi is used to teasing, to smirks and grins and the crinkle of happy eyes. He’s afraid of Suga slipping off into some _other_ mental spiral, one consumed with work in a wholly different way; how can he head this one off?

The idea comes to him all too quick.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Daichi says and loops his arm together with Suga’s. Suga only gives him a curious look. “Twenty minutes, tops. I promise you can warm up when we’re done.”

It’s an obvious bait, but it takes a moment too long before Suga forces a grin and asks, “Will _you_ warm me up? Do I get to choose the method?”

“Trust me,” Daichi replies, grinning himself, and Suga nods because he does.

The snow crunches beneath their boots, but even with a clear night, it’s quite dark. The waxing moon is only half full, and the trees lining the road block most of its weak light. They don’t see any more mothmen, and Daichi talks Suga into not using the flashlight halfway there to let their eyes adjust. When Suga catches on that they’re headed to the main office, his nose scrunches and he peers at Daichi in judgment.

But he doesn’t question him.

“I know a perk of your job is breaking and entering,” Daichi says with a gesture to the front door, although he knows where the spare key is.

“That’s a perk?” Suga asks. He writes against the handle, and it _clicks_ open. His judgmental look is beginning to slip into something dangerously close to disappointment. “I already looked, there’s no tubs here. So if I get to choose how you warm me back up, you’re running out of options.”

Daichi rummages around behind the desk until he finds the switches underneath the counter. He turns on the two he needs, gestures for Suga to stay put, and heads into the back room to grab some towels. Suga’s eyes narrow further when Daichi just tugs him outside once more.

Another building is nestled into the trees not fifty yards behind the lodge, even if the path is covered in snow that hasn’t been shoveled. Daichi keeps his arm in Suga’s despite his suspicion behind the fluffy towels. Suga unlocks the door again (Daichi knows there is no spare key to this one), and he promptly lights up at what he sees inside.

“I know it’s not a bathtub,” Daichi begins, perhaps a touch smugly.

Suga punches him a little too hard in the side. “You didn’t tell me there was a hot tub!” he hisses, too pleased to put much venom into it, and they quickly shut the door to keep the growing warmth inside. It’s designed more like a sauna than a hot tub, with wooden benches all around the sunken tub in the center, and two walls looking out toward the forest are glass. Suga can hardly contain his excitement as he struggles to pull the cover off by himself.

Daichi helps him, and by the time they fight to get it off and reasonably out of the way, the water has started to warm. There’s a little light inside that he turns on, and the room is bathed in soft, waving sparkles. It’s nearly enough to rival Suga’s palpable excitement.

“Can you get that wet?” Daichi asks, pausing for the first time, eyes on Suga’s cast.

“Yes, it’s fine. Would you really have the heart to tell me no at this point?”

“Probably not,” he admits, and Suga beams at him.

“I can’t believe we could’ve been doing _this_ the entire time instead of freezing in that little cabin,” Suga says as he begins tugging off his boots.

“You’ve been _fine_ in the cabin—”

“Daichi, I’m never going to move from this room again.”

Daichi rolls his eye with a too-fond huff. Suga almost literally trips over himself pulling off his shoes and socks, and his coat is quickly tossed onto one of the farther benches. Daichi, at least, tries to undress a little less sloppily.

By the time he’s pulling off his undershirt, Suga is fighting to peel his jeans off, and Daichi pauses with perhaps a bit too much staring. “You’re skinny dipping? In a hot tub. That’s inside.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t bring a swimsuit on my vacation to a cabin in _December_.”

“I thought we’d leave underwear on?” Daichi asks with an awkward, now self-conscious, shrug.

Suga stares at him for a long moment, slowly breaking into another, definitely _teasing_ grin. “Are you _shy_?”

“No, that’s not it—”

“Excuse me if I don’t want to walk back commando in the dark and cold.”

“Couldn’t you… dry them, or something? With magic?”

Suga finishes pulling off his jeans and briefs with _far_ too much smugness. Daichi makes a point of looking only at his face, despite the immediate strutting. “I _could_ ,” Suga nearly _purrs_ , because he’s horrible, “but honestly, I’m pretty exhausted. I don’t think anyone would be happy if I passed out tonight. Or did you want to carry me back to the cabin that badly?”

“Alright, fair.” Daichi hadn’t exactly meant for this to take a sexual turn, but if that keeps Suga happy, far be it from him to decline. Suga, with too much swaying of his hips as he circles around to Daichi, has the gall to stick his (cold) fingers beneath the waistband of Daichi’s boxers and tug. Helpfully. He’s just that kind of a person, Daichi is sure. 

Daichi steps out of his boxers once they’re pooled around his ankles, takes his foggy glasses off, and Suga is already gone from him, stepping into the hot water with a frankly obscene sigh.

There’d been no ogling, no touching, not even a kiss. Daichi sighs as well and wonders if he should be disappointed or not.

Daichi slips into the water beside him, definitely disappointed that it’s not truly _hot_ yet, and Suga is already submerged up to his chin with with most placid expression Daichi has ever seen on his face. Hard to believe forty-five minutes ago he’d been crying about a dead girl; every line of tension is gone from him, every hint of prior sorrow.

Daichi sinks into the warm water and wonders if maybe _he_ should have been more upset earlier. The last thing he wants is for Suga to think him callous.

The whole Suga Almost Died In Front Of Him thing hadn't sunk in quite yet, he thinks. That'll be some fun new nightmare fodder.

“I can hear you thinking all the way over there,” Suga says and prods him with his toe. “You don’t want to sit over here and get cozy?”

“Am I allowed?” Daichi quips before he can stop himself.

Suga opens an eye, cinnamon and gold in the sparkling light of the underwater bulb. “I mean this without my usual amount of bitterness—I understand if you don’t want to get too close to a necromancer who just banished a little girl.”

Daichi scoots over and Suga immediately lifts his arm for Daichi to tuck himself under. The wet cast is scratchy against Daichi’s bare skin. “For someone so open, you’re pretty hard to read most of the time.”

Suga snorts. “You’re one to talk. Do you know how often I’ve laid awake at night, wondering how to interact with _normal_ people again? Stalking the bookstore had been utter hell for a week or two.”

“I can’t believe you can even _manage_ to stay awake long enough to agonize,” Daichi deadpans.

Suga makes an affronted noise and hits him, entirely too gently, with his cast. (Sometimes, Daichi almost wonders if he _likes_ having it, just so he has a weapon at the ready. Not that Suga needs more melee weapons at his disposal.)

“Why am I hard to read?” Suga asks, even more gently now.

“You’re a constant, confusing tease,” is all Daichi replies with.

They fall into an easy silence; the only sound is the muted lapping of the water at the edge, equally soft light glimmering near their outstretched legs. It creates patterns on the walls and through the windows out onto the snow, through the steam that’s beginning to build at the edge of the glass. Daichi can hear Suga’s slow, steady heartbeat like this, pressed against him, quiet surrounding them.

It’s too calm to be called truly romantic, but it’s comfortable, peaceful—something neither of them have had much of on this trip so far. Between their mutilated sleep schedules, too much family, and now, supernatural intrusions, quiet moments on what was supposed to be a quiet vacation are fewer and farther between than Daichi would have wanted.

Suga taps him on the shoulder, and Daichi raises his head, wondering if Suga has just now spotted the skylight through which they can see the stars twinkling overhead.

But instead, Suga curls both arms around him, his other hand coming up to tilt Daichi’s head enough so Suga can rest his forehead against Daichi’s. “Do you want me to stop being a tease?”

“And what do you mean by that?” Daichi frankly responds.

Suga lowers his eyes, just a moment, but it’s a glance down to Daichi’s lips that he certainly notices. Still, Daichi won’t be the one to bridge this gap. When Suga meets his gaze once more, he breaks into a grin. “You know what sounds like a wonderful post-banishment exercise?”

“What does?” Daichi does not trust that grin, but he’s excited to see where it leads.

Suga closes the slight distance between them and presses their mouths together. The angle is good, lips slotting together effortlessly, but Daichi is lower in the water than he’d like. Suga lets him change their positions, lets him take control of the kiss in order to guide their moments, seems perfectly content to let Daichi do all of the thinking in this situation.

Daichi pulls Suga toward him, shifting them until he can tug Suga onto his lap, and Suga rests his arms over Daichi’s shoulders as his knees knock lightly against the edge of the tub. They hardly break for anything other than air, and even that, Suga chases Daichi’s mouth like he’s the only source of oxygen on the planet.

Daichi begins to wonder if Suga legitimately doesn’t need to breathe as much as a normal (living) human when he hears a splash that is _definitely_ not from either of them.

Daichi startles at seeing _something_ in the water, Suga twists without warning to investigate, and they both end up slipping and going under. Coughing and spluttering, they bob back up immediately, and Suga presses his hands to his cheeks with a soft hiss of, “ _Hot_.”

“What the fuck is that,” Daichi asks, pressed into the corner furthest from the little thing happily paddling around in the water.

“Oh, you can see that now,” Suga hums, thoughtful, and moves to slide back onto Daichi’s lap. Daichi allows him, hands settling naturally on Suga’s waist, but he leans around him in order to keep a suspicious eye on their guest until Suga does whatever he’s going to do to get rid of it.

But Suga only latches onto the exposed part of Daichi’s neck, and that would be the Greatest Development Of All Time if they were actually fucking alone in here.

“Suga,” Daichi tries to admonish, but it comes out a little strangled instead. He tries again. “ _Suga_ , what the fuck is that thing, and why is it— _god_ , Suga— _please_ take care of the bug thing in the water with us before doing this.”

Suga leans back, a pout already forming, but something calculating in his eyes as well. “Was your neck always this sensitive?”

Daichi can feel heat crawl up that very same neck. “I-I guess?” He knows it is.

“We could have been doing this for ages—”

“Suga it is _about to touch you_ ,” Daichi interrupts in a panic.

Suga gives him an eye roll that’s insulting, honestly, and twists again on Daichi’s lap in order to scoop up the intruder with his good hand. It’s a little too big, but it seems content to be picked up, made lazy by the hot water and steam. Humanoid, with two sets of translucent wings like a dragonfly’s, and Daichi is pretty sure he sees antenna, too.

“This,” Suga patiently tells him, “is a water sprite. If that lake nearby is frozen, it was probably drawn in here by the fact that this is, y’know, actually water. They’re very common, and good for water sources. Harmless to humans alone.”

“It’s so _cold_ out there,” the water sprite squeaks, and Daichi definitely does _not_ jump at the revelation that the thing can talk. “I didn’t know humans had giant hot baths like this in this area!”

“You’re intruding,” Suga informs it. He dumps it on the outside of the tub, despite its shrill protest.

“Why were you content to let it stay there?” Daichi asks, equally reproachful, and Suga pouts at him again.

“I own a cat, Daichi. I’ve learned to live with a constant voyeur into my life.”

“You wouldn’t have said anything if I couldn’t see it,” Daichi says suspiciously, and Suga does not answer him. He leans down to try to nibble at the side of Daichi’s throat again, but Daichi is faster, and stops him with a fist in his hair. “ _Suga_.”

“A _lot_ of things exist where you can’t see them, or where even I can’t see them,” Suga sighs, relents, and droops. The sprite manages to crawl back over the edge of the tub, wings buzzing in a heat-drunken stupor, and it slides back in with a wet _plop_. “I don’t really want to banish it, but I could. They’re also not that hard to kill.”

The sprite splashes away from them, glaring its tiny, beady eyes, but not willing to leave the water.

“…You deal with this stuff on a daily basis,” Daichi grumbles. 

“I’ve had practice. I’m also trying to keep my mind focused on other things rather than the constant supernatural phenomena going on around us.” Suga slides off of his thighs, ducks under the surface of the water once more, and resurfaces on the other edge of the hot tub. He crosses one long leg over the other. “Ignorance is bliss, huh?”

Daichi flicks water at the sprite for ruining what little mood there had been. But, at least, Suga is still smiling.

 

\--

 

“Hold still,” Wakatoshi nearly growls, and Tendou continues squirming in his grasp regardless of the shiver that goes up his spine at the sound. He’s not even sure if it’s a good shiver or not.

“It _itches_ ,” he complains. Loudly. “You suck at healing. Blood magic isn’t even supposed to work for that!”

“You’re pretty whiny for someone with a head wound,” Shirabu says, somewhere off behind Wakatoshi. Probably reclining on the bed, tapping his hooves impatiently or something.

“ _Please_ stay still,” Wakatoshi tries again, voice still deep and scary, but there’s a curious thread of raw desperation Tendou can hear.

Tendou’s tail _whaps_ against the crate he’s sitting on. He is, actually, trying to stay still. He just _can’t_. He’s not really used to having someone hold him like this, and the injury _fucking hurts_ , even after so long, but he has too much pride to admit that he’s not doing this on purpose.

Wakatoshi presses his thumb against the entry wound and Tendou barely bites back a howl. He digs his nails into his pants, through the fabric and into his legs, but at least that makes him think of something other than his fucking skull for two seconds.

But it’s that that finally forces Wakatoshi to take a break. His hands fall from Tendou’s face and Tendou rears back, chest heaving and stomach churning from who even knows what anymore. He shakes his head, trying to get it to stop hurting, even if he knows that it’s futile. He’s probably just undoing all of the witch’s hard work. Vorpium burns are a bitch and a half, and Tendou can safely say he’d never wanted to get shot in the head, either.

If he were of better mind right now, he’d be wishing bloody revenge upon everyone involved in that terrible trickster job.

Right now, he just wants it to _stop hurting_.

“Stop that,” Wakatoshi says and Tendou, holding his head, gives him a watery-eyed glare. “You’re just going to reopen everything.”

“Just knock him out,” Shirabu calls from the bed.

“He shouldn’t go to sleep,” Wakatoshi replies without glancing in his direction. He meets Tendou’s eyes without any of the hesitance or fear he _should_ be feeling considering he’s been rooting around in his head with blood magic and Tendou has come very close to eating him several times for it and neither of them have slept for going on forty hours now. Tempers are understandably short.

Tendou will _live_. Probably. It didn’t immediately kill him, so that’s a good sign, although he’s never dealt with fucking vorpium before, so who knows what that’s doing. Probably rotting out his skull right now. Tendou’s probably dying and if dying hurts this much then he’d rather just get it over with. But really, he’s going to live. He hasn’t sat reasonably still for this much magical prodding for _nothing_.

“Please,” Wakatoshi repeats, hand extended.

Tendou sits back down with an angry swipe of his tail. Wakatoshi cups his face again, holding his head still, not gently but at least maybe not as roughly as before. Tendou hisses and growls and trembles as Wakatoshi presses his fingers lightly against the matted hair near the exit wound. He probably would’ve been _done_ bleeding if Wakatoshi wasn’t so set on trying to fix things.

Tendou isn’t sure why he’s bothering.

He’s far from a good patient, and would be at the very least capable of acting as a transport should Wakatoshi want him to stick around for the rest of the job. (Tendou, privately, would much rather fuck back to Europe and wash his hands of this entire business. It’s a lot more real when his own head is literally on the line.) Northot had teased him for being too attached, but what does that say of Wakatoshi? He’s not stupid enough to be truly fearless.

Tendou wants him to be attached, too. It’d make struggling to sit still for this a little more palatable. He bites back another snarl and cracks the wood of the crate with his hands, and Wakatoshi draws back with another frown and furrow in his brow. “We can get a healer,” he suggests, tired.

“If I’ve spilt blood for this job, I’m not giving up _anything_ for it.”

“ _I_ can pay for someone discreet—”

“Don’t waste your money,” Tendou grouses and releases the splintered wood in his grasp. Wakatoshi glances down at it, and Tendou shakes out his hands with further annoyance bubbling low with the nausea in his stomach. “I can take care of this myself—”

“Let me help you,” Wakatoshi says. It sounds like an order. “Please. It’s my fault, so let me.”

Tendou lets out a wild bark of a laugh. “I was there too, remember? I’m also contracted by this god of yours? I’m in this as much as you are, at this point.”

“I never wanted you to get hurt for this. You weren’t supposed to.”

Tendou kindly does not point out all of the injuries Wakatoshi has come back with in the course of their partnership. He doesn’t point out how many times he’s _died_ already.

“I’m not losing anyone else, so hold still,” Wakatoshi says and this time it is definitely an order. He grabs Tendou’s head, ignores his hiss, and presses more magic into his wound. He has to fix the burns that the vorpium left, plus stop any more bleeding, since the last thing Tendou would like to do is accidentally hemorrhage. Whatever he’s doing, it _still_ stings like hell, despite how long they’ve been at this.

“…Anyone else?” Shirabu eventually asks.

“That includes you, and this friend of yours,” Wakatoshi replies. Tendou can practically hear the unseen indignance. He tilts Tendou’s head back further, and Tendou moves with another shudder and more _thumps_ from his tail. It’ll probably bruise at this rate. Just what he needs.

Then, all at once, Wakatoshi stops and releases him. Tendou does not reel back this time; he doesn’t have the time before Wakatoshi leans forward, arms resting over his shoulders, forehead pressed against Tendou’s collarbone.

The matagot freezes.

Wakatoshi’s breath comes out against him in an exhausted rush of heat. “…Not that I wouldn’t do this for you, too,” he begins, addressing their invisible compatriot who suddenly feels a lot like an intruder to something he _shouldn’t_ be witnessing, “but this is incredibly taxing. Tendou, please don’t get shot again. My hands keep shaking and I can’t forget the ugly sound of it.”

“I don’t plan on it,” Tendou replies thinly. He’s tense beneath Wakatoshi, nearly quaking with pent up frustration and pain. He thinks he feels another bead of blood trace a line down to his jaw.

Wakatoshi raises his head, haggard and exhausted and disheveled, and gives Tendou a baleful, dour look that he can’t begin to think he deserves.

And then the witch leans in and kisses him.

“It would be unhygienic to kiss the wound,” Wakatoshi explains after he pulls away again. “But I’m really running out of options. Would you _please_ hold still for me?”

“I think I’ll go see if I can’t get some sort of numbing thing. Y’know, out. Somewhere,” Shirabu says, loudly, and beats a fast retreat.

“I hope he doesn’t get something soporific,” Wakatoshi murmurs with a sidelong glance toward the door. The moment of gentleness is past, then, and he forces Tendou’s head into a tilt so he can examine the half-closed wound once more.

Tendou squirms beneath his iron grip.

“Do I have to bind you so you’d stop moving?” Wakatoshi pleads, hands tightening further on Tendou’s jaw.

“Maybe I could be further persuaded if you kissed me again.”

“I should’ve known you’d be so greedy.”

 

\--

 

All Tadashi can think of is _wendigo_ when he sees all of the tall, dark, looming trees around him. The moon is bright, or is trying to be bright, but the city smog casts everything into an orangish haze, even this far from the denser parts of town.

They’re not here to catch a wendigo, so it’s a silly thought to have. But he likes thinking of vampires even less.

He’s armed with a backpack full of garlic, wooden stakes, and two silver knives, but he still feels horribly misplaced and more than slightly terrified. He doesn’t blame Kei for not wanting to accompany him—again—but he also kind of would have liked the company. Saeko had only told him about the job and then dropped him off alongside the road while she drove further out to scout out that area with that doberman of hers.

 _Vampires are easy_ , he thinks, back to her words. He’s not sure he ever wanted to find out firsthand. No amount of _Twilight_ jokes in the world could save him if they turn out to be as bloodthirsty as he thinks.

It’s nearing midnight and it’s cold enough for his breath to puff out in front of him, but Saeko made sure he was plenty bundled up for the job, at least. (And, with a wink that had nearly stopped his heart, she assured him that the pay is good. Tadashi is still getting used to this being a _job_ that _pays_ and isn’t something Suga is just herding him along for.)

He appreciates the Tanaka siblings taking him under their wing, he really does. And he, useless bisexual that he is, can _definitely_ appreciate Saeko flirting/begging her way into getting his help on this. (Yuu is still laid up with too much booze and sorrow, and Ryuunosuke is sleeping off his shift earlier that had been trying to hunt these same fuckers down.) Tadashi doesn’t want to think about how strapped for personnel they are if they’re actively turning to _him_ for legitimate help on jobs.

He misses Suga.

A scream cuts through the silent forest and Tadashi drops the silver bowie he’d been loaned (again) with a squeal of his own. It hadn’t sounded human, exactly, but it definitely wasn’t a deer or a bird. He grabs his knife, turns in the direction of the sound, and steels himself to follow it.

He hardly takes a dozen steps before he hears it again, far closer, and this time, it’s accompanied by a _thump_ and the sounds of frantic scratching against the snow. Tadashi breaks into a run, hand nearly numb with how hard he grips the knife, and a bird screeches as it swoops low over his head, headed in the same direction. He catches a glimpse of white on black before it’s lost to the branches above.

The cold air is just starting to burn his throat when he catches sight of movement through the trees: a dark figure, upright, and a flare of fire that appears so suddenly that Tadashi can only assume it’s magical in nature. The quick light hadn’t done much to actually illuminate the figure, however.

Tadashi thinks, only momentarily, of digging into his bag and pulling the antler onto himself. But then, he sees the figure lift another, a small, squirming thing, and another burst of flames makes him realize it’s a cat.

“L-Let _go_ of me!” the cat yowls, twisting and hissing and scratching, its over-long tail whipping back and forth.

It’s small, little more than a kitten actually, but Tadashi immediately recognizes the cat as a bakeneko.

And that decides it for him.

Tadashi vaults over a thick scattering of broken branches and bushes, miraculously not catching himself on anything, and writes in the air at the same time that he yells, “ _Push_!”

The magic staggers him, and he almost falls onto his ass. But at least the figure drops the little cat as it goes skidding. The kitten is off like a streak, trailing ash and limping badly enough for Tadashi to notice even out of the corner of his eye, and he squares off against the assailant.

The figure gets back to its feet, and Tadashi creates a will-o-wisp for light. He immediately wishes he hadn’t.

The figure is humanoid in the rough sense that it is bipedal and has two arms. But it’s covered in jet-black feathers, with a beak the size of Tadashi’s forearm, and equally dark eyes gleaming in the firelight. There’s no hair or skin visible, although there are the tattered remains of clothing clinging to its legs. He’s pretty sure it has a tail, too.

Its arms aren’t anything like wings, but they are thick, covered in feathers, and tipped in claws the length of his hand. They look twice as sharp as its beak.

The thing _definitely_ isn’t a vampire.

The actual bird from before pelts down at the bird creature, squawking and making a ruckus, and Tadashi uses the opportunity to book it in the direction the bakeneko went in. Shockingly, he catches up in very little time, and the black and grey cat gives him a baleful look for it.

Tadashi doesn’t see or hear a collar, so it’s not a maneki-neko like Morisuke. Then again, if it’d been a luck spirit, it probably wouldn’t have gotten into this mess in the first place.

With a _whoosh_ of feathers overhead, the creature from before overtakes them and lands heavily on the snow in front of them. Tadashi nearly trips over the bakeneko as they try to backtrack; the kitten hisses and claws its way up his pant leg, declaring him the lesser threat.

“It’s going to eat us,” the kitten tells him, plaintive and resigned beneath the tremble in its voice. It sounds young enough—and catlike enough—that Tadashi can’t immediately tell if it’s male or female. “Maybe you’ll taste better than me, hunter, and distract it.”

“Don’t make me regret intervening,” Tadashi scolds, backing up while trying to keep his eyes on the advancing creature. Its wings, sprouted for its flight, drip off into feathers and ichor with every step it takes.

His luck runs out when his heel catches on a root and he’s sent sprawling on his ass. The kitten clings to him with claws and mewls against his throat. Tadashi skitters back, but there’s nowhere else to run when his back hits the trunk of the same damned tree.

“Well,” the bakeneko tells him, “th-thanks for trying, anyway.”

Tadashi turns and scrambles back to his feet, the creature already reaching down to dig its claws into his exposed back, when a _fucking huge_ fiery cat leaps onto the scene with a roar.

Tadashi hits the snow, flat on his stomach (and the kitten), covering his head with his hands. The bird creature shrieks, sounding _horribly_ human, and he can see the flare of fire magic even through his shut eyes.

“Shouhei!” the kitten squeaks and wriggles out from beneath him.

“Please tell me that means that’s a friend,” Tadashi mutters as he twists around to watch.

The cat is huge, closer to the size of a tiger or a bear than the little thing perched on Tadashi’s leg. Shouhei has two tails, tufted ears, and a ring of will-o-wisps like a halo.

The great beast doesn’t speak, only snarl and snap at the bird creature now pinned against the snow, but the tiny bakeneko scampers right up with bright eyes and what Tadashi knows is a cat grin only because of his time spent with Morisuke.

Right when Tadashi is about to get back to his feet and maybe intervene again, _another_ giant, two-tailed monster cat saunters onto the scene. “Yuuki,” the new one says in a deep, rumbling voice that makes Tadashi think that this one is definitely male and maybe _purring_. That’s not terrifying. “Are you alright?”

The Yuuki kitten looks _hilariously_ small and cute next to the two massive ones. “The hunter saved me!”

The new cat casts a cursory glance over in Tadashi’s direction, and Tadashi _eeps_ at the sudden, sharp attention. He’s very calm, considering their friend is still wrestling and trading growls and scratches with the bird monster, and after a moment, he sits down and pulls Yuuki toward him with a huge paw.

The magpie from earlier returns with more squawking. All three cats glare up at it, ears flat (even Yuuki’s folded ones), but this time, its arrival is accompanied by a _push_ spell.

The bird and cat monsters go tumbling, disengaging, and the other two cat spirits jump back with their hackles raised. There’s enough fire in the clearing from them to easily illuminate the witch that drops into the clearing, standing on his broom with arms raised.

The witch, a man with light brown hair and worryingly dressed only in pajamas and combat boots, points down with glowing fingers. “Let him go,” he commands, and only afterward seems to notice Tadashi’s presence. He blinks, a couple times, and then even goes so far as to rub at his eyes. “You with the cat things?”

Nice to know someone else is as lost as he is. Tadashi, fully aware of the multiple pairs of cat eyes on him, gives a shrug. “I’m here to…” What _is_ he here for? “I don’t want anyone to get eaten, that’s all.”

“That thing tried to eat me!” Yuuki says at once and both big cats begin growling again.

The witch goes from confused to on guard in no time at all, and his hands crackle with electricity he arcs between his palms. The bird creature, injured and bleeding against the snow, tries to drag itself away from the spirits, but the movement only catches their attention.

Shouhei leaps at it, only to be knocked away by a blast of electricity. The other one roars and _blazes_ with new flames, and Tadashi needs more information and a _lot_ less fighting right now.

He scrambles in between them, drawing a line of fire in the process. He doubt it will stop the giant cats, come to think, but it’s his biggest spell that won’t knock him out. “Stop!” he calls, and even he is impressed by how commanding he sounded.

Who knew panic made him cool?

Maybe that’s why Kei likes him.

The witch looks bemused, blinking down at him again, and when the cat spirits sniff at his flames, they look more like curious housecats than big monsters. “This is cat magic,” the one says, ears pricked, and gives Tadashi a searching look. Yuuki even goes so far as to bat at it.

“I learned that from a bakeneko, a friend of mine. That’s why I jumped in to protect the ki—Yuuki.” Tadashi turns, addressing the witch next. “I didn’t want to see them get eaten, but… I figure there’s a reason why you’re looking so panicked, trying to protect that bird thing, right?”

“That.” The witch colors, red enough to be visible even in the firelight, and drops his arms completely. The static dies away with one last crackle. “That’s, um, my friend. I _swear_ he’s not usually like this—feathered _or_ trying to eat spirits.”

“Alright, so this was all a misunderstanding,” Tadashi says, loud and pointed, and at least the cats don’t immediately argue with him. He stops feeding magic into the fiery wall, and it dies, just a bit, but doesn’t go out just yet.

Okay. He can do this.

The witch droops in the air, and drops to his broom when the magpie lands on his shoulder. The three cats sit side-by-side, Yuuki bracketed into the middle, hardly bigger than one of their paws. Tadashi can see now that the second spirit is larger than the Shouhei one, although they’re both ridiculously huge and _he’s still getting past that_. They’re not even _built_ like tigers or lions, they are just ridiculously huge _cats_.

“My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi,” he says cautiously, glancing back and forth between them for any sudden movements. “I’m a, uh… hunter in training, and a neutral party. It’d be great if no one got eaten tonight, huh?”

“Yeah,” the witch says with a nervous laugh. “Kinoshita Hisashi. My friend is Narita Kazuhito, and I really, _really_ promise that he’s normally human-looking and not prone to chewing on people.”

The cats stay silent and still, judging them.

Hisashi floats down until he can slip off his broom, and he walks over to the crouched bird person, keeping himself between them. Tadashi can hear low murmurs from the witch, but if Kazuhito shows any sign of recognizing him, Tadashi can’t see it.

“He got cursed, and this is the first time he transformed since then,” Hisashi finally tells them. “So this isn’t his fault. Really!”

“Cursed by what?” Tadashi asks, since the cats aren’t saying anything.

Hisashi sighs but continues to cooperate. “I don’t really know. There was this house? And black shit was in it? We were just trying to clean it up, but he got some on him, and he only had a headache! That was days ago, and then, he shifted to—I don’t even _know_!” He squats down next to Kazuhito and hits him, gently, with his broom. “Dude, why were you even _out_ tonight? Much less chewing on spirits? You’re vegan, for crying out loud!”

Tadashi will address everything about that later, but what catches his attention in a bad way is the mention of the house. He has a feeling he knows exactly what house that was. “Okay, so, tonight’s your lucky night, probably. I have a friend who should be able to cure that curse for your, uh, friend.”

“And the fact that that thing was trying to eat my charge is just going to be ignored…?” the cat spirit asks, pointedly, and Tadashi gives him just as pointed a look in response. With a sigh, he says, “Kai, and these are Shibayama and Fukunaga. Nekomata.”

Tadashi knows for _certain_ Yuuki is _not_ a nekomata. Unless Morisuke has a lot of explaining to do about cat spirits, at any rate, but Tadashi is still pretty damn certain they don’t go through Pokémon evolutions.

“I’m sure he’s sorry,” Tadashi says.

Hisashi nods along at once. “Very, _very_ sorry! He likes cats normally!”

“I see,” Kai replies flatly.

Tadashi tries to think of what cat spirits find valuable. Morisuke likes naps, and safety, and fish, and money. None of that is helpful right now, but he’s not sure what compels him to tell them, “I can introduce you to a bakeneko. He knows my healer friend, so he can make sure that the curse business gets taken care of and this doesn’t happen again.”

Yuuki leaps into the air with bright eyes and palpable excitement. Even Shouhei looks curious at that. “You know cat spirits?”

“We hadn’t heard of any in this city,” Kai replies with a swish of his two tails.

A deep, purring chuckle breaks into the scene, and both Hisashi and Kazuhito tense at it. Tadashi whirls around, searching out the source, silver knife raised. He comes face-to-face with a nekomata that puts the other two to fucking shame. This one is as tall as Tadashi, for starters, bulkier and scarred from a long life, fur long and silver with white flames along the two tails to match.

Kai and Shouhei bow to this one. Tadashi almost finds himself following, but he’s frozen at the sight of the huge spirit within arm’s reach from him.

“You smell of cat,” the old nekomata says frankly, and Tadashi can only nod. “Thank you for preventing the human witch from slaughtering any of us. And I’m sure that valravn would taste dreadful, too—Shouhei, you’d be picking feathers out of your mouth for weeks if you didn’t get skinned.”

Shouhei hangs his head, ears low.

Hisashi looks ready to speak up, protectively in front of Kazuhito once more, but Tadashi shoots him a frantic, pleading look. The witch closes his mouth again.

“I’d like to break the prim and proper cat spirit stereotype, if it’s alright with all present,” the old spirit says and sits with a hefty sigh. “We don’t really need anything more than promises it won’t happen again if none of my charges were seriously hurt. It seems hardly a moon goes by without _something_ trying to eat the kitten.”

Yuuki, too, hangs his head and long tail both.

“So, we’ll let bygones be bygones, provided the spotted human introduces us to this native city cat. A friendlier face than the coven witches, I’m sure.”

Tadashi takes a long moment to realize that he means _him_ , and his hands fly up to cover his freckled cheeks with heavy embarrassment. Hisashi rather looks like he’d like to sink into the ground, too. Tadashi nods and hopes Morisuke won’t mind what he’s just agreed to.

“Excellent!” With that, the old nekomata snags Yuuki out of the air with a paw the size of Tadashi’s head, and scoops him up into his mouth. Even knowing that that’s how cats carry young, seeing only a long tail and the tiniest glimpse of a snout and folded ears out of the giant spirit’s jaws is a little disconcerting.

 _Maybe he’ll get used to getting eaten_ , Tadashi thinks, horribly, and is glad he’s already covering his face because he really doesn’t want the little cat to suffer being in someone else’s mouth any more than he clearly already has to.

The cat spirits _pop_ out of the scene and it’s _Hisashi_ that lets out the obscenely loud sigh of relief.

Tadashi peeks at him through his fingers, and finds the witch sagged onto the snow, halfway on top of his friend. “Oh my god. Oh my _god_. I almost shat myself when those nekomata appeared,” he groans, more to the air than to anyone else.

Tadashi echoes the sentiment.

“You, kid. Yamaguchi. This friend of yours with the cure, are they a witch?”

“No, but she’s a healer.”

“Perfect,” he replies with another sinfully relieved sigh. He sits up, one arm remaining draped over Kazuhito’s feathery neck, and is suddenly all business. “You’re no witch, either, unless you’ve got a hell of a masking charm on you right now. You’re not with any coven, right?”

“No, I’m not. Not a witch, or with a coven…”

“Perfect!”

“ _What_ is?” Tadashi must ask, because Hisashi is in his _pajamas_ and Kazuhito is still a bird monster. That sounds like the opposite of perfect.

“So, this guy? Total secret. I can’t pay you for your secrecy, but I can do all kinds of magic favors, you dig? Seriously, anything you ever need, outside of money. I’m not too good on the financial front, or healing magic for that matter, but everything else, I’m your man! Just…” Hisashi rubs the back of his head, eyes downcast. “Don’t mention this to anyone. I’m in a coven, and they don’t really know. I’m betting that you’re a decent guy ‘cause you already didn’t throw us under the bus.”

Tadashi likes to think he’s a decent guy, but the answer gets yanked out of his hands when a doberman runs into the clearing.

“Princess, did you—” Saeko’s voice carries through the still night to them, and not a moment later, she shouts, “ _Yama_! There you are!”

Princess sits down beside Tadashi’s leg, the picture of solemn guard dog. Hisashi shoots him a panicked look as Saeko breaks into the clearing, breathless and panting and waving her shotgun with probably too much excitement.  _Definitely_ too much excitement.

Saeko takes one look at Hisashi and points. “Ah!”

“S-Saeko?”

“You’re one of Ryuu’s friends!”

“Oh, thank god,” Hisashi moans and sinks against Kazuhito again. “I'm going to die if one more shock pops into this scene. Saeko, holy shit, whatever you’re paying this kid, double it. He talked down three goddamned _nekomata_ from slurping us both up.”

“That doesn’t sound like vampires,” Saeko says, archly, and turns to Tadashi. He can’t help but quail under her gaze.

He jumps in surprise when she reaches up to ruffle his hair.

“Good fucking job, kid! I knew that luck would come in handy. Suga is going to explode with pride. Maybe I'm even halfway there.”

Tadashi finds himself with hot cheeks for the second time that night. If Saeko gives the situation her blessing, that’s good enough for him; Suga’s blessing would be the Ideal, the icing on the cake.

Vampires or not, he feels like it’s a job well done.

 

\--

 

“Feeling romantic?”

Suga cocks an eyebrow over the edge of his book (the first in _The Cat Who_ series, bless Daichi’s mother). “Are we skinnydipping in the hot tub again?” he asks, hopeful.

“No, Haru noticed the footprints in the snow this morning. We’d both have to face her and ask for permission if you want to try that again,” Daichi admits, and Suga lowers his book with a thoughtful hum that Daichi is quick to cut off. “This will still be nice, I promise.”

Suga maintains his politely suspicious expression; they both know that he believes Daichi is trying to coddle him after the poltergeist incident. Or, perhaps, in general. Suga likes being spoiled, sure, but he doesn’t need Daichi to walk on eggshells around him. “Nice is a pretty generic term,” Suga neutrally replies.

“It will be an adventure,” Daichi declares. Suga’s eyebrow goes ever higher. “Do you want me to start listing synonyms again? It’s something I used to do as a kid, and I think you’ll like it. I promise it involves copious amounts of cuddling.”

Copious amounts of cuddling _does_ sound nice. It’s their last night here, and Suga has enjoyed the fireplace and too many blankets thus far, but something other than collapsing into bed at different times and trying to sleep through the night _would_ be a refreshing change of pace.

Maybe Suga’s feeling hopeful again, or maybe that ‘teasing’ remark from last night stung more than he wants to admit.

“Alright, I’ll tag along with your adventure,” he says and closes his book. Daichi doesn’t think he notices, but Suga totally catches the little victorious clenched fist before Daichi turns from him to start pulling extra blankets from the chest at the foot of the bed.

“You’re going to need to put on pants, at least,” Daichi informs him while he makes a very impressive blanket pile.

“That seems like a step in the wrong direction.” But he does as ordered, shimmying into the jeans he set out for tomorrow, and curiously, Daichi does not tell him to put on anything overtop his t-shirt.

“Carry these,” Daichi says, dumping a load of blankets into Suga’s hardly prepared arms, and he nearly staggers with them all. Another, fleecy one goes around his shoulders, and Suga is beginning to have Suspicions about Daichi’s evening plans. Daichi himself has another few blankets and what appears to be a sleeping bag under one arm.

Sure enough, Daichi leads him outside.

“Daichi,” Suga warns, breath puffing out in annoyed wisps, but doesn’t follow up the thought with anything else. Daichi definitely knows by now how well Sugawara Koushi and subzero temperatures mix.

“It’s just for a few moments, and I need your help.”

They don’t head toward the car, nor toward the rough path toward either the main lodge or other cabins. They wade through the crunchy snow around the side of their cabin, and Daichi tosses the sleeping bag up onto the roof.

“ _Daichi_ ,” Suga tries again through the start of chattering teeth.

Daichi backs up a couple steps, around Suga, and takes a quick run toward the cabin. Suga absolutely has his eyes glued to Daichi’s ABU-clad ass the entire time he effortlessly grabs the edge of the roof and hauls himself over and on top of it. That had certainly been a sight. Pretty much worth the cost of freezing his toes off.

“Come on up,” Daichi calls, extending a hand down to him, and Suga snorts at him over the massive pile of blankets in his arms.

Suga has to throw them up to him, taking away his warmth one layer at a time, but soon he can do his own run-up to the wall. He feels ridiculous, honestly, clinging to a blanket like a cape and unfairly unfit when it comes to his boyfriend, but the way Daichi helps pull him up _may_ ease the sting. A little. They’re both in short-sleeved t-shirts out here, and watching his arms flex with the strain was another Good Thing in a very cold night.

“A ladder wouldn’t have worked?” Suga asks as he shivers.

“I don’t know where one is, and I don’t think you can make one out of thin air. C’mere, help me lay this down, and then we can start building your cocoon.”

The sleeping bag ends up completely unzipped, forming their mattress, and Daichi hurriedly tucks blankets under the edges to roll up over them. He lets Suga snuggle in and builds the nest around him, trusting him to keep a hollow spot for him to slither into, too, and Daichi has _definitely_ had practice with this sort of thing. Not ten minutes pass before the blanket pile is built and he slides in.

Already, Suga is significantly warmer, and he can’t fault any of Daichi’s building; this seems wonderfully designed to keep all of the heat in. He can hardly feel any coolness from beneath him, either. “This is quite the idea of romance,” he says with a smile.

Daichi grins around his hands, which he blows on to try to warm back up. “I try,” he says. His smile softens when Suga takes his hands and covers them with his own.

Honestly, he’s barely warmer. But it’s the thought that counts.

“Why did we have to do this outside?”

Daichi, very gently, pushes at Suga’s cheek until he has turned from him and is looking up at the night sky.

There is a smattering of clouds, bright with moonlight, but none of it takes away from _how many stars_ he can see. From his apartment, he can see maybe two on a clear night, but here—it’s unreal. The entire sky is full of twinkling lights, subtle shades of different hues, and as his eyes continue to adjust, he can pick out a splash of brighter, denser like that he realizes is the actual fucking _Milky Way_.

He can see the Milky Way. Without a telescope. Lying beside Daichi on a roof in the middle of nowhere.

“Oh my god,” Suga breathes.

“Yeah,” Daichi replies, and Suga can’t fault him for how smug he sounds.

“You brought us out here to freeze our asses off to look at _stars_?”

“Yep.”

“I love it,” Suga declares and somehow tears his gaze from the starry expanse overhead. His breath catches at Daichi’s expression—his rosy nose and cheeks from the cold, the contrast of his dark skin and hair against the white all around them, and the open, _expectant_ look he wears. Like he’s expecting some sort of addition, but as for what, Suga isn’t sure.

He scoots forward and presses his lips to the icy tip of Daichi’s nose.

Daichi blinks, then laughs in the warm breaths shared between them.

“Thank you,” Suga tells him.

“Nothing else?” Daichi prompts.

Suga doesn’t know where this is going. _Romance? I don’t know a thing about constellations_ , Suga thinks, too pleased to begin to worry. The only time he pays attention to the night sky is to keep track of phases of the moon to help with potion-making. “Show me the big dipper?”

Daichi drags him over until their sides are flushed and Suga’s head is pillowed on his shoulder; he uses his other arm to draw out a line until Suga can see shapes in the stars. “The north star is the one connected to the little dipper,” Daichi murmurs as he points out another, brighter star.

“Do you stay up late enough to stargaze a lot?”

“Shush. Otherwise I’m liable to fall asleep right now, and you’ll have to drag me back down to bed by yourself.”

“I’m sure we wouldn’t freeze to death if we slept up here,” Suga replies dryly, though he doesn’t believe it. It’s cozy, pressed together under their heaps of layers, but what little exposed skin there is has already begun to complain about the temperature. They’d have to burrow under completely and hope no one thrashed in the night. Suga doesn’t want to try dying of hypothermia.

But right now, Daichi is a solid heat against him, and they’re both warm enough, and Suga is more than content with it.

“How late can we stay up?” Suga asks as he adjusts. He rolls, as best he can up against Daichi, to return to the stars above.

“We don’t have to get up early. We’re not leaving until the afternoon, although mom and dad will want to stuff us with cake before we head out, so we’ll have to endure.”

Daichi’s father is finally due home tomorrow, delayed by weather, and Suga swallows down his nerves at the prospect of meeting the man. _At least Kaya already likes me_ , Suga thinks, and then, _cake?_ “I like cake. What kind?”

There’s a suspiciously long pause before Daichi mumbles, “Chocolate?”

“Why is there going to be cake, Daichi?” Suga asks.

“…It’s not a big deal,” he replies, and that clinches it for Suga.

“Were you going to tell me?” He'd wondered, briefly during the long car ride, why Daichi had picked such odd dates for a family visit, why his mother insisted on them. Not Christmas or Hanukkah, and they’re leaving before the new year (besides Suga’s whining).

“Maybe I didn’t want to admit to getting another year older,” Daichi hums.

“You’re such a jerk. I didn’t get you anything, and I can’t now…” Suga is _not_ a last-minute shopper. He has presents for Kiyoko and Yuu planned out for at least three years. “Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow.”

Except—new year’s eve, in the city, without a reservation? Daichi seems to read his mind and chuckles, a deep, rumbling vibration against Suga’s side. “It’s _fine_. I don’t need anything from you—you can buy me some rabbit food or something when we get back tomorrow if you’re so inclined.”

“You sure you’re not magical?” Suga grumbles. “A new year’s birthday is pretty important.” Asahi had been the same way, on the other side of the new year.

“I was born early in the morning, not even close to the actual new year.”

With that, Suga begins to get Thoughts about a gift.

“Stop thinking about it,” Daichi says with a tug on Suga’s hair. “We can go out for dinner next week, and _you’re_ my gift. I’m glad you agreed to come out here with me.”

Suga thinks about that, too. The kind of thoughts that aren’t so much an idea, not a worry, but something that chews on the back of his brain until he rolls over so he’s propped up on one elbow, staring down at Daichi. “Do you want to have sex?”

Daichi looks like Suga asked him if the sky is blue. “Um,” a pause, “yes? Where is this coming from? _Wait_ —you don’t have to give me _birthday sex_ , god.”

“So you take me up onto the roof, romantically cocoon me, _stargaze with me_ , and you don’t want to bang,” Suga deadpans, and Daichi frowns at him before pinching his cheek in retaliation. “Ow, rude!”

Daichi takes the lapse in attention to roll them, now hovering over Suga, backlit by the galaxies overhead. For such a simple move, it sets Suga’s heart pounding. “ _Yes_ , I want to have sex with you, and _no_ , I don’t want to hear any birthday sex jokes about it.”

“But _birthday suit_ —”

“So you want me naked? No ABUs?”

Suga’s heart absolutely trips over itself, the overexcited traitor. He prays that it’s dark enough Daichi can’t see the heat in his cheeks, but they’re still pressed close, Suga pinned beneath Daichi’s slightly larger frame, so he _knows_ he can feel the pounding in his chest. “Don’t tease me. That’s my job,” Suga petulantly informs him.

He wraps a leg around Daichi’s waist to gain enough leverage to flip them once more, although in the process, he manages to also fling most of the blankets off of them. Both men hiss at the cold, Suga hunkering down over Daichi to seek out the remaining body heat, and they scramble for the blankets with breathless giggles. Suga lays flush on Daichi, pressing his cold face into the crook of his neck, fingers anchoring their covers down by his shoulders while Daichi wraps his arms around Suga to keep them close.

“Maybe inside would be the best choice,” Daichi comments.

Suga nods, but doesn’t move. Neither does Daichi.

“I like your attempt at romance,” Suga murmurs against Daichi’s neck.

“Before or after you tried to freeze us?”

Suga is _quite_ tempted to throw off the blankets again out of spite. “Wrestling on a roof doesn’t seem like the wisest course of action, Daichi, so don’t tempt me. I don’t need to break my other arm.”

“Let’s avoid that,” Daichi agrees before beginning to place kisses against Suga’s hair until he reaches his ear. “Inside?” he whispers and instead of replying, Suga raises his head so their mouths can meet.

Cold noses bump and there’s an equally fascinating temperature discrepancy between their lips and tongues. Daichi reaches around Suga to pull up a blanket overtop them, cutting off what little light they had, but Suga hardly notices and closes his eyes as he sighs into the kiss.

Daichi rolls them, _again_ , and this time, they both lose several blankets _and_ Suga feels his leg suddenly hanging over free air.

They break the kiss and look guiltily at the corner of the roof, less than an arm’s length from them.

“Inside,” Suga agrees.

It feels even colder on the way down than it had been waiting before. Daichi hops down first, lowering himself from the edge (and maybe Suga’s gaze lingers on his arms) before reaching up again. “I can catch you,” Daichi says with a grin bright in the darkness.

Suga throws a quilt at him. “Are we leaving the stuff up here?”

“Better not.”

Ugh, responsibility. Suga gathers up their things, half of it still warm, and Daichi cannot catch all of it, so they end up with a pile in the snow. Not too much should melt into it, but they’re probably going to end up with enough soggy things, so Daichi hauls it all inside in trips while Suga figures out how to get down himself.

He can’t grasp the edge of the roof with his cast hand, and he’s not going to kid himself with supporting his weight on his other arm. He ends up sitting on the edge and jumping off that way; he lands heavily enough to fall to his hands and knees in the snow, and the abrupt shock of it against bare skin hurts more than anything else. Suga shakes the snow off his hands as he scrambles inside.

He collides with Daichi in the doorway. Daichi’s hands come out to steady him and Suga may or may not lean his weight comfortably against him. “You okay?”

“You can warm me up now,” Suga purrs and Daichi just about drops him. “Jeez, fine, go grab everything. I’m going to park myself in front of the fire before I have to reanimate or something.”

Suga misses the way Daichi clenches his jaw, tight, as he slides past to retrieve the rest of the blankets.

While he yanks off his boots, Suga spares a forlorn look to the bed, stripped down to the sheets. That will have to be dealt with before—sleep or sex, he isn’t sure, but like hell he’s spending his last night here freezing any further. Daichi predictably dumps the last load of blankets onto his head when he comes back inside, and Suga, knees drawn to his chest, allows himself to be a lump.

He thinks Daichi sits down next to him. “Warming up?”

“Getting there. Thanks for bringing everything else in.”

“Maybe you’ll have to warm me up, too.” It’s a laughable joke, and Suga wriggles an arm free just to blindly pat around until he can stick his fingers against the heat of Daichi’s neck. “How do you keep functioning?”

“Necromancy is a hell of a drug. I thought you were supposed to be taking _away_ layers, not adding more?” Suga pops his head out, hair a fluffy, staticky mess, and he finds Daichi grinning at the sight he makes. “Still wanna?”

“What, fuck?”

“I just want to know if I can get attached to warming myself here or if we have to make the bed for our sweet, romantic birthday sex,” Suga informs him. Daichi rolls his eyes. Loudly.

“It’s not birthday sex. And honestly, the whole ‘walking temperature play’ you have going on is more of a turn-off than a turn-on right now.”

Suga is about to retort, snappily (and likely with more physical retaliation), when Daichi reaches into his blanket lump and begins to drag him out. Suga helps as much as he is able, unwinding and kicking and freeing himself of the layers, and soon they’re both seated cross-legged in front of the fireplace, a single quilt draped over their shoulders. Daichi has taken Suga’s hands in his, covering them, pressing warmth into his chilled skin.

 _Damn him and his…_ Suga doesn’t know how to finish that. Daichi likes the romance of these moments, which is a minor plot twist but a welcome one, but he still hasn’t gotten his footing with it. Suga had barely been prepared for the harried, well-dressed god of thighs and ass when they met; he was not prepared for bookworm, military, or romantic.

Daichi looks at him, painted in reds and oranges from the fire, and holds his gaze as he brings Suga’s hands up to press a kiss against his slow pulse point. He keeps their fingers entwined, turning them over, placing another peck against Suga’s knuckles.

“Daichi,” Suga says without entirely meaning to. “I…”

Daichi has that expectant look again. Suga doesn’t know what he wants from him, but he knows he’d give it, gladly. It’s the same expression he wore on the roof with the stars.

The confusion Suga feels is not enough to erase the love welling up within him for this man.

 _Love_ , he thinks, the word not accompanied by his usual dose of nerves when he leans in to capture Daichi’s mouth with his own. They’re both warm now, pliant and comfortable even sitting on the floor in a mess of blankets. _Comfortable_ , Suga realizes; there’s no needy passion to their movements, despite how long they’ve been dancing around this with one another. The intimacy is there, has been there.

Daichi releases Suga’s hands and they turn so they’re facing each other, knees knocking. Suga rests his good hand on Daichi’s thigh, kneading the muscle beneath the fabric, and sets his chin on his fist in order to peer upward at Daichi with a smirk. “What’s that look for?” Daichi asks, leaning down to his level. “I was just trying to set the mood.”

“You’re so soft. I’m just appreciating how lucky I am to have you.”

“ _I’m_ the soft one?”

“Yes, very. _Stargazing_ , Daichi. I’m never letting you live it down.”

“ _Trying to set the mood_ ,” Daichi stresses, nose scrunched and mouth tipped downward. Suga wants to kiss the frown right off his stupidly handsome face. “I thought I’d give you an excuse to tell me something, since I’d like to hear at least _one_ confession from you when you’re fully conscious.”

Suga slowly straightens with something akin to horror dripping down his spine. “Something?” he echoes, and fears his sleepy self. _What did I say?_ He can’t think of any sort of secret he’d give away, nothing Daichi wouldn’t have already known, since he thinks his massive attraction and near-constant thirst for the man is more than obvious by now.

Suga absolutely does not deserve another eye roll tonight.

“Nevermind. I love you too,” Daichi mumbles, shoulders slumped, red-faced even in the firelight.

“ _That’s_ what I—god, don’t scare me like that!” Suga scolds and gives him a solid _thwack_ with his cast. Daichi yelps and catches his arm to prevent further assault, but Suga throws his weight forward, onto Daichi, and they both tumble onto the blankets piled beneath them. Daichi wheezes at the suddenness of it. “I thought—it was going to be something bad, or bad news, or—I don’t know!”

“You like jumping to bad conclusions, huh?”

“It’s habit.”

“With me, let’s both focus on the positives, okay? Like the fact that I nearly threw you out of bed to wake you back up after you dropped _that_ little bomb on me in the middle of the night.”

Suga has zero recollection of this. “It’s not like it was a secret,” he mumbles against Daichi’s shirt. “And I didn’t realize you wanted it to be a big, romantic confession, either. Sorry I stole my own thunder.”

“Can I hear you say it while you’re still awake and your mouth isn’t too busy with other things?”

Suga rises, just enough to make eye contact, and, incredibly aware of how they’re laying together right now, levelly asks, “Do you _want_ my mouth to be busy with other things?”

Daichi groans, in exasperation, and throws an arm over his face to hide himself. Suga works at prying it off while Daichi admits, “I actually meant—noises. Moans and stuff. I’m not turning down a blowjob, but I don’t see how you can consistently one-up me on these things.”

“I’m a natural-born minx,” Suga declares, and shuffles forward until he can kiss the tip of Daichi’s nose, “and I, Sugawara Koushi, love you, Sawamura Daichi.”

Suga is _absolutely_ aware of the kind of effect his smile can have on others. He doesn’t think that Daichi is aware, however, of the kind of picture he paints right now: the subtle splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the deep chocolate brown of his crinkled eyes, the easy way with which he shows off a casual sliver of perfect teeth.

Illuminated in golds and reds, between his neat, short hair and admirable physique, combined with the heart-stoppingly wholesome smile, Suga is getting a little too much Greek Statue from him to properly function.

So he can’t be blamed for dipping his head down to kiss the smile off of Daichi’s face. Love and affection swell within his chest, especially when he realizes that Daichi is still grinning against his mouth, and Suga can’t exactly stop himself from doing the same. They’re both smiling, then chuckling, quaking against each other and breathing each other’s laughter.

“Someone should write the next great romance about us,” Suga giggles. “That was so—look at how cheesy you made this!”

“ _I_ did this? _You_ did this—”

Suga shuts him up with another kiss, because he’ll blame Daichi for this _and_ win the argument, even if he must play dirty. The grins die away at the same time the laughter does, but the affection doesn’t leave their movements, only tempers down into something more muted.

Suga means to shift, so not so much of his weight is on Daichi, but Daichi doesn’t allow him. He runs his hands up over Suga’s hips and waist to settle in the dip of his back, beneath his shirt, and Suga marvels at the size of his hands as they continue tracing upward. Suga playfully nips at Daichi’s bottom lip while he rucks his shirt up further; he’s content to let Daichi rub at his back, skin contact firm and delicious, certainly no real distraction to how their mouths meet.

Suga doesn’t want to part, even as breaths grow short between them, but the hot, wet slide of Daichi’s lips and tongue against his makes him think dying may be worth it, for this. Surely he’s died for stupider things.

Daichi shifts beneath him, but he doesn’t relinquish his hold on Suga. Suga wiggles in response, trying to help with whatever Daichi wants to do, but they don’t end up moving or repositioning; Daichi, quite content with Suga’s weight atop him, only pulls his legs out from beneath Suga’s. Suga finds himself between Daichi’s spread legs, hips now slotted comfortably against each other, but Suga is surprised at what else the change reveals in the form of the amount of interest Suga can feel from Daichi.

“Is that your sword in your pocket, or are you just happy— _mmf_!” Suga cuts off with a muffled squeal when Daichi shoves his hand against his mouth. He wiggles his hips, just to make a point, but in his flailing effort to get breathing rights back again, he ends up accidentally knocking Daichi in the side of the head with his cast.

Daichi grunts and winces, but before Suga can apologize—Daichi hasn’t actually released his mouth yet—Daichi’s thighs come up to bracket his waist. Daichi flips them over with an ease that has Suga’s head spinning.

Daichi ends up seated on Suga’s hips, legs still nestled in tight against his sides, and pins Suga’s arms above his head. His cast is on top of his good hand, not with enough force to be uncomfortable, but it’d be difficult to get free, and Suga is _definitely certain_ that Daichi noticed his sudden interest in this swap.

“I should tie you down to keep you still for once,” Daichi says.

He _probably_ meant it as a continuation of their earlier joking.

But Suga absolutely wants to be tied down beneath Daichi’s weight, restrained and immobile and at his mercy. _That_ is a mental image that, while admittedly is not _new_ , is now backed up by glorious reality. “Please,” Suga breathes.

Daichi ducks his head, flush spreading to the tops of his ears and down his neck, and he seems uncertain for half a heartbeat. His hesitance clears as fast as it’d come, and he dips to kiss Suga once more. The passion and desire are back, intensified, and Daichi must notice immediately how Suga strains against him, seeking the force pinning him in place.

Daichi begins moving his hips, little movements more teasing than anything, but it’s enough for Suga to let out a whine that Daichi eagerly swallows. He draws back after a moment, and says in quiet wonder, “You actually like this.”

Suga is not pleased by another interruption. “Did you think I was joking all this time?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Daichi confesses. He leans down to give Suga one more kiss, then sits back. Suga has his complaint on the tip of his tongue, but Daichi strips off his shirt, and then reaches for Suga’s. “C’mon, off.”

He’s content to stay sitting on Suga, which isn’t an issue for his shirt (though it traitorously gets caught on his cast before Daichi helps him), but for his pants, that’s another matter. And while it may have been a little while since he’s gotten any real action, he’s _pretty fucking sure_ that pants need to be lost at some point in the process. At least a little. Even ABUs.

Suga reaches forward to help unbutton Daichi’s pants, but Daichi pushes his hands away, back to over his head. “Stay up there,” Daichi says and Suga whines again. “Or… can you grab the lube and stuff? With magic?”

“I need my hands for that,” Suga tells him (and does not tease him for having brought anything on the trip, since he did the same).

“Really?”

“I’m not a jedi. It’d be faster to grab them yourself.” Suga does not have faith that he wouldn’t accidentally toss something in the fireplace.

With one last kiss to Suga’s exposed collarbone, Daichi gets off to rummage around in his bag by the bed. Suga toes off his socks and peels off his jeans as fast as he is capable; they’re pooled around his knees by the time Daichi sits back down on the blankets next to him, eyebrow raised. “Impatient or something?”

“I thought _you_ were the one who was impatient,” Suga shoots back.

“I’m always ready to put my hands on you, but impatient seems rude here.” He helps Suga pull his jeans off his feet, but before he can do more than unbutton his own pants, Suga pounces on him.

Daichi ends up flat on his back, Suga between his legs, and Suga pauses long enough to tell him, “You can be impatient on your birthday.”

He points at the clock on the wall, waiting just long enough for Daichi to see that it’s past midnight, before Suga runs his hands up the hard planes of Daichi’s chest. His fingers brush a nipple, and Daichi’s breath hitches—to be brought up again later, but now, Suga sinks his teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder just for the way he jumps against him.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Suga murmurs, apologetic, as his lips and tongue soothe over the bite. Daichi nods, and Suga sucks against the mark to earn another little jolt.

Suga has always enjoyed marking partners, but Daichi is exceptionally, beautifully responsive. Suga is beginning to think that Daichi’s neck is particularly sensitive—and it’s not even _his_ birthday—when Daichi arches against him and Suga can feel that he is definitely hard. And still wearing those pesky pants.

He kisses his way down Daichi’s chest, chaste if wet, running his nails over the skin he passes over. He hooks his fingers into Daichi’s pants and pulls, and his boyfriend obligingly lifts his hips. Suga wastes no time with his boxers, either, yanking them down as well, and it’s not his first time seeing Daichi naked but it’s his first time seeing him hard, and if he stares a little too long, no one can judge him.

Daichi’s body is beautiful, in every way Suga can think of. In moments like these, there is no insecurity comparing himself to the other, just raw appreciation for the ridiculously attractive man he has managed to fall in love with.

Suga _may_ be taking his time lowering his open mouth, but he doesn’t think he deserves the bottle of lube that hits his shoulder.

He grabs it, tongue still sticking out, but Daichi answers the question before he can ask. “It’s my birthday, so I can ask for this, right?”

Suga thinks he can hear the _whirr-click_ of his brain shutting down like an old computer. “You. Uh.” _Smooth, Koushi_. “Oh, you want to make me do all the work?”

“You offered,” Daichi loftily replies, like he isn’t just as red as Suga feels.

Okay, so this requires a change of mental images. In a good way. All of this is pleasant surprise after pleasant surprise, but fucking one Sawamura Daichi is not necessarily how Suga envisioned this when it was first brought up.

Suga also realizes he only has one hand to work with.

He can do this. Creatively. “Humor me,” he mumbles, unsure if Daichi hears him, but at least he spreads his legs a bit further in no unclear terms as to what he’s hoping for.

Daichi has to sit up and help him smear lube on his fingers (he seems to realize then that Suga may be having difficulties), but Suga pushes him back down with his cast arm and nudges his legs further apart. He lays down in the space between, and, using his right arm to pin Daichi’s hips down to keep him in place, he hooks one leg over his shoulder and grabs the stiff cock with his left hand. Daichi barely has time to suck in a breath before Suga’s mouth is on him.

Suga laps at the head of Daichi’s dick, looking up at him with lidded eyes. Daichi’s eyes are closed, mouth open and panting. A pretty picture, but Suga knows he can do better.

He closes his lips over the tip, giving him a coy suckle, before opening his jaws wide to sink down over him. In times such as these, he’s never more glad for his lack of a gag reflex, and he takes a breath through his nose before relaxing his throat and pressing down until he has all of Daichi in him. His now-free hand has gone downward, idly circling Daichi’s ass, smearing lube liberally around while Daichi adjusts to the sudden sensations with a strung-out groan.

“S-Suga,” Daichi says, a little hoarsely, and Suga hums in acknowledgement. Daichi gasps out a rough noise, and, pleased, Suga swallows around him just to hear it again. “Shit, Suga,” Daichi sighs, one hand lifting, then hovering uselessly over Suga’s hair.

Suga raises his head enough to meet his palm, and Daichi’s fingers card through starlight locks a few times before coming to gently rest. (They can work on the hair-pulling angle later.) Suga times the first press of his finger with another deep bob of his head. He’s rewarded by the momentary tightening of Daichi’s hand in his hair; he repeats the motion, pushes his finger in past the first knuckle, and only then gives Daichi a moment to adjust and catch his breath.

It’s been awhile since Suga has done this, and he thinks it may have been some time since Daichi got fucked, too. It takes him a little while to truly relax, even with the pleased noises escaping him. Suga pulls off, catching his own breath while mouthing at the side of Daichi’s shaft. He thinks about asking, checking in with him, but Daichi catches his eye and breaks into a _smile_. It’s honestly a smile way too wholesome for this moment.

“You’re good at this. The deepthroating was a surprise,” Daichi earnestly tells him.

He sounds _far_ too composed. Suga, ignoring the burning on his face, dips down to recapture Daichi’s dick, swallowing down to the root in one go just for the harassed edge Daichi’s voice takes.

“If you’re going to— _ah_!” Daichi cuts off with a surprisingly higher-pitched moan, at odds with the gravelly baritone Suga had been getting used to. Suga crooks his finger again and wishes he could smirk around the length in his mouth, but surely Daichi can feel the smugness radiating off of him.

Daichi squirms, thighs tensing on either side of him, and he half-wishes he could pull off and pay respect to them, but he has a goal in mind. That goal involves another finger, and this time, Daichi adjusts far quicker.

Suga must force his hips back down a few times—he definitely appreciates the enthusiasm and has no issues with the depth, but he’s also working with a handicap, and it’s difficult to finger someone while getting facefucked at their pace.

Daichi’s voice is beginning to sound strung-out, dragging on the low ends, making his voice even deeper. Suga could listen to it all day. He adds a third finger, and curls them insistently upward against Daichi’s prostate. Another sweet sound is his reward, and he hums, rewarding Daichi in turn. “Suga,” Daichi gasps, hand tightening on his hair again, “I-I’m close—!”

Good. Suga bobs his head with renewed vigor, ignoring the ache in his jaw, and Daichi rides down on his fingers as much as the arm pinning him will allow. He’s tense, trembling, and the sheen of sweat on his skin catches the firelight in a way that’s surely straight out of a romance novel. Suga keeps his eyes open, upward as best he can, wanting to see as much as possible.

The way Daichi arches against him doesn’t let him see that much, but his body is a masterpiece Suga is happy to play.

Daichi’s voice breaks on Suga’s name and he tugs, now insistent, on Suga’s hair. Like fuck Suga’s pulling off _now_.

Daichi comes with a rough, wordless shout and Suga swallows it all down with ease. Daichi’s thighs could probably squish him with how they tighten, but _oh_ , what a way to go. By the time Suga pulls off of him, licking up any remaining mess, Daichi is a sated, relaxed wreck of a man.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you swallowed,” Daichi grumbles, one arm thrown over his face.

“Less cleanup,” Suga happily replies. Both of their voices are fairly fucked, and Suga feels proud of that. He gently, carefully withdraws his fingers from Daichi, and he winces, but sighs and pulls his leg from off of Suga’s shoulder.

“Get up here so I can return the favor,” Daichi orders, but Suga only blinks at him, content to lay on his hips. “Oh, _please_ tell me you’re still hard, otherwise I’m going to—”

“ _Yes_ , I am,” Suga hotly interrupts and bites at the jut of Daichi’s hipbone in retaliation. “I’m a little slow to start but I’m not dead yet, Daichi.”

Daichi squirms again beneath him, then sits up, forcing Suga to sit back on his heels. He feels like he’s being examined when Daichi’s eyes rake over him, and he doesn’t know whether to preen or grab for the blankets. “I can’t deepthroat like you can,” Daichi begins, and Suga stops him right there with a kiss. Daichi doesn’t complain about what he must taste like (what a polite lover), but he does furrow his brow in confusion at the second interruption.

“So, my plan,” Suga says, pausing to peck him again, “is that the birthday boy gets multiple orgasms. You down for a round two? You _did_ kind of imply more, but that’s fine if you’re tired.”

So Suga wants to get held down. Sue him.

Daichi grins, then it’s his turn to pepper Suga with little pecks all over his mouth and cheeks, up to the mole by his eye. “Give me a few minutes. What about you? I’m going to go crazy if you don’t let me touch you once tonight, Koushi.”

Suga’s heart stutters in his chest at the same time his dick gives a _very_ interested twitch. The hoarseness of Daichi’s voice, the rarity with which he uses his given name, the stupid fucking romantic firelight and—and he totally deserves it when Daichi smirks, mischievous and evil and _absolutely_ promising filth in the very near future. Suga swallows down a whimper because while he may be a weak man, he’s not _that_ weak, and Daichi must not know the extent of power he holds over him.

“Okay, so we found something you like,” Daichi teases, and crowds forward until Suga is leaning back on his hands and Daichi is between his legs.

“You have found _plenty_ of things I like tonight.” Suga is aware of Daichi’s weight nearly over him, leaning in to chase Suga, cupping his face and kissing him again. There’s too few points of contact between them—particularly with the whole hard dick thing—but Daichi is just _there_ , solidly in Suga’s space, and Suga wants _more_.

Suga gets it when Daichi wraps his hand around his aching cock and he can’t help but jolt into his grasp. Daichi swallows Suga’s initial gasp, but pulls back a moment later, resting his forehead against Suga’s. His pace is slow but his grip is firm, and despite the way Daichi stares at him like he’s a precious sight, Suga feels his eyes fluttering from the sensation.

“You’re gorgeous,” Daichi breathes and dips downward to suck at the pale column of Suga’s neck. Suga lets his head tip back with another sigh and allows Daichi space. “I still have no idea how I snagged you, I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Saddled with me, more like,” Suga cheekily replies.

Daichi tightens his grip on the upstroke and Suga can help neither his moan nor the tilt of his hips. He’s tempted to say something else, just because he _does_ like self-depreciative humor (especially if it will get a rise out of Daichi in a nice sexual direction), but Daichi isn’t letting him compose himself. His grip and rhythm are both just _right_ , and the press of teeth against the junction of his neck and shoulder is too good.

Suga’s voice cracks over a call of Daichi’s name when he bites down, and suddenly Suga is in very real danger of finishing this night way too early.

But these thoughts slip away in the urgency to come; Daichi is still all around him, in his space, so very present that it makes Suga heady with him. They both smell like sweat and sex, but Daichi is all that much hotter for it, and Suga feels like he’s melting against him. He must have a damn steep learning curve, because Daichi is pressing far too many of his buttons, and it can’t all be blamed on how pent-up Suga feels.

“Daichi,” Suga gasps, nearly tripping over the hard consonants. He means to warn him, one last-ditch attempt even in spite of how fucking amazing his hand feels. Daichi murmurs something against the skin of his throat, and Suga doesn’t catch it over his own rapid breathing. “Daichi, I’m— _fuck_ —”

Daichi halts in his movements in order to squeeze the base of Suga’s cock.

Suga’s hips jolt upward, chasing climax and trying to unfurl that tight heat deep in his belly, and he’s unaware he’s whining until his voice is already winding down. “A-Are you,” he pants, cracking open an eye to try to glare, but he feels too _everything_ to muster one, “are you fucking _s-serious_ , Daichi.”

“Something tells me you may take more than a few minutes for another, so bear with me,” Daichi says sweetly and has the gall to put a peck on the mole near Suga’s eye again.

“ _Please_ ,” Suga pleads, pushing against Daichi’s grip on him. “O-Okay, so my refractory period is like, six months, but that doesn’t mean I can’t die of blue balls the same as any hot-blooded male!”

Daichi stares at him.

“It was a joke!” Suga groans and flops onto his back so he can cover his burning face. “You’re right. I have one in me for tonight. But that doesn’t mean be a fucking _tease_!”

“Sorry,” Daichi says without meaning it at all. He releases Suga, stroking him twice because _he is a fucking tease_ , and Suga wants to squirm out of his skin. Both from the denied orgasm and the heat that is back in Daichi’s gaze. “Hand me the lube again, I think it’s somewhere by your head.”

Suga fumbles blindly around with his good hand until he finds the bottle, and staunchly ignores the way Daichi crawls over him to settle on his thighs. Somehow, he doesn’t seem actually prepared for the whole Getting To Fuck Sawamura Daichi deal. Daichi manages to find the condom in the blankets near their legs, and he holds it in his mouth while popping the cap on the bottle Suga hands him.

Suga wants to offer to help, again, but the sight makes his mouth go dry. Daichi is up on his knees, one hand behind himself, cock bobbing hard and flushed between his legs again. He grins around the foil wrapper in his mouth, expression unfairly attractive and smug even though his breath catches at his fingers’ work.

It isn’t long, prepared as he was before, and then Daichi wipes the excess lube off on his thigh and carefully opens the condom with his teeth. He’s not teasing this time when he rolls it on for Suga.

When Suga reaches down to help—or, alright, probably grope Daichi’s beautiful legs as much as humanly possible—Daichi leans forward over him again and _growls_ , “Hands over your head.”

Suga is quick to lift his arms and let Daichi do whatever he wants to him.

Suga isn’t sure where to look—there’s a lot to take in right now—and his attention flickers back and forth between Daichi’s face and where he grabs his dick and holds it still. Suga is pretty sure they’re both holding their breath when Daichi first sinks down over him.

Suga swears but Daichi is louder between them, and that makes the situation impossibly better. (Suga starts to think he may be developing a _thing_ for Daichi’s voice, even more than he already had, at any rate.) By the time Daichi is flush against him, a solid, warm weight on Suga’s hips and so impossibly _tight_ around him, Daichi’s eyes are open again, and he surveys Suga down his nose in a calculating way. It makes Suga swallow uselessly. His mouth is cotton-dry.

Daichi doesn’t move for a long moment, and Suga lets him adjust, but concern forces his hands downward. He massages the meat of Daichi’s thigh, and asks, “You okay?”

“Better, now.” Daichi consciously relaxes, and readjusts himself, settling on Suga’s lap and making him whine again. “Hands back up,” he says, softer this time, and takes Suga’s fingers in his own as he brings them up over Suga’s head on the blanket. He braces his weight on Suga’s cast for a moment while he adjusts his weight again, rocking his hips forward for the first time and making them both groan.

“Don’t be a tease again,” Suga warns.

“Is this alright if I _don’t_ tease you?” Daichi asks in return, and Suga nods, quick and eager.

Daichi takes his time to get into a rhythm, and Suga strains beneath him, just for the feel of Daichi’s weight, pinning him in place. He never quite lifts enough for Suga to gain enough leverage to thrust upward, instead rocking and sliding on Suga’s lap, but it’s more than enough to have them both gasping against each other.

Soon, Daichi resettles his weight and leans down so Suga can reach his mouth, and Suga wrests away as much control of the kiss as Daichi will allow. He still controls the pace of everything else, but Suga bites and licks and swallows down every one of Daichi’s sounds.

Then, they’re not quite wordless moans, but Suga catches the rasp of “ _Koushi_ ” that is definitely Too Much right now.

“Daichi,” Suga warns, again, and Daichi laughs against his mouth. He releases Suga’s hands, and one of his own instead combs through Suga’s sweaty, pale hair again, and Suga arches his neck into the touch.

“Koushi, you feel goddamned amazing,” Daichi rumbles and Suga whines yet again, high and keening; he feels like one long whine, honestly, at Daichi’s mercy and it’s fucking great. He hadn’t expected this side of him but Suga cannot get enough. He wants to drown in the sensation of Daichi’s ass clenching down around him, the solid weight of him against his hips, the large hands keeping him down.

He’s definitely not going to last as long as Daichi deserves. Especially if he keeps up the name bullshit.

Suga plants his feet flat on the floor; Daichi’s weight is now balanced high enough that he has the leverage needed to thrust up, and Daichi lets out a _shout_ and his hand tightens on reflex on Suga’s hair.

Suga can’t help but grin, wide and half-feral, and Daichi looks down at him with equal parts wonder and lust. They reach a silent agreement on their new rhythm.

Daichi leans back just far enough, releasing Suga’s hair in favor of fisting his own dick, and Suga meets him halfway on every shift of their hips. Hands free, Suga finds Daichi’s hips, guiding him and digging into the thick muscle as he trails down to his thighs. Everything about this ought to be illegal, but Suga stares up at the sight like he wants to burn it into his memory forever, anyway.

Daichi’s grunts are closer to shouts half the time now, having found the proper angle and with assistance from Suga beneath him, and Suga can feel the build back up to his orgasm again. He grits his teeth against it and Daichi does not complain about the way his nails dig into his skin. “You close again?” Daichi asks, not unkindly, but there’s the barest lilt to his voice that Suga meets as a challenge.

The thought of using magic to aid him passes his mind, fleetingly, but this is for Daichi and that’s not something to spring on someone without warning. Suga has caught onto the rough angle that makes Daichi shout, however, and that’s more than enough help. Daichi definitely doesn’t look quite so self-satisfied when his chin drops down to his chest and he’s trying to bite his lips to muffle himself.

His pace on himself has increased, too, and Suga can feel him clenching around him, and hopes to fuck that means Daichi is as close as he is. “Daichi,” Suga says in little more than another keen, and drags his hand up his thigh, hip, side, until he’s gripping his bicep and tugging him back down far enough to meet him in an open-mouthed kiss.

It’s messy and distracted but Daichi is just as eager as he is.

He doesn’t know who finishes first, only that they tip each other over the edge, and Suga is certain he’s expired with how hard he comes.

Things are hazy for a moment, and with his head in the clouds, Suga can only dimly register Daichi flopping down on top of him with an exhausted huff.

 _Daichi sounds nice when he comes_ , Suga thinks, pleased, and wonders if he had correctly heard the word ‘love’ thrown out again. The thought sends a happy tingle up his spine unrelated to the afterglow. “Hey,” he croaks, then tries again after swallowing. “Hey, hot stuff. You’re squishing me.”

“What kind of pillow talk is that,” Daichi hoarsely replies. Suga can feel his wince as they separate, and Daichi rolls over onto his back, legs thrown over Suga’s. They both have a mess of come and sweat smeared across their chests now. Beautiful.

“Happy birthday, I love you?” Suga tries again.

Daichi smacks him with his cleaner hand. “If you love me, please get up and get us a washcloth.”

“What if I lick it off,” Suga offers, because he doesn’t want to move. He’s tired, and kind of sore, because fucking on a floor (even with a couple blankets) is maybe something for younger men.

“I don’t think either of us can handle another round,” Daichi replies.

Daichi helps him sit up, but Suga is the one to get up and rummage around for something to clean up with. He tosses the condom in the trash, leans a little too heavily against the counter while he waits for the running water to turn hot, and ends up nearly flopping back onto Daichi with a yawn. “We should get to bed,” Suga mumbles against Daichi’s shoulder. Convincingly. But before that— “What time is it?”

“Almost half past one. We’re going to be _exhausted_ tomorrow.”

Suga, personally, is always exhausted. Doesn’t mean he looks forward to it. “What time were you born?”

Daichi yawns, and is too tired to ask Suga about his strange line of questioning. “Something like two or three in the morning. Mom wanted to win the prize for the last baby born of the year, but, well, it didn’t really work out too well.”

Suga chuckles, muffled by Daichi’s skin. “Asahi… His parents were the same way, they wanted the first baby of the year. He was born around six or seven in the evening…”

“What about you?”

“June.”

“C’mon, bed, before we fall asleep and wake up _really_ regretting everything.”

Suga whines and grumbles, but they manage to drag over enough blankets to make the bed habitable again, and Suga sets his phone alarm before burying his face in the nearest pillow. Daichi curls around him a moment later with a sigh and a smooch for his hair. “…How old are you now, anyway?” Suga mumbles before he drifts off.

“Twenty-seven. Gross, right.”

 _That_ catches Suga’s attention. He cracks open an eye, and props himself up just enough so he can peer at Daichi. “I’m _older_ than you?”

Daichi blinks up at him, like a sleepy deer in the headlights. “You are?”

“I thought you were older, honestly. You have the whole salaried job and responsible thing—”

“ _You_ have grey hair, if we’re pointing fingers. How old are you?” Daichi asks.

“Twenty-seven. And a half. I can’t believe you’re such a graverobber—do you ever say something, and immediately regret it.”

“You seem to do that enough for both of us.”

“I was so nice to you tonight,” Suga laments and burrows back into the other man, wrapping arms and legs around and maybe not caring if he accidentally knocks Daichi in the head again with his cast. “So nice!”

“You were.”

“You weren’t half bad yourself, either. I liked the stargazing. Could’ve done without the hypothermia.”

“There’s no pleasing you, is there,” Daichi sighs, sleep tugging at his voice, and Suga glances up at him to find his eyes already closed.

“You please me plenty. Goodnight, and don’t hate me in an hour when I wake you up again.”

“Mm.”

Just as planned. Suga drifts off with a smile against Daichi’s collarbone.

When his alarm goes off a scarce hour later, Suga hates every romantic bone in his body. He about goes back to sleep, but it takes too long to turn off his alarm, and he’s nearly awake by the time he’s staring at his phone wallpaper (a picture of himself, Kiyoko, and Sunshine) through one squinted eye.

Okay, so it’s been awhile since he’s done this. But he knows how. Roughly. He knows the science—magic—behind it, anyway, and it will be worth this unholy hour if he manages to do it. Suga draws the runes in the air by his head, and motes of light spring up over his fingertips, dim and pretty in the dark cabin. With another rune drawn beneath them, they begin twinkling before dying out.

“Daichi,” Suga rasps, and shakes Daichi with his cast. The man grumbles and turns away, but professional sleep octopus Sugawara Koushi already has him in his clutches. “ _Daiiiichi_ ,” he purrs against his ear, and Daichi’s face screws up in sleepy irritation.

Finally, he gets a, “What.”

“Wake up, I have your birthday present.”

“Suga, ‘m _sleeping_.”

“Please, it’ll be worth it.”

Daichi doesn’t look like anything short of winning the lottery would be worth it, but he slits open an eye, because he’s a good and patient person. Suga sits up, just to show him that it’s possible for a human body to be somehow awake at this hour despite enthusiastically fucking on the floor not too long ago, and Daichi is, after tremendous effort and groaning, upright beside him a moment later.

“Follow me,” Suga tells him, and takes Daichi’s finger to draw against the sheets. It takes a few times to get the curve right, but this is a simple rune. “You need to do that, on your own, but I need you to _feel_ it.”

“…Feel what,” Daichi says flatly.

This is going to be a hard sell to someone grouchy and half-asleep. It’s his fault for being a morning baby. “Like… Like you’re in water, slowly getting covered, and you feel the cold temperature crawling up your body and—”

“Is this a ghost story or something?”

“No. Just. Let all your energy well up. Like you’re meditating, except you need to focus on your fingers. On the mark you’re making.”

Daichi sighs, and traces over the mark again. The first time doesn’t catch, but his fingers twitch the second time, and he frowns as he reopens his eyes completely. _Now_ he’s paying attention.

The third time, the same little mote of light sparks to life over his index and middle fingers.

Daichi raises his hand, and the light follows his movement, hovering in front of his face, and illuminating the steadily growing starry-eyed expression that comes about with the dawning realization of what Daichi just did. “Is that…?” he whispers, like he’s scared it’ll vanish.

“Magic is stronger on someone’s birthday,” Suga says and kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday, Daichi. If you had a _spark_ mark it’ll twinkle like a star.”

“What the hell is a _spark_ mark,” Daichi breathes. He moves his hand and the light follows him, trickling down over his fingers and onto the palm of his other hand. Suga takes it, and draws the rune until Daichi can mimic him, and Daichi jumps when the light flickers a few times, bright, before dying out.

He immediately tries again, and Suga shakes with the effort to contain his laughter at the raw _delight_ on Daichi’s face. Daichi puts both marks together from the start, and the light lasts a little longer, flaring half a dozen times before dying to nothing. “Alright,” Suga says, and puts his hands over Daichi’s, “that’s enough. Trust me, you don’t want magical exhaustion.”

“I can handle more than a light,” Daichi snorts.

“You’re new to this, and we have no idea what kind of magical talent you have. Most people can handle a little light, yes, but we can talk to Kiyoko later about more practice. Sleep time now.”

“You can’t just _share magic with me_ and then tell me to go back to sleep.”

“I can introduce you to a sleep spell next,” Suga deadpans.

“…You gave me actual, literal magic for my birthday,” Daichi says, and only after he’s satisfied with how red Suga turns does he slide back down into bed. “I’d kind of given up on trying it since I saw how much of a headache it gave you. But making your own nightlight is pretty fun.”

“Wait until I teach you binding charms.”

“Definitely time to go back to sleep.”

Suga chuckles as Daichi kisses his bangs, then mole, then lips. They whisper goodnights, tangled together once more, and Suga listens to the steady, strong beat of Daichi’s heart as he drifts off for the rest of the night this time.

 

\--

 

Kenma wishes they were back in the tengu realm with its weak, artificial sun, or even in the strange times of the goblin market. Or even still downtown, where the tall buildings can cast enough shade to give him reprieve for a little while longer from the dawn light.

But instead, they snuck out of the tengu realm for the second time, and Kenma faces the end of the year.

He feels sick when he thinks about it. Kuro, if he’s awake enough to notice, hasn’t said anything about the date.

They need to prepare. Kenma doesn’t know precisely what the end of a demonic contract is like, but there are basic precautions they can take. Being alone would be the absolute minimum. Sleep soot would be great, too.

Past that, Kenma doesn’t think about the possibility of having to _put down_ Kuro anymore. He wants to make sure Kuro will be okay. He’ll need to help him maintain or regain a settled form, and who knows what kind of physical toll this will take on them both. Kenma wouldn’t be surprised if it eats through his magic before it ends, too.

They’re headed to Kenma’s original apartment. Kiyoko and Masha aren’t a threat this morning, not like they have been.

Kenma is lost in his thoughts, Kuro tugged drowsily along in his wake, when the contract abruptly snaps and ends.

They both stagger and fall to the ground with matching, shouted swears. Kenma thinks he sees Kuro splash back into an unsettled form in his peripheral before he squeezes his eyes shut and curls into a ball to try to ease the pain. It’s sharp in his sternum, a hook just under his heart, but it’s fleeting. It fades long before Kenma catches his breath again.

And then, they’re okay.

They lay panting on the dirty city sidewalk at the end of December, staring up at the pink sky, and neither says a word.

 _How anticlimactic_ , Kenma thinks dully. What’s done is done at this point. He survived. Now he just has to see if he has a feral demon about to eat him, or if Kuro has turned into something worse.

Kuro peers up at him, a blob of black against the rest of his formless shape on the pavement, and blinks wide, white eyes. “You okay?” he asks, tentative and scared.

“I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Not hungry,” Kuro quickly replies.

“Okay,” Kenma allows, and forces a small smile, “but do you still hurt? Can you settle again?”

“No,” Kuro says, and squints a little. He rises up, not quite humanoid but a little more solid. “…Oh.”

Kenma raises an eyebrow, prompting, and extends his hand.

Next thing he knows, he has a demon throwing himself at him. He’s pleased to realize that fear doesn’t kick in. He’s flat on his back, and Kuro, settled and naked atop him, looks starry-eyed and exuberant and full to bursting with joy. “I can lie to you!”

What a thing to be excited about.

“The sky is green, two plus two equals seven, and I don’t love you! Kenma, I can _lie_ to you!” Kuro nearly shrieks, and shoots off of Kenma. He’s two steps away before he sinks into a puddle again, and Kenma has no idea if it was on purpose or not.

His mind settles on the last bit of that against his wishes. _So that’s a lie?_ He doesn’t address it or the happy warmth it creates in his belly. His body feels lighter, somehow, as if the contract had been a weight for so long that he’d gotten used to it. He wonders if Kuro feels the same. “C’mon, Kuro.”

The name suddenly feels wrong on his tongue. Kuro doesn’t seem to notice, and remains in Kenma’s shadow, vibrating in his excitement until they reach the safety of the apartment complex. There still is, always is, damage control to do. Kenma, facing this earlier in the day than anticipated, now gets the fun task of hiding an _uncontracted_ demon from the city.

The things one does for love, he supposes.

 

\--

 

“Koko!” Daichi calls and opens his arms wide. The dog bounds up to him and he nearly ends up flat on his back from the force of it. Suga isn’t sure what kind of dog Koko is, only that he’s huge and shaggy and brown.

“He’s always like this,” Kaya says wryly, grinning behind her hand.

“Nice to see you, too,” Sawamura Hiromasa says in a flat voice. Daichi grins up at him over the dog crawling all over him. “Happy birthday, Dai.”

“You got me a dog,” Daichi says with a cheeky grin that has Suga hiding his giggles. Some first impression.

“He missed you.” With that, Hiromasa extends a hand down, helping his son up and out from beneath the furry threat. They hug, briefly, Daichi’s childhood dog still circling around them with a tail going a mile a minute. “It’s nice to see you again, even for today. Visit more often!”

“Dear,” Kaya gently interrupts, and tugs Suga over toward them. “This is Daichi’s partner, Koushi.”

Suga snaps to attention, nervous for the first time since arriving today. “S-Sugawara Koushi, sir. Call me Suga.”

Daichi mouths ‘ _sir_ ’ behind his father’s shoulder, because he’s a jerk. Hiromasa, who honestly looks very little like Daichi _except_ in his naturally stern expression, raises an eyebrow. “You a military boy too?”

“No.”

“He’s a city boy,” Kaya helpfully adds. “And he’s already become my new best friend, so don’t scare him off with any macho routine.”

Suga _really_ appreciates the loyalty. Hiromasa’s sharp gaze never wavers, but he does seem to become more thoughtful, and after a long, tense moment, he claps Suga on the shoulder. “Nice to meet you. Treat Daichi right, and you’ll do right by me.”

Suga deflates with such a sigh of relief he’s honestly surprised Kaya doesn’t burst out laughing. “Alright,” Daichi intervenes, _somehow_ with that massive dog in his arms, “we’ll be going then.”

“Put that beast down, you’re going to have to wash your hands again,” Kaya sighs. (Suga tries to figure out the logistics of a five hour drive with a dog the same size as him in a small car.) “Honestly, I’m surprised he didn’t get a dog right out of enlistment.”

“He has a rabbit,” Suga volunteers. Both of Daichi’s parents stare at him, and Daichi’s ears go red. Suga breaks into a bright smile. “Her name is Dinah. She’s very sweet and gets along with my cat very well. I have pictures!”

“ _Suga_ ,” Daichi says, quick to drag his boyfriend away from his parents, presumably to also wash his hands before cake.

They only have time for lunch and a small family thing before they leave. Haruna handed Daichi a wrapped gift that morning when he’d dropped off the keys, but now, it's just Suga, alone with Daichi’s immediate family. Totally not a reason to be nervous.

Suga learns that Daichi’s father is a truck driver, and usually ends up taking Koko with him (because of loneliness, according to Kaya, although she does not say whose). Weather had been bad this year, but Suga is glad they at least had this much time together, even through the guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Any time he opens his mouth to say they can stay another day, he can talk to Yuu about tomorrow, Daichi’s hand finds his and squeezes. Suga is beginning to think he’s dating another mind-reader.

The cake turns out to be delicious, and chocolate, just as Daichi predicted.

Kaya loads them up with leftovers and kisses Suga on both cheeks as goodbye. Hiromasa rolls his eyes at his wife, awkwardly shakes Suga’s hand, and Suga is quick to retreat behind Daichi until their farewells are said. He isn’t sure if it’s telling or not that Daichi spends the most time saying goodbye to Koko. Who does, in fact, try climbing into the car.

Suga is too happy to be leaving the awkward atmosphere with Daichi’s father that he’s not nervous about being in a car again until they’re twenty minutes out.

“Do they hate me?”

“Oh my god,” is all Daichi says, and he’s _grinning_ , asshole.

“I’m tearing away their only son on his birthday to go back and angst over my dead friend,” Suga groans, covering his face with his cast.

“Suga, it’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve made this trip on my birthday, jeez. And _we’re_ going back home to grab our pets, stay in tonight, and you owe me dinner next week.”

Suga allows this. The image is appealing, at least. _Talk with Yuu again_ , Suga adds to the checklist. _Talk with Kiyoko again_. So much of this trip seems to have cleared his personal air; he feels a little lighter, and certainly less of a wreck than before. Asahi is still a deep drag on his heart, and he doesn’t look forward to speaking with either Yuu or Kiyoko, but it has to be done. He’s been selfishly running away for a little too long for the supposed elder in this relationship.

Not that he ought to drag Daichi into his personal affairs any further.

“I miss Sunny,” Suga says as he stares out the window, just to break the noise of Daichi’s bad taste in music. It’s the Spice Girls again. “But thanks for dragging me out. This was fun.”

“We’ll do it again next year,” Daichi says. An offer, not overly hopeful, but a statement of his belief that they’ll last that long. Suga smiles against his fingers and turns a little more so Daichi can’t see how silly that’s made him.

“Yeah, for sure. Next year, another family vacation.”

So they return to the city with a new year on the horizon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( i write sins _and_ tragedies
> 
> if i specifically named everyone i sought out advice for writing the smut from, this note would be longer than the chapter, but to each and every one of you who patiently listened to my agony and dealt with my tasteless questioning, _thank you_. 
> 
> and thank you to dragonslayer for another good dose of russian fixin'! 
> 
> also, for the first time, [there is a **deleted scene**](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/post/148654108192)! mostly because ao3's character limit fucked me over _again_. the scene was another daisuga one, their dinner with kaya  & the rest of the family. 
> 
> 1Котенок! = "Kitten!" [ return ]  
> 2Лёвочка. = "Lyovochka." [ return ]  
> 3Прекратите драться! = "Stop fighting!" [ return ]  
> 4J'ai essayé. = "I tried." [ return ]  
> 5Ouais? = "Yeah?" [ return ]  
> 6Lève-toi. = "Get up." [ return ]  
> 7Dieu merci. = "Thank god." [ return ]  
> 8Охуе́ть. / Лев, что за нахуй?! = "Holy shit. / Lev, what the hell?!" [ return ]  
> 9Нет. / Лёвочка. = "No. / Lyovochka." [ return ] ))


	22. Yachi Hitoka Is In Over Her Head

Hitoka falls out of bed while trying to snag her phone off her desk.

Kiyoko hides a drowsy, infinitely fond smile with the pillow as she watches her girlfriend’s naked ass sway as she tries to right herself. She almost thinks she’s doing it on purpose with how long it takes for Hitoka to pop back up and swipe up her phone.

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed, “it’s mom.”

Nothing like a message from mom to put a damper on such a pleasant morning. “Is everything alright?” Kiyoko asks, hardly raising her head from the pillow. With how many visions she’d had in recent weeks, she can’t bother to brace for anything short of the legitimate apocalypse.

“Oh, she’s just wishing me a happy new year,” Hitoka slides back under the covers, phone in hand. She’s still frowning.

“Expecting something else?”

“Tadashi texted me about helping someone else who has a curse. But he hasn’t responded since…”

Why is she not surprised that he’s stuck his nose into _more_ trouble? He’s definitely training under the boys.

“I’ll call him again later.” Hitoka stashes her phone beneath her pillow and turns in Kiyoko’s arms to face her. She glows in the morning light, warm and healthy and looking adorably innocent in spite of the bruises lining her throat and chest. “Happy new year, Kiyoko.”

Kiyoko smiles and tucks some of Hitoka’s loose hair behind her ear. “Happy new year.”

Right. It’s the new year. She has to meet Yuu and Suga at the cemetery.

There’s more than that weighing on her heart, but Hitoka at least knows of that small part. Hitoka kisses her, once on the cheek, before letting her scoot out of bed. It’s just past eight in the morning, and they’re not supposed to meet until nine-thirty.

It’s not enough time to do it beforehand, then. After it is.

She pulls on a set of clean clothes and it takes a little more grumbling and yawning before Hitoka gives up her bed to join her. “You can sleep a little while longer,” Kiyoko offers.

“I’m already awake, and you’re not in bed anymore,” Hitoka replies without an ounce of suggestion in her tone. Now _that_ would have been a nice way to spend the beginning of the new year.

Kiyoko wants to allow herself these indulgences. The mere _thought_ of using her time for such things seems like an indulgence.

“You promised me breakfast afterwards,” Hitoka reminds her.

They both brush through their hair, and Kiyoko braids Hitoka’s for her. Kiyoko’s still not used to having the shorter hair between them, especially since the singed ends of hers has since been trimmed off, and Hitoka’s been too busy with school to cut hers.

Kiyoko feels bad she’s going to ruin their breakfast together.

 _She deserves to know_ , she tells herself. _I need help_. The latter is a more sour realization, but Kiyoko won’t live in denial.

She can’t handle this by herself anymore.

 

\--

 

Yuu is hard-pressed to decide whose reaction is funnier. Kiyoko jumps and nearly hexes him, and Suga, with the thousand-yard stare of someone sleep-deprived, only gapes and _slowly_ reaches out to try to touch.

“Why did you bring a gerbil to a cemetery?” Kiyoko asks while she pretends she wasn’t startled.

“Asahi would’ve wanted to meet them,” he says, holding up the two leashes as well. Susie has already laid down, not caring one bit about the slush and mud getting in her long fur. Heinrich strains against his, trying to jump on Suga. Yuu _knows_ Suga’s tired based on how long it takes for him to allow the dog close.

“Have you slept at all?” Kiyoko asks, light like she’s almost joking, but Suga shakes his head.

Even Yuu had been out twice last night to take care of rowdy spirits misbehaving for the end of the year, and he doesn’t think Ryuunosuke got to sleep much, either.

“Don’t worry,” Yuu speaks up before Kiyoko can lay into either of them, “after everything gets re-warded today, there will be naps for everyone. Right?”

Kiyoko’s eyes drop to her boots. “I can stop by later to help fix all the broken wards on your apartment.”

“That would be appreciated,” Suga replies.

Yuu feels a little like he’s missing something. “Okay, well,” he puts one hand on Raijin to make sure the gerbil stays safe beneath his hood, and steps up to the gravestone. “Happy birthday, Asahi!”

Kiyoko and Suga echo him in matching tired voices.

Some birthday this is turning out to be.

Yuu’s already been here for about forty-five minutes, introducing his new pets, updating Asahi on how shitty life has felt without him. “Happy new year, too. It’s really weird, not having to track down a place to make reservations for today. And I got to sleep in!”

“I thought about making food to bring,” Kiyoko admits as she steps up next. She lays down the bouquet of dried passion flower and aster, and sits back on her heels. “You probably wouldn’t have minded anything coming by to eat it, but you also didn’t like to waste anything.”

Suga sets down his flowers last, plopping down on the wet grass without minding. “Happy new year, Asahi. Happy birthday. You were always such a good reason to look forward to this time of year, even if you never liked how much me and Noya drank while hunting.”

“Champagne goes good with kappa,” Yuu murmurs.

They speak quietly, and dogs enjoying the company and closeness as much as Yuu does. He makes sure to keep his hood up to keep Raijin warm, but Heinrich hadn’t wanted to wear a sweater or booties, so he knows he can’t stay long. Not as long as Yuu would like. Maybe that’s kind of, sort of, a _little_ bit of a good thing, too. Asahi wouldn’t have wanted him to sit in the mud chain smoking for an entire day.

Suga looks surprised when Yuu is the first to stand up and announce, “I think we’re headed back now.” Yuu puts on a smile that isn’t even forced, and adds, “I’m a dad for my pets now. You should know better than me that I can’t keep them out in the cold for that long.”

“Hitoka and I will stop by again later for her to wish Asahi a happy birthday,” Kiyoko says. Yuu extends a hand to help her up, and she takes it. He’s surprised at how cold she feels. He’s more used to those temperatures from Suga. To Yuu’s embarrassment, she places a kiss against his temple before giving his shoulder a squeeze. “I can stop by to refresh the wards on your place too, but it may have to be tomorrow.”

He nods, dumbly. That certainly didn’t come off as a pity kiss, but Kiyoko isn’t exactly free with her physical affection.

“I’m going to stay here for a bit, then. I have to update him on all the dirty details of my vacation,” Suga waggles his eyebrows, and Kiyoko frowns at the last word. “Maybe I’ll talk to you two later.”

“When we stop by tonight, Hitoka can help you take that cast off,” Kiyoko says mildly, but Suga goes starry-eyed in a way that Yuu hasn’t seen in what seems like months. Yuu hides his grin out of politeness, and waves at them both as the dogs start tugging to continue with their walk.

To his continued surprise, Kiyoko jogs to catch up with him. “Please don’t push yourself.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you and Koushi are both taking this, even if I’ve been distracted.”

Yuu looks away and scratches his cheek. Raijin shuffles around beneath his hood. “Honestly, the animals help. I miss Chika, but Ryuu’s been a bro and making sure I don’t drown myself in shitty beer.”

“Don’t be afraid to call or stop by if you need it,” Kiyoko tells him, and he nods. She’s a caring person, he knows, but he’s not used to this kind of vocal support. It’s starting to make him uneasy. She’d only overcompensate if she were preparing them for something or felt guilty about something. She’s not kind out of pity.

Yuu resolves to get his head out of his depressive ass and keep a better eye on her. She can’t save the world on her own, after all, no matter what she may think.

 

\--

 

“Thank god, you’re finally here,” is the first thing Eita hears when he walks in. “I’m tired of dealing with my second least favorite fox.”

He’s not sure if it’s those words or the redheaded matagot bent over the bar that more makes him consider turning on his heel and leaving again. He doesn’t _need_ this job. Even if the pay is nice, the premises are secure, and it’s a little difficult for sirens to find long-term jobs that aren’t singing or near prostitution.

Eita grits his teeth around a sigh. Tendou can smell fear.

Yasushi’s wings are buzzing in agitation, and is all but pointing to Tendou with a neon sign. There’s already a half-empty bottle of red wine in front of him. While the bar isn’t empty, he’s _clearly_ demanding too much attention, as per the usual.

“This is the expensive wine,” Eita deadpans as he slides onto the seat next to Tendou.

Expensive is an understatement. Each bottle can’t be transported via magic, so it costs something like a hundred and twenty _thousand_ euros when they _can_ track someone down to transport it, _and_ they’re not supposed to sell it by the fucking bottle to begin with.

Tendou, the jackass who can make gold and who has actually worked to help them buy and move goods when he’d lived in France, juts out his bottom lip before taking another not-delicate slurp from his glass.

Yasushi’s eyes bore holes into the side of Eita’s head. Until Tendou shapes up and tells them what’s going on, he isn’t free to go tend to the other patrons: a jumpy baku who keeps putting the yeti at the next table over to sleep, a particularly nasty-looking weather spirit, a pair of amorous kinnara who look two seconds from needing to find a dark corner together, and a handful of fairies who Eita is ninety percent sure only show up when Yasushi is working.

He can go deal with them. Eita can handle one overdramatic matagot.

“So, what’s wrong?” Eita pulls the ornate bottle away.

Tendou idly draws designs on his palm until he has a sizeable chunk of gold laying there. “Here’s another kilo. Gimme back the bottle, _s’il te plaît, Semi-Semi_.”  [1]

“I thought I asked you not to call me that,” Eita drawls, voice a deep, purring rumble. Tendou’s eyes go a little glassier. He doesn’t bother to put many under his thrall, but he’d never make the mistake of putting Tendou completely under his power. Not again, anyway.

Once in awhile, a bit of gentle persuasion does wonders. After all, some annoying people need firm hands.

“You’re a better brain bug,” Tendou mumbles.

Eita arches an eyebrow. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

But he supposes Tendou came here to talk, as he always does when he slinks away from whatever mayhem he’s caused. Eita makes a mental note to avoid whatever area of the human world Tendou has been haunting.

“What happened this time?” Just because he’s meant to be a shoulder to cry on does not mean he has to be particularly sympathetic. He suspects that’s why Tendou keeps coming back. “And let me see your face, stop trying to hide—”

When Eita reaches for the oversized hoodie, Tendou flinches away, but the movement yanks it off.

Eita’s eyes go large when he takes in the haggard appearance and _bandages_. There’s red smeared along one side, almost blending in with his hair.

Tendou flips the hood back up with a grumpy swish of his tail.

“What _happened_ to you since we last saw each other?” Eita asks carefully. It had only been what, seven years? Ten? This side of the century, he’s sure.

“How much of your hair’s naturally grey now?” Tendou snaps back.

Eita’s hands fly upward and he barely restrains a retort. “Why are you in such a pissy mood? I thought you wanted a pity party.”

“I want to _sleep_ , Wakatoshi wasn’t letting me.” He slumps onto the bar top again, and cradles the bottle against his cheek. “Sing me to sleep?”

Eita wants to throw him out of the bar. He _really_ , really wants to, but Yasushi is already making gestures over the top of Tendou’s head, nearly slopping the martinis he’s carrying over to the frazzled baku. Don’t Chase Off The Gold-Making Spirit.

“How about,” Eita says through gritted teeth and only after he allows himself an eyeroll, “you tell me what you’ve been up to, and _then_ I can give you the cot in the back to sleep this off on.”

“ _En chantant_ ,” Tendou maintains. [2]

“ _Je vais toujours chanter pour toi_ ,” sighs Eita. They both know it to be true. [3]

“ _D’accord_ , so, I’m under verbal contract with an old god to help summon it into the human realm with a witch who’s now kind of possessed by the same thing and—” [4]

“I’m going to stop you right there.”

Tendou peeks up at him, not quite pitiful, but coming close enough that Eita drops his sneer. This is far, _far_ above his pay grade, and he’s not going to give in and join Tendou on yet another ridiculous quest. He purposefully retired to this stupid job to _avoid_ exactly that.

“I wasn’t going to ask you to join us,” Tendou mutters. “You’re not a fighter and as you can see, things get physical.”

“What happened?”

“A human hunter shot me.”

“Humans like their fox hunting.”

“You’re not funny.” Though Tendou’s chuckle speaks to the contrary. “No, I just want to be able to sleep without an overprotective witch sticking bloody fingers in my head. Oh, and I need something else.”

“Of course you do.”

Tendou finishes his glass, and that rings a few warning bells. “I need a job, higher spirit elimination. Something no one will miss.”

Rumors from patrons he's staunchly put down come flooding back. Eita bites off a swear. “Satori,” he begins, since he knows that will get his attention even intoxicated, “you aren't the one starting any rumors about destroying the witch covens by summoning something nasty, are you?”

“Would I do that?” he murmurs around the lip of the bottle.

“How big of an idiot are you these days?”

“We can't say Wakatoshi’s doing it, he's still using his coven’s resources!”

“Why do you have to target witches at all?”

“We’re not!”

Eita levels the flattest look in several realms at him.

“This has nothing to do directly with the witches, I promise. They're just something we can use to lure in spirits who might hold grudges. They're an easy target.”

He can't argue that point. He works in a No Humans Allowed bar in a goblin market, and the less he deals with them and their odd notions about sirens, the better. “Okay,” Eita allows. He feels an oncoming headache. “That's true. But why make _yourself_ a giant easy target too? You're not a fighter, or even that good at running.”

“Someone had to be. Our only other accomplice definitely should be left out of the limelight, so it's gotta be me.”

“Look how well that's turned out so far.”

“I survived, and we almost got a _trickster_! Imagine, a matagot catching a trickster. I could've been famous!”

“Now you can be famous in a shittier way.”

Before their bickering can continue for his entire shift, the alarm over the door goes off.

It isn't the one for humans, witches, or malevolent spirits. It takes Eita too long to identify it, but Yasushi is faster. Wielding his platter like a shield, he conjures a lance of crackling light as a sopping wet figure comes stumbling through the door.

“Why is it always—” is all the figure gets out before Yasushi has him pinned against the wall.

“No glamors, concealment charms, hiding charms, or invisibility allowed on premises!” he barks, wings flared and sharp teeth bared. “The sign’s on the door, so gimme a damn good reason you suddenly can't read.”

“I can't turn it off!”

It looks like Yashushi has pinned a particularly irate fawn, although Eita has never quite seen one like _that_ , much less an invisible one. However, Tendou brightens and calls, “Shirabu! He's with me, Kamasaki.”

“Doesn't change the rules.”

“Well, you've short-circuited him now, and I'll vouch that he's invisible all the time. Let him go, I wanna talk to him!”

It's suddenly like Eita isn't even in the room anymore. He's never seen Tendou so excited to see someone who isn't him.

Shirabu ducks over to them as soon as Yasushi releases him, looking like a particularly shy kicked dog. Eita isn't sure that he likes him. “Ushijima sent me after you,” he says in a low voice as soon as he’s near, then locks his eyes on Eita’s like a challenge.

Tendou doesn’t bother introducing them. “And how did Wakatoshi know where I was, hm?”

“This place has protections against humans,” Eita adds.

“I can find anyone or anything,” Shirabu deadpans. “You should _know that_ , Tendou.”

“Oh, right, I should,” he airily agrees and rests his cheek against the bar top again. “You old enough to drink, Mr. Tariaksuq?”

Shirabu doesn’t hide his wince at the term. All of his expressions are open, fast and earnest, clearly not used to being visible. “You shouldn’t be drinking either.”

“That I’ll agree with,” Eita tries to pry the bottle from Tendou’s hands. It doesn’t work, but it does get the fox spirit whining like a petulant child. “ _Donne-moi la bouteille, mon renard roux préféré_.”  [5]

“Why did Wakatoshi send you after me? Was he not content with all the hours of mother henning he’s already had?” Tendou whines, pitching his voice up to be especially grating. Shirabu’s furry ears twitch low at the sound.

Eita is momentarily torn between soothing Tendou down from being an incredible ass and watching how this unfolds. Tendou may have sought refuge, but it doesn’t mean he wouldn’t gladly be rid of him if someone else could handle it.

Shirabu spares them a baleful look, similarly seeming unhappy with staying here, before reaching out and tugging on Tendou’s borrowed hoodie. “Come on. He’s worried and he needs to sleep, too. You can cuddle or whatever you two get up to now.”

“Is that jealousy _again_?” Tendou sneers.

Something darkens in Shirabu’s expression. Tendou blinks twice before raising his head. While Eita isn’t sure what to do with the new kid and his whole open book routine, he definitely knows that look on Tendou. He’s ready to cause a bar fight. The wine’s probably not helping matters.

Shirabu beats them both to the punch. “It’s not jealousy,” he growls, shoulders rising to his downturned ears at the same time that he lowers his head. Eita immediately puts Tendou between that antler and himself. “But I’m getting a _little_ tired of you two doing fuckall and expecting me to sit on my hands. Ushijima asked me to do something, so I did. The least you could do is pretend you care enough about him _or_ this stupid fucking plan of yours to not run off at the first sign of trouble.”

“I’m sorry,” Tendou lilts in a distinctly unapologetic, somewhat slurred tone, “were you the one getting shot in the line of duty, _mon petit mâle_?”  [6]

“ _You_ ’re the one who doesn’t _care_ ,” Shirabu jabs his finger at Tendou’s chest, and his sharp nail catches on the fabric. “Do you know what it looks like when someone helps you and you just _leave_? Why would you ever want to leave someone alone when you care about them?”

“Someone’s feeling guilty for letting his little friend rot in birdie jail,” Tendou says, obnoxiously loud. “And he’s trying to take it out on me.”

Eita wholeheartedly believes Tendou deserves the angry tariaksuq that throws himself at him a moment later.

He grabs the wine bottle before it crashes to the floor. Several stools go down with them, and Eita jumps up onto the bar. That had been an enlightening lead-up. As much as he’d love to watch them work out their differences and drop more hints as to what sort of fuckery Tendou is up to, bar fights aren’t allowed.

They _both_ deserve the even angrier fae that hauls them up with sparks and ash.

“It was a friendly tackle!” Tendou yowls. At least Yasushi has him by the back of his hoodie (and maybe an ear) instead of the iron grip he has on Shirabu’s hair and antler that has him nearly shrieking.

“You’re both out, and wealth spirit or not, I don’t want to see your sorry fox ass here again until you stop spreading rumors _and_ instigating fights!” Yasushi roars and throws them both from the premises.

Eita sighs, and takes a quick swig of the bottle before anyone notices. It honestly tastes pretty shitty, but Tendou’s always had a taste for shitty things, he supposes.

He slides off of the bar, grabs his things, and scoots out the door. “Be right back,” he mutters, ducking under Yasushi’s swipe.

It’s not worth for Yasushi following, especially since the jumpy baku from earlier managed to put half the establishment to sleep in her panic following the fight.

“You sure you don’t want to go home?” Eita asks, feigning sympathy for the drunk, wounded matagot in the gutter. That brings back memories. He misses Paris. “This witch you’re striving to protect must care an awful lot to send such a… worthy ally to come fetch you.”

“I just want to sleep,” Tendou groans against the pavement.

“I just want to get this over with,” Shirabu says in a matching moan.

“I’ll see what I can do about that extermination job you asked about. I’m not singing you to sleep, though.” He doesn’t sing anymore in front of strangers. “Which realm door do you need? I’ll walk you both back.”

Shirabu gets back on his hooves and gingerly massages his skull around his remaining antler. “I’m not carrying him.”

“Carry him for me,” Eita’s voice borders on melodious. He clears his throat a couple times as Shirabu robotically tugs Tendou up and pulls his arm over his shoulder to support him. Nice to know siren song can work on tariaksuq, whatever the _fuck_ those are. “Do you two always squabble like this?”

“He attacked us first because he thinks I stole his food, but not since then. I’ve grown on him,” Tendou smugly informs him.

“Deer must not be used to such furry parasites.”

“Elk.”

Eita doesn’t realize it’s Shirabu at first. His song might not have been as strong as he’d thought, although Shirabu hasn’t dropped Tendou yet.

“I’m… that’s the closest animal here. Don’t call me a deer.”

“There are so many things you won’t let us call you, Shira- _cher_.”

“Never say that again.” And, to punctuate, Shirabu drops him.

After a moment, Eita _reluctantly_ extends a hand to help Tendou back up. Tendou must be babied until he’s done with whatever funk this is. Eita had assumed it was the whole Facing-Your-Mortality thing, but the way Tendou acts around Shirabu is strange, even for him. He’d suspect something between them, if he hadn’t heard the way Tendou had spoken about that witch of his.

“ _Combien de temps penses-tu qu'ils vivent?_ ” Tendou inclines his head toward Shirabu. [7]

Oh.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” Shirabu complains.

“ _La plupart d'entre eux vivent plus longtemps que les humains. Quel âge a ton sorcièr?_ ” [8]

“ _Je sais pas_ ,” Tendou mutters, and Eita knows he’s gotten to the heart of the matter now. [9]

Tendou doesn’t risk life and limb for anyone or anything. He likes causing trouble, but he wouldn’t make himself a target of both witches and other spirits for nothing. If Tendou is already worrying about lifespans and ages, then he’s really gone too far. He’s too attached, and probably going to be kicking himself in a couple decades.

Not that sirens live _that_ much longer than humans, something that has Tendou jittery, too. Nothing like a worried matagot to make someone jealous of differing lifespans. Eita misses Paris in a general sense, but Tendou misses Paris from the twenties.

Maybe he’ll finally learn a lesson about being happy without getting the things he wants. Maybe he’ll end up getting killed by this stupid plan of his, and he won’t have to worry about outliving all his friends.

If that was case, Eita pretends he could finally retire in peace.

 

\--

 

“ _You’ve only increased the pain you face, yhafh’drn_ ,” Northot hisses from the darkest corners of the room.

Wakatoshi does not raise his head from where it hangs between his knees.

Northot presses in like a migraine against his eyes. “ _Why prolong this pain? You have the spirit you need_.”

“Tendou is also in a contract with you,” he says tonelessly, something he’s repeated every time Northot brought this up.

“ _The wealth spirit has no such protection from you. You stall._ ”

There was never a specific deadline. That had been one of Wakatoshi’s stipulations when negotiating the original contract. Northot wasn’t supposed to be present in this realm at _all_ until he summoned it, but he hadn’t counted on getting haunted. This _is_ tempting him to get it over with sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t _need_ Shirabu’s egg. He could storm the tengu realm by force. He’s certain he could get in and out with a First egg, no matter how many lives it costs. He could find a higher spirit, regardless of who or what it is, and secure them. He _could_ do this with more haste.

Using Tendou still isn’t an option, even in that suicidal, hypothetical sprint.

He’s tired of listening to Northot’s suggestions.

“ _You’ve exhausted yourself for him, and what recompense has there been?_ ”

“He doesn’t owe me for keeping him alive.”

“ _What other use is a wealth spirit to you_?” Northot sounds like it truly doesn’t understand. “ _He has fled. He will flee. He will not stay. He does not stay. He is not strong like you are, he does not understand why you do this. Orr’eog syha’h mnahn’, mnahn’og s’uhn. Ya naflathg kadishtu_.”

Wakatoshi snorts out a dry, humorless laugh. He lifts his head to give the distorted figure an equally hollow smile. “Surely a god can’t have regrets about something like agreeing to work with a fox spirit. You must have gotten as greedy as he is.”

“ _Yhafh’drn nannnnilgh’riog!_ ” Northot snarls with such venom that Wakatoshi can feel it burn in his bones. “ _You may be protected from The Thing That Should Not Be but it does not mean you are any more than shuggoth Northotnythog._ ”

Northot forces his head into a bow before it.

Wakatoshi drags his head up a moment later. His vision starts to grey out along the edges, but he holds eye contact as best he can with the empty face before him. “You can’t harm any of us. You can’t force me to use Tendou.”

“ _Your safety is void when you move against me._ ”

Wakatoshi has always known he has one shot, but his second point still remains. “You’re paying him as much of anything he wants. You aren’t to touch him. He has nothing to do with building your circle. I thought gods were above such pettiness as revenge should I betray our contract.”

Northot regards him, and Wakatoshi’s eyes skate sideways to avoid the sting of prolonged contact. It’s going to be a nightmare with the deity on the same plane as them. “ _…I have come to wonder at which is the greedier between you. You risk so much, unduly, to protect everything, when it would be easier to choose your attachments more wisely. I look forward to the answer to my question, yhafh’drn_.”

_How much is a single life worth to you now?_

Wakatoshi wishes he knew the answer to that as well. This would be far easier if he only needed to worry about his contract.

He didn’t anticipate getting this attached.

 

\--

 

When Suga and Sunshine are done reenacting every reunion trope imaginable—twirling and clinging and kissing and promises to never leave again and it all has Hitoka in poorly-suppressed stitches—he faces Kiyoko properly for the first time since before the break-in. They look equally tired, but she smiles genuinely, and he manages to return it. She doesn’t even frown at the nearly-empty wine bottle on the table.

“I brought you your things back,” Kiyoko holds up a backpack full of books and notes.

Suga raises an eyebrow. That’s more admittance than he expected right off the bat.

She drops the things with a _whump_  and adds, “I’m sorry for what happened.”

If she’s returning his things, she must trust him to not be any pettier than he has been. “Thanks.” Does he have anything to apologize for? Well, probably, but Kiyoko has an odd way of making people apologize for things they don’t need to. “Sorry, for, uh.” He can’t take it back now that he’s said it, but Kiyoko doesn’t expect him to finish.

Hitoka glances between the two a few times, and Suga is left wondering how much Kiyoko told her.

“Hitoka can check your arm and shoulder while I begin re-warding things.”

Any offers of help are quickly brushed off, and he finds himself seated sideways between Hitoka’s legs on the couch. Her knees are bent, one pressed into his spine, as she ghosts her fingertips over his skin. She nobly does not remark on the plentiful and noticeable hickeys.

“You’ve been using this arm too much,” she mumbles to herself. Suga doesn’t bother acknowledging it. Half his shoulder is still covered in ugly green and yellow bruises, half-healed at best. He’s glad for his dulled nerve endings. Who knew that dying repeatedly would do that to a guy? “Hold your breath and hold still.”

There’s a sharp sting that quickly fades. She doesn’t bother with the bruising, not when she still has to mend the bones in his arm. When she allows him to move again, he’s pleased to see that his range of painless motion has improved drastically. The arm is an easier affair, since he expects the uncomfortable sensation of bones knitting themselves back together.

Hitoka wipes her forehead, shiny with sweat, and Suga flexes his fingers as best he can. Kiyoko comes to press a kiss against Hitoka’s bright hair, murmuring thanks as she passes over a restorative potion.

Suga and Kiyoko look down at the offensively red cast.

“Remember when—” Suga and Kitoko start at the same time. Their eyes meet, and to Hitoka’s great surprise, they both burst out laughing.

When Yui had broken her wrist in high school, they healed her ahead of schedule, and then tried to get the cast off themselves. The result had been a lot of terrified screaming and a scar that she carried until the day she died.

“Ready to smash my arm?” Suga asks between giggles.

“I think we have a little more finesse by now.”

“For this much force?”

“L-Let me cut it off!” Hitoka frantically grabbing Suga’s arm and pressing it to her chest, almost defensively.

“Oh, no, Hitoka.” Kiyoko attempts sound soothing, but the laughter in her voice ruins the effect. “It’s just—do you remember when Yui broke her wrist and we tried to do it ourselves? Oh, your mother was _furious_ with us.”

“Put the fear of god in us,” Suga adds.

Hitoka frowns in embarrassment. She just repeats, flush high on her cheeks, “I can get it off.”

Kiyoko gives them space as she pretends to write more runes on the doorway. She’s no spellwriter, but she _is_ a witch, and Suga’s apartment needs updating. Coming apocalypses and whatnot.

Suga looks away as Hitoka, still sweaty and trembling from exhaustion, draws a line with a _cut_ spell down the hard cast. He trusts her, but she doesn’t need his nerves making hers worse. At least she doesn’t chop his arm off.

She cracks it open like a shell, and at last, Suga has his dominant hand back. He flexes his fingers again, ignoring remaining aches, and pulls Hitoka into a full-body embrace lengthwise on the couch. “My hero!” he coos and finally earns a small titter from her in exchange.

“Sorry it took so long.”

“You don’t need to baby me, and I know how Kiyoko gets.”

“I can _hear_ you,” she politely reminds them both. “And this is done now. I can stop by again tomorrow to redo the building, but I think Hitoka and I should be getting back before it’s too late.”

An offer to let them stay sits on the tip of his tongue, and he swallows it back. “Alright. Thank you, both of you.”

Kiyoko inclines her head before leaving. Hitoka waves, cheery and bright as always, despite the lag in her movements.

It had been nice to see them. It had been nice to see _Kiyoko_ , not cooped up in her shop, and, neither of them bleeding or upset. It feels like a step back in the right direction.

“Thank god,” he mumbles to an empty apartment. Sunshine jumps back onto his lap. “Yes, I missed you too, Sunny. But I’ve missed my right hand more. Let’s go send some pictures to Daichi.”

Sunshine meows at him. Suga will take that as approval.

 

\--

 

Hitoka knew she was tired, but she didn’t think she was _this_ tired.

Maybe she’s hallucinating?

Except she’s not that fatigued, nor has she ingested any sort of substance that would cause hallucinations. Could she have been drugged? But when and how? And with what? There are no other symptoms outside of general exhaustion. A hallucinogenic depressant? Was there something in the air?

Her train of thought crashes and burns when one Definitely Hallucination Michimiya Yui rushes forward to embrace her.

She’s inarguably solid, and hot to touch. Hitoka presses the back of her hand against Yui’s forehead before she can stop herself.

Yui, with tears caught in her lashes, blinks down at her before breaking into a blindingly bright smile. “You’ve grown so much, but you haven’t changed!”

“She runs just a little warmer now,” Kiyoko advises.

Hitoka still can’t bring herself to return the hug. She reels, too shocked to do much of anything.

The woman—the _dead_ woman, she didn’t _come back_ days later like Suga, they were sure because they _waited for her_ , god damn it—sniffles and wipes at her eyes, completely unashamed, for once, about crying in front of her. “Oh my god, you’re beautiful,” Yui croaks and starts crying all over again. “Y-You’ve grown, you’re so mature now, I-I’ve missed you!”

Hitoka is crying, too, before she can process it.

“Y-You were. You _died_ ,” she whispers, and looks at Kiyoko for answers. She doesn’t understand. She’s tired, and confused, and scared. Yui had _died_ , had been dead for years. _Years_. But she’s here, _solid_ and visible and warm-blooded. No amount of necromancy or magic could do that. It doesn’t make sense. _How could she_ —

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko begins, and Hitoka latches onto her voice like her last lifeline, “Yui is the archangel.”

Silence.

“The one and only!” Yui weakly jokes. She holds Hitoka back at arm’s length, wipes her eyes again. Her smile hasn’t dimmed at all. Hitoka gapes up at her. She hasn’t been this lost since 8AM finals.

Archangel. Yui.

 _Yui_.

The terrifyingly powerful higher spirit that has been causing everyone headaches and stress trying to track down—right here, and it’s _Yui_. Yui isn’t a ghost, isn’t a zombie, but instead… Hitoka can’t reconcile _archangel_ with the woman in front of her. There’s no way.

Hitoka wraps her arms around Yui, whining into the space between her neck and shoulder. Her cries grow in volume until her voice catches and she breaks into relieved sobs. Both of them sink to the floor, clinging to each other and getting tears and snot everywhere.

Hitoka’s nearly hyperventilating, mostly dry-eyed but unable to catch her breath, and Yui murmurs sweet nothings into her hair while she rubs her back. “I-I don’t understand,” is the first coherent thing she gasps out.

Kiyoko takes a seat across from them. “Koushi came back because he was the one with the necromancy. Both of them turned into angels, however, in a way. Yui is the one who… got out, and she’s the one I turned into an archangel.”

“This. _This_ is the secret you’ve been keeping?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I kept it from you for so long.” There’s delicate reservation in her eyes, the last guards.

“Why tell me _now_?” She hopes there’s nothing accusatory in her tone, because god, that’s the last thing she means. Actually, now that the words are out of her mouth, she thinks she understands. Kiyoko’s breakdown the other day, how this secret could hurt others…

It’s a large weight to carry.

 _She’s keeping this from Suga_ , Hitoka realizes with chilling clarity. She is keeping Yui from her best friend, and Suga doesn’t know any of this. _Why?_

“We need help. _I_ need your help. Yui, if you could…?”

Yui sheepishly un-clings from Hitoka and lifts up the oversized coat she’s wearing. Hitoka recognizes it as one of Kiyoko’s, originally one of Ryuunosuke’s. Yui shrugs off the coat, then the shapeless sweater beneath it.

The back of her t-shirt is plastered to her skin with milk-colored blood.

“She’s able to remain in a settled form for so long now because she’s…” Kiyoko trails off with uncertainty.

Yui picks it up with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “We’re pretty sure a good chunk of my power got hacked off. My magic is half of what it had been, and like she said, I can stay human— _looking_ now. Before, it was, _ugh_. It was… difficult.”

“The wounds haven’t healed.”

Hitoka nods dumbly. She reaches out for Yui, but Kiyoko places a hand on her wrist. So the archangel—Yui—has gotten a little safer to be around? Is _that_ why Kiyoko is just now mentioning this?

“Be careful, and that’s not—that’s not the reason we’re sharing this with you.” Kiyoko colors slightly.

Oh. Hitoka hadn’t even realized the implication of her being a healing pack mule. It’s not as if she minded—she’s used to patching up whoever gets put in front of her.

“I’m fine, it’s just a bitch and a half to take care of. It stings, and ruins clothes, and is a general nightmare.” Yui pulls her shirt back down with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Hitoka doesn’t really believe she’s fine, not with what she’d seen of her wounds. _Still_ bleeding. Oh, that’s where her _wings_ would have been. Her stomach churns. “What happened?” She doesn’t understand how someone can go through something like that and come out smiling like Yui is.

“I…” Yui trails off, and looks to Kiyoko.

“She got into a fight with a tengu, a demon, and a witch. And… she hasn’t been herself, not really.”

“You don’t gotta sound like such a kicked dog about it. I’m only a big, scary monster now is all.”

Kiyoko’s gaze hardens. “ _Yui_. Don’t.”

“Well, that’s why we need Hitoka’s help, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t how I—”

“You don’t think there’s a lot of time left, so shouldn’t we admit why we’re all here? Hitoka, we need help covering for me.” Yui seems pleased like this and Hitoka shrinks from between them. Kiyoko doesn’t try to argue it, though her expression is stormy. “We told Asahi before he, um, passed on. Because we have a _plan_ , but this doesn’t work if certain parties find out about the powerhouse on our side. And, um, we’ve decided that it’s best that… most people don’t know.”

“Who knows?” Hitoka asks faintly. _Certainly not Suga_. The thought is still like ice in her veins.

“That’s something else we need your help for,” Kiyoko admits, reluctant. She hangs her head, and Hitoka braces for what she says next. “I think it’s best if we erase certain parties’ memories of this.”

Memory magic is morally grey at best. Hitoka swallows. “Who knows?” she repeats, dreading the answer more the second time around.

“Tadashi and probably Tsukishima,” Kiyoko says, sadly, “and Kenma, and Kuroo. One of the owl tengu who has been courting them, too. Yaku, possibly, I think he’s made the connection. I don’t know if we even stand a chance at getting to any of them, but Kenma and Kuroo have been content to keep their distance for the time being.”

“Would memory magic even work on a tengu or bakeneko?”

“No idea,” Yui shrugs. “And we’d probably only get one shot at it, if any. But we’re hoping that we can at least get to the two teenagers.”

“Especially since Tadashi spends so much time with Suga.”

But the owls. Only Kiyoko is fully aware of Suga’s close status with them. This is a time bomb, and containing it only in one direction doesn’t seem like much help at all. “What if… What if Suga _does_ find out?”

Yui shrugs again, avoiding eye contact this time. “He talks us out of it.”

“Out of _what_?”

“So we actually have a _plan_ for stopping the big old god and Ushijima!” She sparkles with excitement. It takes a few blinks for Hitoka to realize that she doesn’t have to clear her vision; there is, in fact, a faint halo of light around Yui. She shifts around, like her back is bothering her, and Kiyoko places a hand on Yui’s shoulder. She goes out like a snuffed candle. Hitoka’s heart stutters in her chest. “Whoops, sorry.”

She’s not sure a cavalier archangel is going to be very good for anyone’s stress levels, Yui or not.

“I’d like your advice on that, too, since we’re both undecided.”

“At odds,” Yui corrects.

“Siphoning off magic leads to more stability, but…”

“But you _need_ a powerhouse to go against Ushijima,” Hitoka surmises, and Kiyoko nods grimly. “Well, what _if_ Yui is a little stronger?” She wants good news.

The self-depreciative, half-panicked laughter is back and Yui’s hair flies around her face as she shakes her head. “Probably not a good idea! I kind of… can’t control things. It’s messy. I’ve… done some bad things.”

Hitoka isn’t sure if she doesn’t press further out of fear or sympathy. It’s probably the former. Archangels aren’t _safe_ , and a secret one sounds worst of all, even if they plan on unleashing her against Ushijima—like some kind of sentient weapon. The thought churns her stomach.

“I’ll perform the charms, but I need you to find me out their favorite foods, and set up a situation where I can talk to them alone,” Kiyoko says.

She swore she’d help Kiyoko, and she trusts her completely. But she does not look forward to doing this.

She actually thinks she doesn’t necessarily _want_ to do this.

But Kiyoko. And Yui. Even if Yui is changed, Hitoka wants to believe this can be okay. She has to trust Kiyoko. “Alright… What else can you tell me about what’s going on?”

Yui grins. Her teeth remain a little too sharp to be human. “There is _so much_ to catch you up on.”

 

\--

 

Hisashi goes through coffee like he’s aiming for Olympic gold. This is the sixth super huge coffee he’s downed since Tadashi arrived. He dreads a seventh. The witch’s hands visibly tremble, his eyes are bloodshot, and he still looks happier than that night in the forest.

Kazuhito hasn’t said much, and Tadashi isn’t sure if he’s just quiet or if he’s feeling ashamed at the whole bird monster thing. He doesn’t really look like what Tadashi had expected, although he supposes the dark skin and hair are in-line enough with crow coloration. His face is rounder, eyes soft, figure bulkier than what he’d expect of a bird. Well, at least he looks human now.

Tadashi only _really_ relaxes when Kei finally slides into the booth next to him. “Sorry I’m late,” he murmurs, quiet enough so it’s only for Tadashi’s ears. Tadashi gratefully leans against him as soon as he’s situated. Kei raises an eyebrow at his behavior. “These are your new cursed friends?”

“Only one,” Tadashi replies, making introductions. Kazuhito nods, sheepish, but Hisashi stares at Kei like he’s trying to remember him.

“ _Tsukishima_?” Hisashi repeats in shock. “Oh my god, you’re Aki’s little brother.”

Kei tenses beside him. “You _knew_ Akiteru?” Tadashi asks carefully.

Hisashi nods so many times he’s vibrating in place.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe he did it!” He grabs at Kazuhito, eyes wide as saucers. “Oh my god, he _did it_. No offense, but everyone thought he was totally _gone_. Like, completely batshit. You just _don’t_ mess around with death!”

“We’d heard he died,” Kazuhito says, a calm point at odds with Hisashi’s quaking excitement.

Kei has completely shuttered himself.

“He did,” Tadashi softly replies, and both of their faces fall.

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

“How did you know Akiteru?”

“He was in my coven,” Hisashi says, “before he left. Well… got excommunicated. It was a mess, and a huge scandal, and then he made it all worse by joining _another_ coven straight away.”

Kei’s expression sours further. “My brother got kicked out of a witch coven for black magic?”

“Yeah,” Hisashi replies with a sympathetic wince. “But it worked! It _actually_ worked. I guess Eyebright actually _does_ get shit done.”

“I thought you didn’t like covens,” Tadashi says to steer the conversation away before Kei snaps.

“Witches aren’t particularly fond of shapeshifters.” Kazuhito smiles to ease the bitterness in his voice.

“I’m really only in one for self-defense,” Hisashi adds with a self-pitying droop. “I’m not a hotshot witch, believe me, and I definitely don’t have the balls to turn to experimental black magic or the raw power to make my own rules. It’s… really, really tough, keeping Kazu a secret. I appreciate your discretion.”

“I try to help out with what I can, so they don’t hate me too much,” Kazuhito tells them. “It’s very kind of you to keep this quiet.”

“Sorry I’m late!” Hitoka rushes in, breathless and red-cheeked. Tadashi breaks into a grin at her arrival, and Kei relaxes the tiniest bit. Hitoka unwinds her scarf before sliding into the booth next to them, unapologetically scooting Kei to the side. She drops her heavy backpack on the table. Their glasses _clink_ against the table. “Okay, who has the curse this time!”

Kazuhito, slowly raises a glove-covered hand. “Um. I’m Narita Kazuhito—”

“Yachi Hitoka, official healer of Shimizu Kiyoko and the Foxglove coven,” she replies, business-like.

“F-Foxglove?” Hisashi repeats weakly. “I thought you said you weren’t—you’re not a witch! Did you say _Yachi_?”

“Yes?” She pauses, peeking out from over her bag.

Hisashi starts pushing Kazuhito out of the booth, but Tadashi hooks his ankle around Hisashi’s. “Wait! She’s not a witch, and she’s good! Saeko knows her, too!”

“Look, Saeko and Ryuu are one thing, but we know of Shimizu. She’s a coven witch, and Yachi Madoka is the _leader_ of Foxglove. This is way, _way_ too deep. Thanks for your offer, but we really can’t—”

“What’s wrong with the coven?” Hitoka exclaims.

“A lot,” Kazuhito says flatly at the same time that Hisashi squeaks, “Nothing!”

“She can help with the curse!” Tadashi cries desperately. “She’s already cured two people!”

“Please, sit back down, I can help, I promise!”

It takes a bit of coaxing, but they convince the others to stay, although Hisashi looks even _more_ jittery than before. He resumes gulping down his coffee with unnerving haste. They dodge several questions about the exact nature of the curse, where he got it, or what it’s been doing to him—at least until Hitoka exasperatedly reminds them about doctor-patient confidentiality.

“Do you even follow that?” Kei asks, the first he’s spoken in a noticeable amount of time.

“ _Yes_ , I do,” Hitoka primly replies.

“Nevermind the fact that we’re still here.”

“We’d feel better with a neutral party around,” Hisashi points out.

Tadashi elbows him beneath the table when Kei opens his mouth for a retort.

It takes a bit more hemming and hawing, but all wariness disappears from Hitoka’s expression when Kazuhito quietly confesses that he’s not human.

“ _Oh_ ,” is all she says for a long moment. She scoops up all her things back into her bag, stands up, and gives them all a very stern frown. “Let’s go. We need privacy.”

Hisashi orders one last drink to go.

 

\--

 

Tooru has only slept twice since they got back to the human realm.

Iwaizumi hasn’t slept at all.

“I can’t dream anymore. It’s all lucid dreaming. It’s exhausting,” Tooru mumbles into his shoulder, from where he’s sprawled atop Iwaizumi. “We need to sleep, Iwa-chan. _Please_.”

Iwaizumi hardly knows what to do; they’ve tried luring Miyanoshita back with baku juice, but they haven’t seen any other baku since then. She hardly said goodbye. But who could blame her; she was probably as spooked and exhausted as they are.

 _Did she know we’d have troubles?_ he wonders as his hands rub soothing circles into Tooru’s bare back.

“She’s not mean,” Tooru replies.

“And how well can you read spirits, huh?”

Tooru doesn’t answer that one.

They’ve tried sleeping pills and drinks and physical exhaustion and herbal potions and even some sleep aid video Tooru had pulled up on his phone. Iwaizumi’s eyelids itch. He can barely find the energy to move, but he keeps up his ministrations, humming under his breath a tune he hopes is a lullaby.

Tooru’s breathing evens out. Iwaizumi can’t see his face, but he takes it as a good sign.

Weariness settles over him like the thickest of blankets. Neither of them have baku juice on them, but it’s tiring to even think of getting up right now.

Slowly, his eyes close.

There’s a restlessness in his limbs that doesn’t disappear no matter how tired he is, and it creeps up his fingertips. Pressing against Tooru only helps a little, and Iwaizumi’s movements slow as exhaustion crawls further into his brain.

He’s never been much of a lucid dreamer. Even Miyanoshita’s visits had been strange to him. Neither encompasses how aware he is in a deep abyss. He’s not floating, falling, standing, sitting, doing or much of anything. He can’t tell if he’s supposed to have his eyes open or not.

“Huh,” he grunts into the void.

It doesn’t answer him in so many words, but a winking light appears in the distance.

Iwaizumi doesn’t think about it until it’s almost upon him. Fear only enters the picture when he realizes it’s _Tooru_.

“Iwa-chan?”

He’s not the source of the light, thank god. Iwaizumi can’t do more angel bullshit, or Dreamlands bullshit.

Tooru brings light and life with him, a breath of fresh air as things begin to sprout among the void. Plants. Ferns. Flowers. The beginning branches of a tree. Cool water that splashes his bare toes. The kind of warm sunshine that he misses from the desert.

Tooru reaches for him, and Iwaizumi opens his arms to receive him.

Dimly, he recalls that they’re already entwined on the couch.

As soon as their hands touch, the world around them shatters. The harsh edges and colors of the Dreamlands sprawl out beneath the layer of crumbling dream. Someone’s yelling, probably both of them—surely, _surely_ Iwaizumi is shouting as every fiber of his being rejects going back to that hellhole _again_ —and Tooru clings to him.

They both jolt awake, still screaming.

Tooru scrambles off of him and Iwaizumi hears him throwing up in the bathroom.

He doesn’t feel nauseous. He can’t move.

 _What the fuck had that been_.

 

\--

 

“We should really go back, I bet they’re worried.”

“We’re _fine_ , Kuro,” Kenma replies in a clipped tone. Kuro doesn’t deserve it, but Kenma doesn’t deserve to listen to the We Should Go Back To Embrace Your New Mate broken record.

He isn’t sure when his _I’m fine_ transformed into _we’re fine_ , but he’s stuck at that stage now. The joy of trying to disguise a demon in a city full of overzealous hunters. The first time, he’d had so much time to prepare. Now, he’s working with a handful of stolen supplies and keeping them on the move.

Maybe the goblin market would be a safer place to temporarily hunker down. Owls and annoying fox aside, he doesn’t know anyone there. Then again, it’s not as if he’s going to rely on any of his human maybe-friends anymore, so now he’s warding an abandoned motel that looks like it’s straight out of _Silent Hill_.

Good thing Kenma likes that game.

He misses his games. Maybe he just misses having downtime. And a place to charge his handhelds. Beds are nice, too.

The motel still has running water, but Kenma has to get creative with power sources. He’d charged his battery pack at a gas station earlier while Kuro tried to figure out lottery tickets, so everything else can use fire magic. Not that they need light in the middle of the day, yet—

“Kenma,” Kuro interrupts, popping his head over the balcony, “we can go back, y’know. No one would kick us out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a rough patch in your life. We can get through this. I just need enough time to figure out a charm to keep you hidden.” If he didn’t sleep or take a break, he could probably figure something out by midnight. That’s if he had proper supplies, but Kenma’s good at getting creative.

“The tengu don’t hate demons,” Kuro mutters as he withdraws his head once more.

“The tengu have their own magic and it’d interfere with mine.” It’d been hell trying to get his laptop working over there. He still hasn’t figured out their glamors, nor has he made any real headway on figuring out what the hell to do about the whole apocalypse thing.

He has too much on his plate.

 _Who can I ask for help?_ Everyone he trusts—a small list—can’t help him with his magic. Lev is entirely out the window, tengu and cat magic are foreign to him, and Tadashi… not with Tsukishima glaring daggers at them the entire time.

Kuro shouts from upstairs, and Kenma doesn’t process the danger until the demon crashes through the balcony with another body on top of him.

There’s a glint of a blade dripping red, and Kenma yells, “ _Push_!” as he thrusts out both arms. The other person goes tumbling into the parking lot.

Kuro scrambles to his feet and runs for Kenma, and Kenma keeps his arms outstretched for him.

“ _Pull-bind_!” Like a magical lasso, Kuro is caught and yanked backward by the nape of his neck, hitting the concrete with a nasty _crack_.

Their assailant stands behind him, evaluating Kenma through narrowed eyes. Kenma notes the size and bulk of the man, the terrifying sneer, multitude of piercings, and dyed mohawk. He’s certainly putting on an air of intimidation, but he’s a witch, and Kenma isn’t going to stick around long enough to see if it’s for show.

“You’re the demon summoner?”

Kenma casts a silent _push-force-gravity_ spell, and the man goes down like a sack of potatoes. While he writhes, Kenma cuts Kuro free. Kuro can’t even stay settled down, so it’s no use denying anything.

He’d feared others coming for Kuro, but shit, he hadn’t expected it _immediately_.

Couldn’t the universe give them a break for one fucking minute?

There’s no broom visible. It may not be feasible for a quick getaway. He doesn’t want to kill him, but it’s looking like more and more of a possibility.

He’s fast. Kenma can hardly pull Kuro out of the way, and plants himself between them. “Look,” the man says, “I’m technically just on a job to kill the demon right now. I’m savin’ you, kid. It’s a miracle it hasn’t killed you yet.”

“What do you know?” Kuro snarls, baring his teeth at the other witch.

The witch flips him off. Classy. “Get your Stockholm Syndromed ass _away_ from the demon, and I can put it down quick and easy.”

Kenma briefly entertains the thought of killing the man.

“Aren’t you being rather merciful for someone who summoned a demon?” Kenma asks. He begins writing runes behind his back.

“I don’t kill people. That’ll be someone else’s job.”

 _At least commit if you’re going to ruin someone’s life_.

The other witch springs at them, lightning fast. Kenma’s heat spell boils the dead man’s blood off the hunting knife. It doesn’t spread fast enough, and the witch swings at them with a hot blade.

When they jump apart, the witch follows Kuro.

Kenma’s cold spell encasing the witch’s fist and knife in ice just as it glances off of Kuro’s side. The demon drops into his shadow, and throws himself in Kenma’s direction.

The hunter turns on his heel, free hand pressed to the ice with his palm glowing with his own heat spell. That’s fine. The metal’s brittle, and easy to shatter. That won’t stop any kind of professional, but it should buy them a bit of time. If it comes to a purely magical battle, Kenma knows he’ll win. The other witch hasn’t resorted to much magic yet. Probably not too skilled in it.

The hunter lunges at them with his ice-covered hand, and Kuro breaks off most of it when he blocks. The tip of the knife snaps off. Not enough. Kenma tries to hit him with a _cut_ spell, but the man deflects it with his own, and the magic gouges the pavement below them.

Kenma and Kuro separate, and behind their assailant’s back, Kenma gestures for them to attack in unison. Maybe that’s a grimace on Kuro’s face, it’s hard to tell while he’s unsettled.

The other witch throws a blinding spell at Kuro and rushes when demon reels.

Panic rushes through Kenma. “Kuro, _down_!” he barks, sprinting toward them both with magic gathering in his fingertips.

Kuro sinks into his shadow and slithers blindly in Kenma’s direction.

“ _Pull_!” the witch shouts, aiming at Kuro.

He misses.

Kenma’s yanked forward by a grip on his throat, and the next thing he knows, he’s nose-to-nose with the intimidating witch.

“ _Kenma_!” Kuro screams.

The hunter’s knife sinks into Kenma’s chest.

 _Nothing vital_ , Kenma distantly notes, and snaps the blade. He stumbles a few steps back, and feels Kuro catch him as he goes down.

Kuro’s in a frenzy, the other witch completely forgotten to him.

Steel, really? He couldn’t even bring silver to a fight against a demon?

It’s cold. He’s bleeding, but it hasn’t been that long to start going numb. Unless—

The knife. Is it poisoned?

There’s something wrong in his veins. He feels something creeping through his body. It hurts to breathe, much less talk. But Kuro’s not paying attention, and the other witch is still there. Priorities. “Kuro, you have to run,” Kenma squeezes out.

He snapped the knife, but the point is still buried in his chest. He can see the uneven edge jutting out below his collarbone. And then there’s the poison to worry about. It’s already in him, but as long as it’s there, there will be more. His hands find the blade, and he starts wriggling it out.

“You can’t order me to go anymore! And don’t pull it _out_!”

“He’s right!” the other witch yells, palms up in a pacifying gesture. “Don’t pull it out, you’re gonna make it worse!”

Kenma has several choice words for the person who stabbed him, but it’s becoming harder to think. His fingers are getting numb.

The man starts approaching them, clearly worried. Closer. Just a little closer.

When the witch kneels down, Kenma shoves an electricity spell into his sternum.

They collapse at about the same time.

 

\--

 

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko murmurs against her hair, and Hitoka stirs drowsily from against her, “I want you to promise me you won’t be alone with Yui.”

She slowly sits up, restraining a yawn. “Why?”

Kiyoko doesn’t like the sour taste this leaves in her mouth, but Hitoka needs to know the truth. “Yui is an archangel now. She’s… _not_ human anymore. Right now, she’s herself, but if she’s at her full power again, I doubt she’ll really recognize either of us. She’s dangerous.”

Yui is asleep in the other room, with the door locked. She seems to agree with most of the preventative measures Kiyoko has taken.

“What do you mean by dangerous?” Hitoka asks carefully. She twists the bottom hem of Kiyoko’s skirt back and forth in her fingers.

“She’s killed people.”

“Are you safe?”

“She still cares for me.” Nothing changes in Hitoka’s expression, but Kiyoko quickly backpedals. “Not like that—she knows we’re together now. She knows that time has passed, even if she doesn’t quite realize how much. I’ve caught her up on most everything, but sometimes I wonder…”

“She’s still Yui?”

“She’s still Yui.”

“I’ll be safe, but I won’t be scared, then.”

“Thank you. But still, promise me that you won’t be alone with her.”

Hitoka sighs, so tiny and quiet that Kiyoko isn’t sure she was meant to hear at all, despite their proximity. “I promise.”

Kiyoko wishes she didn’t feel so relieved.

 

\--

 

When Kenma wakes up, there’s a large lizard on his stomach. It’s dark with orange patterns on it, lazily flicks its tongue out, and smells foul.

Kenma glances around the room, as much as he can without disturbing it. There’s a window reflecting the night sky in the corner. He’s on an unrecognizable bed. The biggest worry of all: there’s no sign of Kuro.

Ice claws at his stomach, at odds with the uncomfortable warmth of the wound on his chest. _Where’s Kuro?_ He wouldn’t even know if he’d died.

“He’s awake!” comes a loud, feminine voice and Kenma startles badly.

The lizard on him hisses, and Kenma shoves it off. He scrambles away, and ends up falling off the other side of the bed. He _definitely_ needs to stop falling off of other people’s beds.

“Smooth.” A girl leans into his vision, all wide eyes, rosy cheeks, and a mass of auburn curls. She gives him a rather scary leer. “I can’t believe you’re the witch who’s supposed to have given my brother a run for his money.”

Kenma assumes that had been the man who’d stabbed him. There’s no need to remain polite, then, so he twists away from her, looking for any sign of his hoodie (probably ruined now) or shoes. Or _Kuro_.

“Uh-uh,” the girl scolds and presses her palm flat against the small of Kenma’s back. Magic rushes through him with a tingle, and he ends up numb on the floor, unable to even twitch his toes.

 _Healing magic?_ He knows it’s theoretically possible, but he’s never spent much time around other witches, much less ones with magic powerful enough to do that to someone. He sort of made it a point not to. So what now? He doesn’t know where Kuro is or if he’s okay, he assumes he’s in the man’s home or coven grounds, and that large lizard has scuttled back over to hiss at him again.

“Be nice, Rosalina,” the girl says and scoops the lizard up. “Hey, you don’t have a familiar with you, do you? Tora tried to find one, but he couldn’t, and your demon wouldn’t talk.”

Kenma wants to ask if Kuro’s alive, but his tongue feels like there’s the world’s largest wad of cotton in his mouth.

“Akane!” Kenma recognizes the deep boom of the man who’d attacked him, and a moment later, he bustles into the bedroom, in casual sweats and with a bowl and whisk tucked under one arm. “Don’t be mean to Rosa. Or the kid.”

“ _You’re_ the one who stabbed him.”

“I healed him again, didn’t I!” Tora growls and flicks whatever’s on the whisk at her.

She wrinkles her nose, tries to swat him, and instead patters out the door and leaves a helpless Kenma alone on the floor.

Tora looks down at Kenma. “Okay, so, sorry about stabbing you.”

Kenma wants to spit on him.

“I patched you up again—” a strange man looking at his body is the last thing Kenma wants to think about when he still doesn’t know where Kuro is, “—and the anesthetic spell should wear off soon. Akane’s good, but she’s not _that_ good.”

“Kuro,” Kenma forces out in a thick garble.

“Well, about that—”

“Kenma!” Kuro bounds into the room, nearly knocking Tora over, remarkably in one piece. He slides to the floor and scoops Kenma up, rubbing what must be a cheek against the top of Kenma’s head. Relief overcomes his annoyance and Kenma manages to tilt his head back the tiniest bit so Kuro can rub their cheeks together. He feels off, still unsettled, but Kenma wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But why didn’t he kill Kuro?

Kenma gives Tora a cold, hard look from beneath his clingy demon.

“Look, I—” he begins, but is cut off by Kuro.

“He’s a huge sap and he’s just like you and he was really touched by our great romance,” Kuro supplies, helpfully.

Kenma has a _bit_ of trouble reconciling that the thug who tried to murder him in a motel parking lot.

“Don’t fucking out people!” Tora throws the whisk at him, and both Kuro and Kenma are splattered with what smells like apple cinnamon muffin batter. Kenma is less inclined to spit on the man now.

Kuro wipes the little globs of batter off of Kenma’s hair and face, offering his thumb for Kenma to lick. “He didn’t kill me when he woke up because he was very touched.”

“Alright, I _did_ try a little. But he wouldn’t stop blubbering like a baby. It kind of ruined the mood.”

“The murder mood?”

Tora grabs the whisk again and flings more batter at them. Kuro opens his mouth to catch some, but it hits his nose and forehead instead.

This is surreal, to say the least. Feeling is coming back to Kenma’s limbs, and he can flex his fingers again, but he stays motionless until he feels better equipped to handle the pair of witch siblings. And the lizard.

Tora retrieves his whisk _again_ , dunks it back into the batter, and frowns down at both of them. “You’re not gonna, like, fuck demonically on my floor or something, are you?”

“He accepts that I don’t want to eat you. He accepted this a lot faster than you did,” Kuro tells him happily, and Kenma would swat him under any other circumstances.

“Mostly, I didn’t want to kill someone,” Tora admits.

“Kuro is someone.”

His demon nearly glows with joy. This is such a contrast to the last near-death experience they’d shared.

Tora makes a face, and turns to leave again. “Whatever, dude. I just didn’t wanna kill you, and anyone who sobs that hard over someone doesn’t deserve to have that someone die in front of them. I’m not _heartless_ , god.”

“You were still paid to kill the demon.”

“Yeah. A demon is kind of illegal, especially an uncontracted one. Just because you’re a crybaby in love with his summoner doesn’t mean you’re not going to get hunted down.” With that, he leaves them.

Once he’s gone, Kenma slowly curls up in Kuro’s lap. He runs his hands over the smooth blackness of his unsettled form, and sighs in relief. Somehow, they survived that. He feels reasonably confident they can escape here without dying.

But this confirms that covens are aware of Kuro’s presence in the city. They’ll figure out Kenma’s soon enough, too. It’s close to a worst case scenario, and yet again, he considers withdrawing. Leaving the city, or holing up somewhere to ensure that he and Kuro are safe. Only him and Kuro.

There’s too many others for Kenma to place much weight on those options anymore. It’s unfair.

“He doesn’t seem like a bad guy,” Kuro whispers, carding his hands through Kenma’s hair. “He panicked and even when he tried to stab me a couple more times, he made sure he had the time to heal you.”

“He still tried to kill you. We can’t trust him.”

“I’m not saying we have to trust him right away, but maybe this is an improvement. Let’s eat and see what information we can get from him, at least?”

“…Fine.”

Kuro brings him his ruined hoodie, and Kenma slips it on with little other choice in the matter. His chest is warm and a little tight, but as far as he can tell, he’s fine. Possibly better than he’s been feeling in some time. By the time Kenma slinks out into what he discovers in a living room, Tora is coming out of the kitchen with a pink apron and oven mitts and a plate full of muffins.

This is the large, scary man who’d just been trying to kill them, Kenma has to remind himself.

“You hungry or something?” Akane asks with a titter as Kuro eats two muffins more or less whole. Even Kenma has more than half of one stuffed into his cheeks.

“When’s the last time either of you two ate?” Tora asks gruffly.

“You feeding us muffins out of more sympathy?” Kuro asks, _somehow_ , despite his very full mouth.

“Don’t you have a coven to take care of you? You got this far with a demon, so…?”

“I’ve never been a part of any coven. Which are you part of?”

“Eyebright, strongest in the city. That’s why they sent _me_ to take care of Kuro over here.”

“Kuroo,” he corrects with many crumbs, “Tetsurou.”

“You… have a name.” It’s not exactly a question, but there’s a strange lilt to his voice. Akane’s eyes sparkle. Kenma isn’t certain which he’s warier of. He spots the lizard from earlier beneath the table, too, tongue flicking in and out like a snake.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m a person.”

“You’re a _demon_.”

“Are you really one to talk about labels?” Kenma takes a shot in the dark; Tora blushes up to the roots of his hair, and Akane breaks out into bright peals of laughter, curls bouncing.

“You should’ve seen him when he brought you in!” she gasps, delighted in her brother’s discomfort. “I don’t think he even realized it was a binder at first, but he was about as red as all the blood when he realized.”

“Akane, be polite,” Tora grumbles and hides his face with a hand. “Healers, uh, don’t learn much about shyness.”

“You two match,” Kuro says again, somehow smug.

Kenma is entirely uncomfortable with this situation. It may have been another reason for Tora’s change of heart, but Kenma doesn’t suddenly feel like kindred spirits.

“So the demon has a name, but what’s yours?” Akane chirps.

Kenma can think of a lot of reasons not to give this information out, even if they had to have already heard Kuro call him by name. “…Kenma,” he replies shortly, making it clear there will be no additions.

“I’m Yamamoto Akane! And this is my big brother Taketora! He’s a professional hunter and healer with the Eyebright Coven but I’m not. I’m still in high school and they’re pretty strict with that kind of stuff. I’ve never seen a demon before. How old are you?”

“Uh,” Kuro balks, thoughtfully chewing, “I don’t really know.”

“You had a contract, right?”

“Yeah, I was summoned and made a contract—”

“ _You_ made a contract?” Taketora harshly breaks in, reaching for something beneath a couch cushion. Kenma hopes it’s not a gun.

“It’s a long story,” Kenma sighs. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Can we go home now?”

“Is home that dinky little motel I found you two in?”

Kenma stubbornly stays silent, and Kuro is a horrible liar.

“I reported the place to Eyebright as a sighting for you. I didn’t turn you in, or, y’know, _kill ya_ , but I had to give them something. They don’t take kindly to failure. I grabbed the stuff Kuroo told me was yours, but I didn’t really… find much.”

“Being on the run is just as much fun as you imagine,” Kuro says with a thin smile, and pops another muffin into his mouth.

“You don’t got _anywhere_ you can lay low for awhile?” Akane cocks her head. “It was our coven news first, but eventually, other hunters will come after you two. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten caught yet!”

“We have powerful friends.”

“The tengu?” Tora asks.

Kenma flinches and shoves another muffin into his mouth to avoid talking.

“Maybe chill with them for awhile. Just a suggestion. Not many will willingly tussle with them, and you gotta at _least_ get this guy looking human again. You’re kind of a mess, as it is.”

There is no part of his advice that Kenma likes.

When they’re finally able to leave, Kenma slinks out with only a slight murmur of thanks—awkward and stilted. Kuro shakes Tora’s hand perhaps a dozen times, all smiles and cheer, probably thinking this man to be his new best friend. Kenma sincerely hopes he’s not another name added to the Kenma Must Learn To Trust This Person list.

As soon as they’re out of the building and Kuro’s safely tucked away in Kenma’s shadow, Kuro lets him know, “I hope he liked me. You wouldn’t believe the amount of schmoozing I had to do to save our asses in there. Thankfully, the guy’s a total romantic. I heard him shouting something about ‘why can a demon find love and I can’t!’ in the kitchen earlier.”

Kenma allows himself the tiniest smile. “You’re learning,” he says and extends his fingers. Kuro wraps a tendril around Kenma’s leg, working his way up until he can lean into the touch.

This may have worked out for the best, but Yamamoto Taketora brought up an important point: they needed some place _safe_.

Kenma frowns at the _Yamamoto T_ added to his phone.

 

\--

 

Suga sighs sinfully as he sinks into the water. It’s soft as silk, scalding hot, smelling delicious. He’d raided Tooru’s bath bomb stash and might’ve used three, but in his defense, the tub is large and perfect in every way.

Maybe he raided his bathroom cabinets, too. He needed a good face mask, and even if he doesn’t believe in the whole cucumber over the eye thing, he needs a bit of pampering. The circles under his eyes are a constant, uphill battle. Tooru may have been flighty lately, but he at least said Suga could use his tub today. If Suga may have timed it so he has the chance to corner him when he gets home, that’s a silver lining.

Suga hears the front door open over the _Spice Girls_ he has playing from his phone, and calls out, “In here!”

He settles back into the water with another happy sigh. Life is good, for the moment. He’s sure it’ll go back to hell soon enough, but right now, it’s _great_. Well, maybe Daichi could join him in here, but that’s a negotiation for later.

The bathroom door clicks open and Suga immediately shudders at the outside chill. He ducks down lower in the water, and with his reflexive shiver, it takes him longer to realize it’s _not_ Tooru who just walked in.

Iwaizumi, stripping off his shirt, also takes a moment to make the same realization.

“…You’re not Tooru,” they say together.

Neither say anything else, and the atmosphere isn’t quite awkward so much as… well, it’s pretty awkward. But Suga is _never_ one to turn down staring at Iwaizumi’s chest or arms. The burn scars on his biceps don’t let him get too carried away, however.

Suga draws his knees up to his chest to make room in the tub, and Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows impossibly high. “Uh.”

“I’m not shy, or cruel enough to ever deny anyone a hot bath,” Suga innocently replies.

Iwaizumi cautiously drops his shirt and shuts the door behind him, but he doesn’t come any closer.

“You’re a lot like Tooru,” Iwaizumi says after a pregnant pause. Now Suga’s turn to raise an incredulous eyebrow. “You want something else from me. You just act nice until you can get it.”

“A lot of people do that, and rarely with the degree he does,” Suga retorts. Iwaizumi’s stare doesn’t soften, so he rolls his eyes and relents. “He’s been distant from me lately. I don’t want him to forget about me again, so I was hoping I could glean some information from you.”

Cards on the table, Iwaizumi relaxes, and undoes his belt. “Fine, and in return I get to ask you about the Dreamlands.”

Suga politely averts his eyes as Iwaizumi steps into the tub with him. It’s just as crowded with two grown men as Suga remembers. Iwaizumi may not be as lanky as Tooru, but he’s certainly large and solid. But he’s also not as keen to immediately get into Suga’s space, which means the advantage is his when he does the same thing to him.

“God, you _are_ just like him,” Iwaizumi grouses as he wiggles to make room for Suga’s feet.

“I miss him. I take it he’s still as aggravating as ever?”

“Definitely. Probably more than ever, since he’s constantly exhausted now, too.”

“I wasn’t going to comment on the obvious tiredness,” Suga points out. “But since _you_ brought it up—you look horrible.”

“I’ve slept once. _Once_ , for maybe five minutes,” Iwaizumi groans. He sinks down low in the water, now just as unrepentant at taking up space as Suga, and lets his head rest on the edge of the tub. He looks like he could fall asleep any moment. “And we almost ended up in the fucking Dreamlands again. I don’t know who else to talk to.”

“ _Again_ ,” Suga echoes. The very thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“We haven’t slept since we came back, but the first time we both fell asleep together, we kind of ended up… together? I don’t know. It was dream bullshit, and the baku vanished on us, too.”

“ _Wait_. What?” Suga sits up straighter, and Iwaizumi cracks open an eye. They seem to realize they’re not on the same wavelength at the same time.

“I thought he told you.”

That stings, more than Suga cares to admit. “I’ve gotten radio silence, and then the occasional whine about insomnia and too many cat pictures.”

“You _do_ send a lot—”

“What the fuck do you mean you went back to the Dreamlands. Spill. _Now_.”

Iwaizumi fills him in on a terror-fueled trek across the other realm. By the time he’s describing _breaking into the tengu realm_ , Suga is ready to kill Tooru himself for not sharing this information.

The indignation is replaced by a chilly thought that maybe he isn’t important enough to Tooru anymore to inform. He may remember Suga again, but they haven’t snapped back to what they’d been before.

“We’ve been tired, and he’s withdrawing ever since the second dream. He’s not avoiding you or anything,” Iwaizumi finishes, gently.

“You almost died. _He_ almost died, in the same stupid place. You have no idea how it happened?”

“I was hoping you’d have some sort of idea.”

Suga groans and rubs at his eyes, the picks at the edge of the mask high on his cheek. “The most I ever learned about the Dreamlands was by accident, and to drive off a nightgaunt stalker.”

“You’re the only other person I’ve ever _met_ here that had even heard of it.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up.” His mind swims with possibilities, grasping at straws, desperate and scared. He’d almost lost his friends and had been unaware of it. They’re still in trouble. “Do you think you’re in danger of going back again?”

“I don’t need that much sleep. I’m not human.”

“Everyone needs sleep,” Suga mumbles. He’s the research man, and he must admit he has a knack for digging up information he probably shouldn’t have. There has to be other material out there on the Dreamlands, and maybe even just picking at Iwaizumi’s brain could give him some clues. “But that reminds me. Do you _want_ to be human?”

“Excuse me?” Iwaizumi sounds adorably affronted about the very notion.

“Legally. It’s something I’ve been thinking about, but you’re kind of stuck here. You may as well join society, maybe get a job or open a bank account or something. Get a proper name.”

“What kind of job do I need?” Iwaizumi snorts, completely not offended by the idea of being financially dependent on Tooru. Suga can admire that, honestly.

“I’m sure people would line up to ride a dragon!”

“You phrased it that way on purpose.”

“You can deal with me making innuendos, or you can deal with me getting sad about Tooru. It’s your choice, Iwaizumi.”

The skinwalker sinks low into the water, blows a few bubbles, and Suga grins at him.

 

\--

 

Hunger has made Kei grumpier than usual. Tadashi is sorry that he’s getting used to this. He doesn’t jokingly ask Kei to join him in the shower, and instead slinks past as his blond boyfriend watches cooking shows in a way that can only be described as _furiously_. He hasn’t been making luck for himself lately, since he’d probably just end up shedding it over Tadashi. There’s nothing left for him to spice food with to make it edible. Tadashi is close to trying to shove wisps down his throat again.

He hasn’t been eating, Tadashi hasn’t been sleeping—what a pair they make.

At least he can enjoy a hot shower. His feet protest from a double shift at the bookstore, and his back aches from having to carry new year’s stock to and from the back for most of it. He lights a candle with a flick of his finger, allowing himself a smile at that small victory, and shuts the door behind himself. It’s not as if his bathroom is large and if he puts the candle in front of the mirror, he has plenty of light. He’s done this before. Tadashi, for all his fumbling with the rest of his life, is a master at small methods of self-soothing.

The hot water, near scalding, helps slough off the hard day. That’s only one layer of his worries, of course, but he’ll take small mercies.

Except.

 _He needs to eat_ , he thinks, lips pursed as he rinses out his hair. He himself hasn’t been eating too well either, but he’ll adjust his diet as soon as Kei’s evens out. Tadashi bites back a yawn, grabs the shampoo, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to find a place with a tub. Rent has been growing difficult without the luck. He’s losing more money than he’s gaining off of scratch cards. The only thing keeping him above water is the money from the hunting jobs. His paycheck from the bookstore should be decent, but school starts back up next week, so his hours will tank again.

Something sharp tugs on his hair, and with his eyes shut from the lather, he pulls away with an annoyed huff. He ducks under the water enough to rinse off his face, and squints back at whatever his hair caught on.

There is a monster crouched on top of the shower door.

It’s small, maybe the size of a dog, but it’s folded up to stay balanced. It’s twice as ugly as the bogle, with significantly sharper teeth, and glowing yellow eyes. It has a little fistful of his hair clutched in gnarled claws.

Tadashi yelps and reels backward, but he ends up banging his elbow against the shower wall before he can start writing runes. His arm stings from the impact, half aching and half numb from the angle, and Tadashi slips down against the wall just to stay out of range of the nasty thing.

“Yamaguchi?” He hears Kei outside the door, jiggling the knob. Tadashi hadn’t thought twice about locking it, but right now, _fuck_ him for doing it.

“There’s a— _shit_!” He ducks down to avoid another swipe, ending up under the hot water, and spluttering out suds in his eyes and mouth. “There’s a thing, so get _in here_!”

“You locked the door—”

“Walk _through_ it!”

It takes too long, so Tadashi’s left alone with the monster. He tries to crack open an eye, ignoring the shampoo, and he hears a disgustingly wet _splat_ when it jumps down onto the shower floor with him. He kicks, grabbing blindly for any bottles to throw, and when he ends up kicking it it feels _slimy_. Almost rotted.

The sharp teeth it digs into his calf are decidedly not as soft as the rest of it. Tadashi shouts and throws the shampoo bottle at it. By that point he’s rinsed off enough he can at least see the fucking thing, not that he _wants_ to deal with a half-congealed shower monster.

Finally having gotten through the bathroom wall, Kei throws open the shower door and shoves his claws through the thing’s neck and chest. He clearly doesn’t expect the consistency of warm butter. Neither boy speaks as the disgusting little creature gives its death rattles and dying throes.

Tadashi shuts off the water so he doesn’t make a bigger mess of the bathroom. Kei’s hand is black up past his sleeve, rolled up to his elbow, and he has no idea when that had happened. It’s kind of hard to miss your boyfriend’s limb coloration when you live together.

Kei scrapes the thing off of his hand, and looks like he’s about to throw up. Tadashi scrambles out of the shower before the corpse can slide down to his side, and Kei holds him up, looking him up and down. “Are you okay? What was _that_?”

“I don’t know—I have no idea how it got in. This place should be warded against everything, right?” Tadashi quickly realizes that those are claws; Kei’s hands are both demonic. “When did this happen? Are _you_ okay?”

Most worrying of all is when they fade back to pink skin tone. His nails are the last to change back, and look slightly bruised, but are otherwise smooth and human again.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi breaths, and Kei’s hands tremble in his. “Is that…”

“I guess I can settle now.”

“How long did it take you to get through the door?”

“Intangibility is becoming harder and harder.”

Both of them are shaking, and Kei grabs a towel and drapes it over Tadashi’s shoulders. When he begins rubbing him dry, Tadashi notices little spots of monster blood on his favorite towel. He thinks there’s a metaphor for his life now in there somewhere. There’s a corpse in his bathtub. He still has homework to finish.

“Tsukki, we need luck again.”

It feels like giving up, taking unnecessary risks directly contradicting Morisuke’s advice, but he won’t let Kei become a demon over this.

“I don’t know how to turn it back on,” Kei flatly admits, already sounding ten kinds of defeated.

“How did you do it the first time?”

“Yaku shoved a collar on me and gave me a cat bath in luck.” At his curious look, Kei elaborates with clear distaste, “There was a lot of licking involved. I had cowlicks for weeks.”

Tadashi wonders how he’d even notice, with some of the unruly curls he’s already seen his boyfriend wear. “There’s not really any chance he’d let us go back, huh?”

“No. Not that he wants me to become a demon any more than I want to, but I think he’d sooner try to turn me into something _else_. He worries too much.”

Alright, so they need something else’s luck.

It’s a good thing that, even with his see-saw of fortune, he happened to run into one the other night.

“We can fix this. The other bakeneko, the little one. We can give you a boost, get you back into a luck spirit, and then…”

“And then what? Continue relying on it? Get into increasingly dangerous situations?” Kei’s eyes are dark, and his hands tighten on Tadashi’s hips through the towel.

Tadashi twines their fingers together again. “We’ll deal with it, because we _can_ deal with it. If you can’t go off of luck, then we’ll just get used to being the luckiest fucking kids in the country.” Before they’d gotten the lecture, Tadashi had thought of a dozen and a half ways they could use it to their advantage. He’ll accept the risks so long as Kei’s safe.

And maybe he’ll learn to control it better himself in the future. They can wean Tadashi off of it, gradually, without monsters trying to reenact _Psycho_ with him. Tadashi believes in Kei, because he’s nothing if not stubborn, but he’s also gotten this far. They’re not going to trip over the finish line _now_.

“Alright,” Kei replies, giving in.

 

\--

 

“I’m not sure you should be sleeping so much,” Wakatoshi doesn’t glance up from his phone. Last Tendou saw, he was _still_ poring over text-heavy websites about head wounds.

“I’m not sure you should be lecturing the moody higher spirit,” Tendou retorts without opening his eyes.

“For once,” Shirabu adds, “I agree with him. He hasn’t keeled over yet. I don’t think he will. You can fucking _relax_ for five seconds.”

“He won’t come back,” Wakatoshi mumbles, almost like he’s _sulking_. How precious. But sulking would imply more emotion than the man has ever portrayed. Even a desperate kiss had been barely a tremble in his stony facade. Tendou normally likes the theatrics, but that one had left him wanting.

“ _T'inquiète pas_ ,” Tendou tells him. “I’ll outlive you.” [10]

“I speak four languages, and French is not one of them.”

“Are you counting the gibberish that hurts our ears?” Shirabu asks.

“…Five,” Wakatoshi quietly amends, and Shirabu chuckles at that. “I wouldn’t call that full fluency. It’s difficult and comes and goes. I only learned enough to initiate contact and for the summoning—please wake back up.”

Tendou doesn’t even process the change in subject until it’s punctuated by a sharp yank on his tail. No matter how many times he swats at the witch, he won’t leave the tail alone. Tendou isn’t in the mood for it. “What could you _possibly_ want me awake for, _mon oisillon_?”  [11]

“I think we should go over how the summoning will go. I’m not sure you two know enough, and I’d like there to be as few mistakes as possible.” Watatoshi pauses, head cocked, likely listening to some godly input.

His words, at least, have Tendou’s attention, and, ears pricked, he leans up on one elbow to regard him. There’s a shuffling movement out of the corner of his eye; he assumes this has Shirabu’s attention, too.

“Now you’re awake?” Wakatoshi asks without malice.

“Oh, now you’re talkative?” Tendou shoots back.

“I talk enough.”

“You’re actually going to share _details_ with us?” Shirabu asks, all of the scoffing and sarcasm that Tendou wishes he had the effort for.

“There’s less danger in you knowing now. And you two must coordinate how you’re going to rescue Shirabu’s friend and get the egg.”

“Go in, cause a distraction, run like hell?” Tendou suggests. He catches enough movement out of the corner of his eye to safely assume that Shirabu is nodding.

“I like to know more details myself.”

“I don’t need a map or anything, I just need to get in and out. Both of us can be unseen,” Shirabu says. “And then we can give you the egg.”

“Your safety is also assured through our contracts until I banish Northot. Whether you stay around or not is up to you, but I’d appreciate it if you two could act as lookouts until we’re done. Your stealth skills are invaluable.”

Shirabu flickers in pleased embarrassment, and Tendou rolls his eyes so hard it must’ve been audible. “Sure. I’ll talk to him about it, but if we’re not in any danger, then probably.”

“What are we going to do about the higher spirit? Those are the last two ingredients, and I can’t help but notice we’ll be in a place swarming with a whole bunch of angry ones,” Tendou rolls onto his stomach, sets his chin in his hands, and kicks his feet idly. Moving is becoming slowly less dizzying.

For the first time, Wakatoshi looks _unsure_. It’s not a good look on him. Tendou may enjoy teasing him, especially lately, but he doesn’t want it to _work_. He wears confidence far better. “If you’re in a position in which you can, then yes. But don’t get killed trying to catch a tengu. I want your safety to be the highest priority.”

“Shouldn’t the egg be the highest priority?” Tendou baits.

“I want all three of you safe before we worry about that.”

“What a time to grow a conscience.”

“We’re agreeing more and more,” Shirabu deadpans. “It’s starting to leave a bad taste in my mouth.”

Wakatoshi sighs, and glances to the side in such a way that _he_ might have just rolled his eyes. Tendou would give a _lot_ of money to see it again. “I’ve never wanted a high body count with this. That’s why I’m banishing Northot again as soon as I’m done. No one wants me to summon it at all, but there are only certain things you can get with this kind of power, and I’m strong enough to do it.”

“So thus, breaking the law.”

“If you want to phrase it that way. I’m going to fix it again.”

Shirabu stifles another laugh.

“I’m going to be at the Old Moon Ball for the duration of the night. The attending tengu will likely hear of problems quickly, but I’ll have an alibi. And, if need be, there will be other spirits there, too. If you cannot secure a tengu, then I’ll find something on my way out.”

It’s a hilariously roughshod plan. Tendou smirks behind his hands, before innocently offering, “I asked a friend of mine about some jobs. Maybe that’ll pay off. Gold can make an awful lot of things happen, after all.”

“Money is only worth so much when it comes to lives.”

“I can come up with a _lot_ of money, Wakatoshi. I’m trying to be kind and pay you back for supposedly saving my life.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Just throwing it out there,” Shirabu breaks in, and Tendou lays his ears flat in irritation because Wakatoshi just had an _interesting_ shade of light pink on his face, “but I’m a tracker. We could find and ambush something? What about the luck spirit thing you were so pissed at?”

The pink is gone, replaced by a frighteningly stormy expression. “I’ll keep the options open. What do you need in order to track something?”

Tendou catches the glint of Shirabu’s grin for just an instant.

 

\--

 

Daichi yawns, taking a moment to lean on the counter. He normally doesn’t mind morning shifts, but Suga had _insisted_ on texting him until well past his usual bedtime. The texts had been impossible to ignore. Someone, at some point, must be blamed for the monster that is Sugawara Koushi, but Daichi isn’t sure who yet.

“Late night?” Yukie asks with a mouth full of a bagel. Daichi would’ve assumed it’d been her breakfast, but this is her third, and they’re not an hour into their shift yet.

“If a man with grey hair and a wicked grin comes in, tell him I’m not here. He’s a menace and must be stopped,” Daichi dips beneath the counter for a blessed second before the door chimes and he’s forced to snap back into Customer Service Mode.

Yukie joins him at the counter, both of them slouched and unprofessional. “When are the temps leaving?”

“I wish I knew.” Maybe then he can get his hours and normal paycheck back. January is hell.

“The students are going back soon. Textbook rush is incoming.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I might have a friend who’s been interested in working,” she says cautiously, even going so far as to pause her chewing to say it. Daichi arches an eyebrow in curiosity. He’d always gotten the impression that she largely kept to herself. “But Issei wouldn’t like her. Plus, she’d have to get past the line of temps waiting to get hired.”

“Invite her in for an interview. I’ll handle it and bump her up. If Issei doesn’t like it, he can suck my dick. What’s her name?”

“Suzumeda. I think you’d like her. You kind of remind me of each other,” she replies with a pleased crinkle to her eyes.

Daichi isn’t sure what to say about that, so he awkwardly leaves the counter to do a check on the customers. If anything, he doesn’t want to be around when people start trickling in with bags of returns.

There’s a woman who’s been standing, confused, by the calendars for twenty minutes now. She’s bundled up, even with the chilly weather, with a hood pulled low over her head. She startles when Daichi asks, “Can I help you with something today?”

“O-Oh! God. Um.” She _blushes_ , curling a lock of chestnut brown hair around her finger. Her long white nails look sharp enough to kill someone. “I was just looking for something for… a f-friend. It’s the new year, and calendars are a good idea, right?”

“Yes,” Daichi replies automatically. He relaxes his rictus Customer Service smile a few notches and prompts, “Alright, so shopping for someone else. Any idea what they like?”

“Cats,” she replies at once.

“We have a few choices. Cats or kittens?”

“Cats,” she repeats, and after a moment, she reaches down to a calendar on the bottommost rack. A beautiful long-haired cat is on the cover, and apparently it’s all about Maine Coons. Her posture relaxes, and her smile grows a little more wistful. “My friend has one of these. A very pretty cat.”

He had no idea the breed was so popular. “That’s funny, so does—”

“Excuse me!” another customer calls at him.

Yukie is ringing up someone else, and it seems like the woman has decided on her purchase, so Daichi can’t pull the I’m-helping-a-customer excuse. When he excuses himself, the woman watches him leave with a weirdly starry-eyed expression.

The rude one looks like a suburban middle-aged mom who’s going to ask for his manager at the drop of a hat. That’s always a fun conversation; he’s been told his smile is _scary_ when he informs people that _he’s_ the manager. To his surprise, she doesn’t immediately snap at him or demand anything else. “You can order a book for me, right? I need a book, but I don’t think you have it. The _Ars Goetia_?”

Daichi is going to complain to higher powers about _everything_ reminding him of Suga. He’d be annoyed if he still weren’t stupidly enamored with the man. “Ah, yes. We can order that for you.”

“Or the _Lemegeton_ if that is easier.” She follows Daichi back to the computer at the counter, and the earlier woman stares _hard_ at her. Daichi isn’t sure if it’s some sort of personal issue or simply because she pulled him away, but he wants this over quickly.

The mild annoyance drips into an unnerving chill down his spine when he sees Yukie giving the woman the same stare. It’s like a territorial dog before it snaps.

“How do you spell that?” Daichi asks with his Customer Service smile.

Yukie, finished with her customer and ignoring the few others in the store, walks up behind Daichi and unrepentantly reads over his shoulder. The woman stares back at Yukie as she spells out the title of the book; her expression is not the same pinpoint focus as the others, but seems _scared_.

This is going to backfire spectacularly, whatever it is. Daichi is suddenly aware that Tadashi isn’t on shift for hours, his phone is in the back so he can’t call his boyfriend, and he doesn’t even have his dogtags with him.

“What did you say this book was for?” Yukie coldly inquires. She has even stopped eating her bagels to engage in this. Good fucking lord.

“I did not,” the customer icily replies.

The description on the computer lets him know that this is an encyclopedia on demon classification. That’s just great.

He suddenly wishes he could’ve asked Issei to handle today, too, day off be damned.

Just as he wonders what’s going to end up breaking this terrible tension, someone’s cellphone goes off. The customer slowly pulls it from a purse that looks like it was picked from the trash, and answers in a language he doesn’t recognize.

After a brief conversation, she hangs up, stiffly requests the book to be put on hold, and marches out the door.

Yukie finally relaxes, and Daichi squints at her bared teeth. “What the hell is wrong with your mouth?”

She slaps a hand over her mouth and ducks low beneath the counter, slowly going red. “Sorry,” she mumbles, muffled, and hastily shoves another bagel between incredibly sharp teeth, “I just thought it’d be, y’know, a good idea. Demons don’t taste very good, though…”

The first woman rushes to the counter and slams down the Maine Coon calendar. “This, please!” The way she’s staring out the door makes it clear she wants to follow the other one.

A: Daichi is not cut out for magical bullshit. B: He does not want magical bullshit happening in the store. C: He would rather grill Yukie on _what the hell that means_ instead of get into the middle of whatever that had been again, so he checks her out with all haste and lets her go. More power to her.

The bell tinkles merrily as she darts out the door, and Daichi takes one, deep breath before rounding on his coworker. “What the _fuck_ , Shirofuku?!”

She grins up at him, mouth still full of bagel and needle-like teeth. “At least I’m not the one who almost sold a book about archdemons to a contracted demon.”

 

\--

 

“Why was Yamamoto so up in arms about you not having a familiar?” Kuro asks during Attempt #2 at Securing A Safe Place To Sleep And Recharge. Today’s attempt is an open house that had been pretty easy to charm away from the realtors. It was even furnished, warm and airy and drenched in sunlight. It actually feels like a _home_ in a way Kuro is wholly unused to.

“What do you mean?” Kenma asks, feet on the couch, head hanging over the edge. His 3DS chimes every so often between the battle theme.

“Okay, so you’re bleeding, I’m still trying to eat him while carrying you away, he’s still trying to stab _me_ while growing more and more concerned—”

“What does this have to do with familiars.”

“I’m _getting_ to it,” Kuro huffs, arms folded. “You should’ve seen him when he finally gave in to helping you. It was like a bad soap opera, the kind Lev likes. A lot of shouting and swearing, and then shouting and swearing at _me_ as he demanded where all your stuff was. Kept thinking I ate your familiar. Tried to leave me behind, too, but he kind of got quieter when he realized you don’t have one. I know Kiyoko doesn’t, but… I guess I don’t know that many other witches.”

“She’s psychic, they don’t have familiars.”

“And _you_ don’t have one because?”

“This place doesn’t have any food, so we should go out and find some before settling in. I want a nap, I miss those.”

“ _Kenma_ ,” he scolds, frowning at the unsubtle change of subject.

Kenma doesn’t respond this time, curling into a ball on the couch, putting his back to Kuro.

Kuro slithers over the end and starts poking him in the sides, earning little shocked laughs. “Kenma, Kenma, _Kenma_. I can do this all day. You can’t order me away now!”

“St-Stop it!” Kenma tries to kick him, but Kuro grabs his ankle, and tickles his foot next. Kenma’s next kick is right on target to his head. “I don’t have a familiar, I’ve never had one! This isn’t new.”

“Demons can’t be familiars, huh?”

“Definitely not. You’d be a horrible one, anyway.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

“Would _not_ —”

“Get up, we have to go get food.”

“And a familiar for you.”

Kenma stares at him like he’s infected with the plague.

“They’re good for witches! Yamamoto told me they make people happy, and let’s face it, you’re not the happiest person right now. They can help with healing, and emotional stability, and they can hold magic for you—”

“Did you two sit and have a friendly chat while I was out cold?” Kenma snaps, and finally shoves Kuro off of him. “You stay here, I’ll go on a food run. If you have time to think about my personal life, think instead about how we’re going to survive the _apocalypse_ , okay?”

“Tengu realm,” Kuro replies automatically.

“I’m not leaving Lev,” Kenma replies, just as quick, and that fills Kuro with a strange sense of joy. “Or, anyone else. I guess.”

“Alright, so we need another way of making a giant protection spell, except not with any of the research or planning or spells you’ve made so far, because you’ll die if you use any more angelic magic.”

“That makes it sound kind of depressing…”

“You know what would be a great idea? Something that could help you hold magic. Like, I don’t know, a _familiar_.”

To his surprise, Kenma does not ask why he’s fixated on it, or even argue with him any further on the subject. Kuro peeks over the edge of the couch again, and finds Kenma staring blankly at his handheld. That’s the _thinking_ face.

Kenma abruptly shuts the 3DS and rolls to his feet. He begins pulling his coat and boots back on. Any time Kenma is this energized is a cause for confusion, if not concern.

He cups Kuro’s face and kisses him soundly on the mouth, despite not being settled. “You just gave me an idea. Now stay here, you still can’t go out and I’m not losing you to more feisty hunters.”

With perhaps the greatest show of affection of all, Kenma leaves his phone with Kuro so he has something to do.

His chest feels warm and full of light. Kuro distantly wonders if a demon can die from too much love.

He unlocks the phone, goes to google, and types in ‘ _witch familiars for sale_ ’.

 

\--

 

“Two things,” Yui breathlessly announces as she sheds her jacket and blouse. “Okay, no, three. First—these things are back!” Shirtless in record time, she twists and shows the pair of feathery nubs that are already four inches out from her shoulder blades. They twitch a few times, and a dribble of blood runs out from the bottom of one. “I can’t keep ‘em in anymore. I think things are kind of going back to… normal.”

Kiyoko rubs at the bridge of her nose, glasses pushed up onto her head, and asks, “What are the other two things?”

“Did you know Daichi is hot?”

“Sawamura?” Hitoka pipes up.

“Yeah! That’s Koushi’s boy toy, right? Works at a bookstore, yay tall, built like a statue in the Louvre?” Still half naked, Yui comes over to sit on the floor in front of them, cross-legged with her tiny wings twitching. She sighs, tilts her head back, and rests against the bottom of the couch. “I bet they look so good together. I’m kind of surprised you aren’t hitting me for sneaking out to see him, though. He makes Koushi happy, right?”

“I’m not happy you did, but you still appear to be human, and he has the magical awareness of a rock. As long as Tadashi wasn’t working.”

“He does make him happy,” Hitoka adds, then excuses herself. “Tea?”

“Yes, please!” Yui watches her go, taking their empty mugs and padding out downstairs. Quieter, more serious, Yui says, “She has a hell of a sense of timing. She’s not scared of me or anything, is she?”

“Not to my knowledge. What was the third thing?”

“So, there was a hunger spirit and a demon in the bookstore,” Yui says casually. Kiyoko’s eyes on her feel sharp enough to pierce. “The entire place smelled like old luck, too.”

“That’s from Tsukishima. What do you mean a _hunger spirit and a demon_.”

“No, get this—the hunger spirit worked there. She was friendly with Daichi and everything, and I think she thought I was kind of weird, but she didn’t really pay much attention to me. Got real territorial when the demon approached Daichi. Ask Koushi if she’s a guardian of the place or something, because she was sure acting like it.”

“Maybe she is. I was unaware of this entirely, so I can only assume Foxglove is, too.”

“Are you really going to tattle on them?”

“They’re not in _trouble_. It’s just nice to know where the higher spirits in the city are, especially with Ushijima on the prowl,” Kiyoko replies defensively. “What happened with the demon?”

“I followed her out, but I lost track of her. I can only assume she headed back to her contract holder. Certain little witches with bad dye jobs don’t have _more_ demons, right?”

“Definitely not. _That_ definitely needs to get reported to the covens.”

“But not Kenma,” Yui says flatly.

Kiyoko shakes her head.

“And why—”

The argument is preemptively cut off by Hitoka coming back, bearing a tray of steaming mugs and wearing floral patterned oven mitts. “Let me see your back,” she hardly makes sure the tray is set down before twisting Yui around.

“Hey—be careful! I’m sure it’s still oozing back there!”

“Hitoka, please—”

“If keeping your power down is what allows you to stay settled and yourself,” Hitoka bends the brunette over so she can better examine her regrowing wings, “then we can do that.”

“Is she always this forceful nowadays?”

“There’s a certain logic behind it.”

“So you’re going to carve me open again?!”

“Yui,” Kiyoko softly says, and Hitoka freezes with her mitts pressed into the bottom of her ribcage.

“I’m so sorry! That’s not what I—oh my god, of _course_ you’re right, that’s not an option, I’m not a surgeon and these aren’t sanitized and it’d just be a waste of magic to do it that way and I’d probably end up passing out and then you’ll be bleeding all over and you’ll bleed out and I’ll get burned and then I’ll die and you won’t have a healer and my mom will find out about Yui because I—”

“ _There’s_ the girl I remember,” Yui smiles through her nerves, and shuffles away as Hitoka works herself into a proper wail.

“You’re not wrong,” Kiyoko soothes, hand on her shoulder. “That’s not a bad idea, but I don’t think the floor is the best idea. Let me help you.”

“It’s not a bad idea?”

Kiyoko sighs, adjusting her glasses to avoid looking directly at either of them. “Perhaps some way to suppress things…? Maybe not simply hacking away at the regrowing wings, but I don’t think we should let this get away from us again. Preemptively making sure you stay settled should be a priority.”

“Well, yeah, I guess…” Yui shuffles nervously, little nubs fluttering weakly on her back, and scrubs both hands over her face then up into her hair. “Well, we have magic. Let’s use that before bringing out the scalpels. I don’t want to get to that point again, believe me. It was terrifying.”

“We don’t want you there, either!” Hitoka says at once.

“We’re here to help. Together,” Kiyoko adds, and places a cool hand against Yui’s bare shoulder. Yui wants to lean into her touch, maybe lean against her, press up against her legs, but she’s too aware of Hitoka’s presence behind her.

She likes having a clear head again, but she hadn’t missed the guilty jumble of feelings. When she’s not feeling sick at what she’s done and what she’ll have to do, then she feels far too much familiarity with Kiyoko’s presence.

They’re not together anymore. Hitoka is with Kiyoko now. Yui is happy for them both, honestly, but for Kiyoko, it had been three years; Yui sometimes feels as if she’s just woken up from a long, tortuous dream. Half of it is habit that she expects to be Kiyoko’s priority again. (Half of it self-defense.)

“Well,” Yui says, forcing a smile to break the mood and her own fear, “it’s a good thing I’m the one who came back, huh? We’re a team, but I think we’ve been overlooking something pretty important when it comes to planning out all this secrecy.”

“Oh,” Kiyoko finally looks like _something_ else instead of vaguely, sadly determined.

“Oh?” Hitoka repeats, clueless.

Yui jerks a thumb up against her sternum, giving the blonde a sly look over her shoulder. “I may be a hot mess right now, and I may have different magic too, but I’m still a spellwriter. I’m sure, together, we can whip up something to keep me in one piece and _not_ chewing on good folks in the outside world.”

Hitoka’s smile is like the sun as it breaks through a cloudy day. “Yes! I’m positive we can come up with something!”

Yui, for all her pride at being the source of that smile, feels the prickle of ugly jealousy in the back of her mind at the way Kiyoko softens at the very same sight.

 

\--

 

“Tadashi, I can’t _believe_ you,” Morisuke growls, ears flat against his hair and teeth bared. “Do you even—no, of course you don’t know what that means. Shit. Lev, I am _so_ sorry.”

Tadashi sweats it out, kneeling on the ground in front of the angry bakeneko, avoiding eye contact. Lev appears _stunned_.

“I’m definitely in the _Twilight Zone_ ,” Kei rubs at his eyes, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He adjusts his glasses again and Morisuke only flicks an ear in his direction.

“I dunno, I like it when I’m not the one being yelled at,” Lev frankly remarks.

Tadashi bites down harder to resist another laugh.

“And it’s okay, anyway!”

“No, it’s not okay,” Morisuke steps away from them, tail swishing and arms crossed. Despite being mostly human, he looks every inch an annoyed cat. “I didn’t want to drag you any further into all of this—I’m sorry, Lev.”

“Can I hear that again?” Lev asks with a hand cupped behind his ear. He’s grinning, wide and smug.

“Don’t press your luck!”

“Oh, I thought I could, since these cat spirits are going to be staying in _my_ home.”

Morisuke goes scarlet, fur on end, then mumbles, “S-Sorry.”

Cat spirit hospitality, apparently, is a tricky thing. All Tadashi knows is that he accidentally volunteered Morisuke to babysit the nekomata, which is doubly an issue since Morisuke doesn’t _have_ a home in the human realm.

Which means they both accidentally volunteered Lev’s apartment to a bunch of large cat spirits.

Lev had taken it admirably well, especially in comparison to his sister. Then again, Tadashi thinks _anyone_ would take to magical shenanigans better than Haiba Alisa, and he’s counting Daichi in that. She hadn’t come to meet them, understandably, and as Lev put it, “is probably screaming into a pillow at the hotel about what her baby brother has been up to”.

Tadashi gets back to his feet, bad leg giving a warning twinge he ignores, and Morisuke leads them through the realm door into the goblin market.

It’s his first trip here, and after the rush of vertigo, he finds that other realms don’t agree with his stomach. Tadashi almost trips over a sprite as he rushes to the edge of a bridge and throws up over the edge. Kei is at his side immediately but dry heaves a couple times before sinking against the stone railing with a miserable groan. So much for expecting comfort.

“My first time wasn’t that rough,” Lev says, almost sympathetically.

“They’re not particularly lucky right now.” Morisuke, as a cat, jumps up onto the railing, purring as he rubs against Tadashi’s temple. “I should have warned you, I’m sorry. Lev didn’t bat an eye on his first trip, and I’m still getting used to spending time with the same humans over and over.” With a swish of his tail, he brings clean water up from the river beneath them to let them rinse their mouths out, completely ignoring the angrily chattering water fae below.

Figures he’d be unlucky enough to puke on market spirits on his first visit.

“There’s a lot of fair folk here, so even if you two are hungry, don’t accept any food from strangers. Lev, that goes _double_ for you.”

“I can handle myself here!”

“No, you can’t. You almost vanished with an emere last time.” Morisuke butts against their heads until the boys are moving again, then shifts back to human form to lead the way. His hand is clamped tight around Lev’s wrist. It’d be sweet if it weren’t so obviously because of how easily distracted Lev seems here.

Not that Tadashi blames him in the least.

He eyes the large, glowing green stone hanging around a woman’s neck, and can’t draw his eyes away until Kei physically drags him away. The blond is then immediately accosted by a pair of _very_ excited harpies demanding to know what exactly he is.

Morisuke intervenes with a growl, and they scatter, feathers fluffed.

They all end up holding hands to stay together after that. Lev doesn’t appear to notice, Morisuke isn’t at all embarrassed, and Tadashi is too busy laughing at Kei’s face to feel much embarrassment himself. “It’s like a field trip!” he teases.

“Yeah, just like when we were _five_.”

“I’m not losing any of you here, even for the sake of other cats,” Morisuke says flatly. “I should have brought a leash…”

“You’re taking this responsibility pretty seriously,” Kei sounds even more sour than usual, and that has Tadashi snickering into their clasped hands all over again. He’s _exactly_ like the angry five-year-old dragged along on a field trip.

“Of course. I gave you my collar, that means you’re at least partially my responsibility,” Morisuke easily informs him, oblivious to the renewed pinkness in Kei’s cheeks.

They finally leave the busier section of the market, and end up in something looking a bit more residential. The buildings aren’t as tall here, and there are even spaces for yards and what could be tiny parks, dotted with strange trees and even stranger flowers. Tadashi doesn’t think he should approach any right now. Lev tries.

When they arrive at what looks more like a large hole carved out of a tree. There’s a cute little signpost beside it, lit by a lantern, and the nekomata are waiting.

Tadashi can see them far better now, although his initial thoughts of _dark_ and _huge_ aren’t wrong. He can’t remember which is which at this point; they both have black, gleaming fur, but one is shaggier, and the other has faint stripes. The ancient spirit is the easiest to distinguish with fur shining like quicksilver even in the overcast day. He looks to be sleeping, head resting on his folded paws, will-o-wisps muted little flickers near his tails.

One of the nekomata stands and greets them with a polite, “Thank you for coming to meet us.” His eyes linger on Morisuke in a rather unsubtle way. The voice gives him away as Kai, and Tadashi internally sighs in relief.

Just as he begins to wonder where the other bakeneko is, Yuuki pops up into the air between them, startling Kei and Lev. He hovers right in front of Morisuke’s nose, eyes wide, pupils dilated, and mouth open in a definite grin.

“Yuuki, be polite,” Kai gently chides just as the kitten puts his tiny paw to Morisuke’s nose.

“But he can do it too!”

“He’s so tiny!” Lev squeals, and almost grabs him out of the air before Morisuke swats him back. Yuuki shrinks back, apparently noticing the tall human for the first time, and balks further when he notes Kei’s height, too.

“What an entourage you have, city cat,” the old nekomata says.

“Yaku,” he flatly replies. His tail lashes behind him. “You’ve met Tadashi, and the blond is his partner. The tall idiot is, unfortunately, whose hospitality you’ll be utilizing.”

The three nekomata make curious sounds, and the old one even raises his head from his paws. “I was under the impression you lived there.”

“I live with a human in the human realm,” Morisuke forces out like it pains him. His face is scarlet for reasons Tadashi doesn’t understand.

“Ah, you’ve been shacking up with him,” Kei realizes aloud. Lev snorts.

“A home is a home,” Kai replies, uneasily, exchanging a look with Shouhei beside him. “And we’d appreciate another bakeneko’s input on certain things.”

“How did you end up with a kitten, anyway?” Morisuke grabs Yuuki out of the air, and the little spirit immediately begins purring in sheer excitement.

Tadashi thinks he _sees_ Morisuke’s heart melt.

“Let’s not discuss business when we’re travel-weary and hungry,” the old nekomata says with a wide yawn. Tadashi thinks his canines are almost as long as his palm. “Yaku, if you’d be so kind as to lead us to where we may stay until we adjust to these new human developments…?”

Morisuke sighs, ears drooping low. He gives Lev one last, apologetic look, then flatly says, “Follow me.”

 

\--

 

“You haven’t met Shirofuku, have you?” Daichi leans his forehead against the machine in front of him.

Suga gently tugs him away from the poor frozen yogurt dispenser. It didn’t ask for angst. “I don’t think so?”

“She’s that new manager we hired, and I guess… she’s magic. Or, not human, I don’t know.”

“Huh.” Suga can’t exactly say he’s _surprised_. He’s shocked more things haven’t come into the store looking to follow the luck or the magic. “Did she say anything else? I can swing by and check her out, if that makes you feel better.”

“It would. She’s been good, I mean she’s a good person—thing, gulon or whatever—”

“ _Gulon_?” He had been expecting a pixie or, at worse, a lost selkie. Suga nearly crumples his paper bowl before catching himself and adding a little more chili chocolate.

“That’s what she said. That bad, huh?”

“Not… bad,” Suga delicately replies. He refuses to say anything else until they’re done getting their dessert, and even Daichi’s judging stare can’t stop him from adding scoop after scoop of pomegranate bobas. He smoothly pays for Daichi’s, drags him over to the corner window table, and shoves a spoonful of his mess into his mouth. “Okay, so a gulon is a hunger spirit. They can be nasty, but if this one has bothered applying for a job and _working_ , then she must just want to mooch off the luck. Have your dogtags with you, but you should be fine. Tell me when she’s working and I’ll stop by.”

“Thanks,” Daichi mutters around a little nibble of his own. Vanilla with hot fudge and a couple marshmallows, how charmingly predictable for a man like him.

“I’ll tell Kiyoko, just so we can keep an eye on her…”

“Don’t drag my coworker off for being a monster. She’s behaved so far.”

“No, it’s just—Ushijima is after higher spirits. If he found out about her, it could lead to a fight there. At worst, it starts the apocalypse.”

Way to kill the mood. Suga frowns around another large bite. He _hadn’t_ wanted to talk or think about Ushijima and his stupid fucking plan for _one afternoon_. Just one. Daichi deserves a normal date.

“So, um, what color are you wearing!” Suga blurts out, half-panicked. “I don’t think we should completely match, since we don’t want to seem like we’re trying too hard, you know? But a little bit wouldn’t be bad, and I was thinking grey myself.”

Daichi raises his eyes again, spoon stuck in his mouth. There’s a tiny smear of hot fudge near the corner of his mouth that Suga wants to kiss away.

“For the Old Moon Ball? On the fifth?”

“The… _what_?” Daichi’s brow furrows in confusion. Suga really wishes he knew how a grown man Daichi’s size could look so consistently cute.

“The banquet?” The bottom drops out of Suga’s stomach. He sinks low in his seat, face abruptly hot as he covers it with his hands in utter mortification. “I… forgot to ask you…”

“You were going to ask me to some sort of dinner dance? The only one you asked me about was that Yule party.”

“I-I was going to ask you on the vacation thing, but then the poltergeist, and your birthday, and all the family—”

Daichi _finally_ cracks into a grin. “If I wasn’t lucky enough to know that I already had the night of the fifth off, I’d tease you a little more. As it stands, my night is free and I do, in fact, own some nice clothes.”

“Like, formal nice. Black tie nice,” Suga murmurs, still embarrassed. “I have to rent something, since Tooru’s stuff has never fit me right, _that_ nice.”

“I own a suit, Suga.”

Still low in his seat and only picking at his froyo, Suga mutters, “No dress uniform?”

“That’s illegal.”

“It’s a banquet run by witches and spirits. They don’t care.”

“It’s going to be magical?” Daichi asks, uneasy, and drops what little teasing atmosphere there’d been.

“It’s run by the witch covens, mostly, so it’s very human, don’t worry. I’ve been going for a few years and the food is always safe, no one gets cursed or hexed, and it’s just… nice. It starts at seven. You can go? With me?”

“Yes, I’d love to be your date for magic prom.”

“Great! So I was thinking, maybe a grey tux for myself, with a white shirt? What are you gonna wear?”

 

\--

 

Tadashi hadn’t gotten the chance to ask Yuuki about getting any luck, and he isn’t sure if nekomata are luck spirits. Morisuke is still very out of the question, especially since Tadashi accidentally promised Lev’s apartment to cat spirits.

He doesn’t know how else they can get any more luck. Kei still hasn’t been able to create any of his own. At best, he can make his fingertips glow. Dimly.

Hitoka’s voicemail in his phone weighs on his mind.

“ _We need a favor. Kiyoko and I. It would mean so much to us if you could come in and let us take out your memories of Yui—th-the archangel! It’s totally safe, and we could even pay you for it. It’s just… Suga can’t know. Suga can’t ever know._ ”

She had sounded heartbroken to even have to ask. Tadashi had texted her back, briefly, just to ask if she were serious; she’d replied yes, and then asked what their favorite foods were.

Kei had wrinkled his nose at the thought of more food. They haven’t been able to figure out anything else for him yet.

Kiyoko had Morisuke in her shop since the summer; she _had_ to have a stash of luck. Even if she tried to take the moral high ground, Tadashi is prepared to point out how desperate they are.

“It sounds a lot like blackmail,” Kei says into his shoulder. His chin digs into Tadashi’s chest, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s not,” Tadashi replies, even though it kind of _is_. “You need to get back to being a luck spirit, right? And I’d like to stop tripping and dropping things.”

If there’s one thing he’s learned in his time since finding out about the magic all around them, it’s that anything is allowed if you can get away with it. He’s definitely come to terms with what luck can do to them both, but it’s better for Kei. He needs to become a luck spirit and sway back from becoming a demon, concretely this time, as far as they can possibly push it.

At least he can keep luck-laced foods down.

“I don’t want you doing all this purely for me,” Kei grunts. “Don’t make me leave again.”

“Forgetting about Yui isn’t _that_ bad, right? Not for us?”

“I thought Kiyoko and Sugawara were supposed to be good friends. Why does it have to stay such a secret?”

“I think we want to keep plenty of secrets. I can’t imagine another decade of magic making anything better about that,” Tadashi flatly replies. He wraps the arm that had been falling asleep beneath Kei around his shoulders, and rolls them—

—and forgets they were on the couch, not his bed.

God, he’s tired.

“You did that on purpose,” Kei hisses.

Tadashi leans up off of him, groaning as his back and shoulder crack. Kei glares up at him, glasses slightly askew, unperturbed or unaware of their position. “I swear I forgot, Tsukki. Sorry!”

“You’re heavy, get off.”

“Will you come to Kiyoko’s with me? If you insist on calling this blackmail, then I’m gonna need your scary face.”

Kei’s expression darkens, half annoyed, half sour.

“Yeah, that one!” Tadashi chirps. He leans down to press a quick, embarrassed kiss to the tip of Kei’s nose—just for the way he scoffs and tries to pretend it wasn’t cute—before rolling off him. “Come on, might as well get this over with. Hopefully we don’t make Hitoka cry.”

 

\--

 

“Does this have anything to do with your grand master plan?” Kuro asks, too-dark hands in his pockets. He can stay settled for a little while, even if the charm around his neck smells a little funny. He’s trying. Kenma is trying, too.

He likes trying together.

“I don’t have a grand master plan.”

“You have _some_ kind of plan.”

“Hm.”

“Oh, come on! Tell meeeee,” Kuro whines. He nudges his tail against Kenma, making him jump. “You looked so cool and determined, earlier. I wanna know! Tell me!”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“ _No_ ,” Kenma cuts it short but adds, “but right now, we’re going to see this guy you _already messaged_.”

“It’d be rude to turn him down now,” Kuro reasons, and Kenma sighs. What else had he expected, leaving him alone with his phone? Kuro had been _nice_ and set up an appointment with a guy who had a litter of kittens who should probably be familiars.

He’d threatened to carry Kenma all the way there if he hadn’t walked himself. Whether Kenma suspected that Kuro couldn’t do that and keep human form, or simply didn’t want to subject himself to more manhandling, Kuro doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

Their cheeks are rosy with the chill but Kenma doesn’t complain about being forced outside again. He shoves his hand in Kuro’s pocket and links their fingers together. Kuro finds himself grinning.

They meet the man named Ikejiri and his box of squalling kittens in the open back of an SUV in an otherwise empty parking lot. The asphalt is damp from the earlier rain, and he’s dressed nearly as warmly as Kenma. The motor of his vehicle is still running, and Kuro can feel the heat from it as they approach.

Ikejiri raises an eyebrow. “You Kuroo?” At his nod, he then asks, “You walked here?”

“I wanna see the kittens,” Kuro replies automatically. He doesn’t wait for permission before approaching the large tub.

“Are you his witch friend?” Ikejiri asks, sliding out of the way and standing beside Kenma. Kenma doesn’t shy from him, but Kuro can feel some amount of irritation over their severed connection. “Alright, so the deal was, you get one if you bond to one _and_ if you tell me which have the potential.”

“I thought you said they were familiars,” Kenma says, accusatory, and Kuro isn’t sure who he’s speaking to.

Kuro reaches into the box and pulls out two fluffy, squirmy things. Their meows are almost as accusing as Kenma’s words.

Ikejiri sighs and tugs his hat down lower over his head. It has some sort of ears on it, along with long tassels. “God. Okay, well what your guy told me is that you were a witch lookin’ for a familiar. The purebred Ragdoll familiar I was using managed to get out and so I got a bunch of kittens that are mixes. I’m not a witch, so I don’t know which ones I can even claim are familiars at all.”

Yeah, that’s what the guy told him on the phone. Maybe Kuro should have mentioned this on the walk over, but he’d been a little too excited about the thought of Kenma with an animal.

With a scowl that should be nowhere near the prospect of dealing with a bunch of baby animals, Kenma leans over the edge of the tub. Kuro thinks there’s six or seven, it’s hard to tell with how they wiggle around. They’re fat and fluffy and their tails look like little triangles. Most of them are shades of warm grey, but two are black with white paws, and a couple of the grey ones have white paws, too.

Kenma sighs and reaches into the pile.

“Kitten,” he says, and hands off the black one with three white feet off to Ikejiri. He hastily sets the kitten down in the car, and takes the next one Kenma gives to him. “Kitten. Familiar. Familiar. Kitten. Kitten. Familiar.”

“They’re _all_ kittens,” Kuro points out.

“Nonmagical,” Kenma corrects, pointing at the four kittens that have been put back into the tub. “Magical. Probably.”

“That was, uh… faster than I thought it’d be,” Ikejiri dubiously replies. He sits on the back bumper, one leg thrown up to corral the remaining animals.

Kenma looks back into the pile of apparently magical kittens, surprisingly bored. Kuro had counted on this being a little more exciting for him. “How old are they?”

“Six weeks. Know anyone who wants a kitten?” Ikejiri laughs, quiet and a little exasperated. “It’s off-time for bonding, too, this close to the new year.”

“You said we get one!”

“Sure, if you _really_ want, I can give you one for cheap. But the deal was if the witch bonded to one.”

“He identified them for you.”

“It’s not too hard to track down a witch. Do you want a cat that badly?”

“Well, yes, but—” Kuro glances over to Kenma for support, only to find Kenma with one of the kittens in his hands and tears brimming over his eyes.

“Ah,” Ikejiri says, with a knowing little smile.

“What’s wrong?” Kuro moves to put an arm around Kenma, but the witch startles, and hastily scrubs at his face.

“I-I’m fine,” Kenma thickly replies. For a brief moment, he looks as if he might try to wipe his nose on the kitten’s long fur, with how close his face is to it. The kitten mews again and puts a tiny paw on Kenma’s lips.

Both demon and witch glance up at Ikejiri, and the man just shrugs. “I see this often enough. I’m going to assume you know the basics of cat care, and I don’t think any witch could hurt their own familiar, so, it was nice doing business with you. Best craigslist exchange I’ve ever had, probably.”

“Wait that’s—that’s it?” Kuro asks, confused. Kenma scoots out of the back of the car, kitten still squirming in his hand. Kuro means to ask so much—is it a boy or a girl, what will Kenma name it, what do familiars _really_ do for witches, can he have one too—but Ikejiri places the kittens back in the tub together, shuts the door, and circles around to the driver’s side.

Kenma puts the kitten in his hoodie pocket, and Ikejiri gives them a happy wave as he drives by.

“That’s it?” Kuro repeats. He had at _least_ expected some sort of magical light show or something.

Kenma’s eyes are still a little watery as he gives him a reproachful look. “What else did you want? I already told you you can’t have a pet. We don’t even have a place to _live_.”

“You got a pet!”

“I got a familiar. You _wanted_ me to have one.”

“Well, yeah…”

Why did so much of his life lately seem so anticlimactic?

 

\--

 

Grocery shopping didn’t normally lead to nosebleeds. Tooru curses under his breath and clamps his hand down over his nose. Iwaizumi reaches into his bag and pulls out his handkerchief for him. He leans an elbow against the cart, yawns, and asks, “You know what caused it?”

“Don’t—start yawning,” Tooru says around his own. He wipes his nose, winces again, and glances around. “Someone in here isn’t human and isn’t good at hiding it. It feels like there’s screaming inside my skull. I’ve had near-death experiences kinder than this.”

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi replies, not unsympathetically. There’s not much he can do right now. Exhaustion has muffled most of his reactions, and even now, he can only awkwardly rub Tooru’s back. “Do you know who it is?” _Do I need to kindly ask them to leave the area_ hangs beneath the question.

Iwaizumi would _love_ a stubborn spirit to take his frustration out on. Fatigue may make him into a pretty poor fighter, though.

“Two aisles over, loudly contemplating strawberry shortcake.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t have to worry too much about finding who it is, since the aisle is empty aside from a short-haired woman crouched down in front of cheap strawberry shortcake snacks. She’s bundled up tight, even indoors, and her coat looks big enough to probably fit even him.

She doesn’t glance up at him until he’s been standing there for a good thirty seconds, and even then, it’s casual and almost dismissive.

“Could you keep it down? Please? I have a psychic who’s having a rough time with how much you’re broadcasting.”

She blinks big doe eyes up at him, startled at being addressed, and he almost feels bad for how maybe-rude he’d been. “Oh, sorry! I’m pretty bad at that kind of thing.” She straightens with a bounce, cakes held tight in her hands, and blinks up at him again. Her brow furrows.

Iwaizumi doesn’t have to be a mind reader to know she’s trying to place him. Up close, she feels familiar, but she doesn’t _look_ familiar. There’s a whiff of something, not perfume but not the magic he’s used to, and her voice is ringing faint bells in the back of his mind.

It doesn’t occur to him that _both_ of them are likely causing a mental ruckus of attempted recognition until Tooru rounds the corner behind him with the cart and a whine. Most of his chin has become a bloody, half-dried smear. “Iwa-chan, who are you—”

The woman gasps, fumbles her snacks, and turns away so fast she nearly smacks Iwaizumi with her hood.

Iwaizumi finally places it. She smells just like the angel.

“Hey—!” He reaches out for her, but she’s already gone.

“Who was that?” Tooru asks blankly.

“I don’t know.”

“She looked familiar.”

“Was she…?”

“Who knows,” Tooru nudges the cart forward until it hits the back of Iwaizumi’s legs.

Iwaizumi thinks Tooru definitely knows, but maybe now isn’t the best time. He resumes his spot beside Tooru and the cart, and wonders if he’d rather catch the angel or the baku.

 

\--

 

“How did it go?” Koutarou is waiting for Keiji outside. Keiji wouldn’t put it past him to eavesdrop, but having him here is a comfort they hadn’t wanted to ask for.

“As well as you’d expect,” Keiji sighs. Koutarou takes their arm and loops it with his, careful of feathers, and pulls them tight against his side. “He still thinks me a fool, and I’m certain the entire council believes I’m enabling you.”

Koutarou lets out a bark of a laugh. “You, _enabling_ me? It’s like they don’t know us at all!”

“It was still fairly rash of you to declare Kenma like that.”

“You can say stupid, I know you’re thinking it, too.”

“It was fairly stupid of you to declare Kenma like that.”

Koutarou whines, of course, and Keiji tries not to smile. At least this hadn’t changed. “It would have been better if you had played by the rules, just this one time.”

“It’s not _against the rules_ to declare non-tengu anything,” Koutarou says in that You Declared A Demon Friend tone Keiji doesn’t wish to hear right now.

“We’re both blocked from anything else. You’re fine with that?” they ask. Koutarou nods, as usual. “I thought you would have liked to have chosen Kuroo instead?”

Koutarou beams at them and picks them up with the arm wrapped around their waist. “It’s just a title! It doesn’t mean Kuroo is any less important to me.”

“A title carries weight.”

“Kenma won’t abuse that. And even if he does, I know you’ll be right there to butt heads with him, and neither of you will think me any more capable of making my own decisions than usual.”

“You know it’s not that. Your decisions just trend toward the more disastrous side of things.” Keiji doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. or ever. They don’t want to push Koutarou away, they don’t even want to _risk_ it. “I’ve taken care of what I needed here. We can leave now.”

Koutarou finally sets them back down, and Keiji adjusts their top before spreading their wings and heading home. Keiji had looked into the honeymoon thing Kuroo had mentioned, and had been gratified to find that they had something similar. Koutarou was given a week off from any communal duties with the declaration of a new mate, and Keiji had successfully petitioned for the same break.

Normally, Keiji is glad for a break from work, especially guard duty, but now it feels a little like an exile. Being berated by their father and the council had done little to change their mind.

They don’t bring it up with Koutarou, not wanting to dampen the first proper upswing he’s had in days.

“Got your glamors?” Koutarou asks, and Keiji holds up the bracelets before stuffing it into the bag. “Want me to carry that for you?”

“You can carry the egg.”

“We _could_ use—”

“It’s my turn,” Keiji smoothly interrupts and pushes the egg at Koutarou. “And it’s not _your_ trip, it’s our trip. Let’s go before the guard changes and we have to deal with more jeering.”

“They’re just jealous!” Koutarou declares with all of his usual confidence.

“I’m sure that’s exactly it.”

They beat the guard change, narrowly, hoods drawn up and feathers quite ruffled as they look, for all the world, like a pair fleeing their own homes. Keiji almost wants to spit back through the open realm door before it’s slammed on their tail feathers.

“Look at the honeymooners!” Futakuchi declares, grin wide and sharp, tails wagging excitedly as soon as they come within sight.

Keiji isn’t surprised he had an ear out for such news, but Koutarou does. “You’re jealous too!” he snaps back defensively quick, though there’s something proud in his expression. “We won’t have to deal with your fleas for awhile. We’re _so_ lucky.”

“And I won’t have to smell rotten feathers for five minutes,” Futakuchi smugly replies. Keiji’s face feels hot. The kitsune is rather lucky that Koutarou is holding the egg, or they’d be liable to throw it at his face. “What can I do for you two today? I’m going to have to start charging for my company.”

Keiji holds out a hand, and Koutarou hands over the egg. The heavy _thump_ it makes on Futakuchi’s stall upsets several jars and racks and is _incredibly_ satisfying.

“Really?” Futakuchi asks, ears flat with his distaste, though he keeps a polite quirk to his mouth. “Well, I can never say no to such delectable goods. What are you asking for today? I hope not more dangerous bloods, that would be a poor idea for an innocent merchant such as myself—”

“Just give us money,” Keiji interrupts.

“Money?” Futakuchi echoes, ears perked.

“Human money,” Koutarou agrees.

Futakuchi’s mouth opens to ask the obvious _what do you need that for_ , but he puts two and two together, and breaks into another annoyingly smug grin. “I see, I see! A vacation may do you two some good. Bring me back a postcard!”

After a little teasing about _which_ human currency—there may have been threatening involved to get Futakuchi to not fleece them, even if he is largely immune to anything except talons at his throat—and ignoring the closed tengu stall next to them, the pair are allowed to slink out of the goblin market just as they left their home realm.

Keiji fusses with his glamor briefly before they snap them on. The air of the human realm is as tasteless as ever. They pull on the jacket they’d tied around their waist, and Koutarou pulls a ridiculously fluffy sweater over his head, and he wastes no time in grabbing Keiji’s hand and linking their fingers together.

They make it halfway to the hotel before Koutarou remembers that it’s been abandoned. “Uhh, where do you think they live?”

Keiji had anticipated this, but waiting for Koutarou to make the realization had been a long but amusing wait. “We could go to Sugawara and ask him for help. Or, if you’d like, we could do some exploration while we have the time.”

As predicted, Koutarou’s face lights up at the latter prospect.

Bags in tow, hand in hand, Keiji allows Koutarou to lead.

 

\--

 

“You look like shit,” Kenjirou announces.

“And you need a better conversation opener,” Taichi replies.

Kenjirou crouches down beside him, head tilted to better see the bruising lining his face. It’s dark, and things are always a little fuzzy like this, but it’s not difficult to see the mess they’ve made of him.

Like he’s reading his mind, Taichi smiles, crooked and soft, and tells him, “It’s still a miracle they haven’t killed me out of spite. I think they’re impressed they haven’t broken me yet.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” Kenjirou snaps without heat. He wishes he could reach out and touch him.

“I’ll be more proud when I sneak a First egg out from under their beaks. How many can say that?”

“I could run off with the egg myself and be the most successful thief ever.”

“ _You_ didn’t steal it,” Taichi reminds him. Kenjirou huffs and flops down onto the floor next to him, legs stretched out, careful not to float through the wood. “It’s a pity that baku didn’t stick around. I know you’ll be able to spring me—and I’m pretty interested in meeting these new friends of yours—but this is getting old. I’m worried they’re going to start ripping off things that _won’t_ grow back.”

“What have they been doing to you?”

Taichi doesn’t elaborate. He never does. He mirrors Kenjirou’s pose, groaning as he shifts one leg, and glances toward the doorway. “Isn’t it scary how much they care about these eggs of theirs?”

“You could have turned it down.” God, how he wishes Taichi had fucking _ignored him_ for once in his life. “If I wasn’t already pawning that thing off on Ushijima, I’d cram it down your throat for being so fucking stupid as getting yourself caught _after_ we made it out of the realm.”

“Expensive meal.”

“The wealth spirit can make gold, apparently. We could try gnawing on that if you ever get it in your head to have expensive tastes again.”

“I bet gold tastes disgusting,” Taichi says with a wide yawn. He always gets to yawning and nodding off in their visits. At first Kenjirou had accused him of some sort of sympathy sleep, then of simple but understandable _exhaustion_ , but Taichi maintains that he feels better during their visits. Safer. How sappy. “You can tell they don’t have any practice bargaining. Who do they think would accept a deal when they’re probably killed afterward? I bet not even that many have ever gotten this far with a First egg…”

“If you act any smugger, I won’t blame them for killing you.”

“Sorry, but I’ve been living off of spite this long. You’ll have to try harder to compare.”

Kenjirou snorts. He still wishes he could lean over and link their fingers together. “Soon.”

“How ominous. Do we have a plan yet for this breakout?”

“Tendou plays distraction while I spring you, and we run like hell.” It sounds even worse summarized. “And, if we can, we get to steal a whole _tengu_ on the way out, but priority is getting you out.”

They both briefly think back to the hellish time they’d had getting a single _egg_ out of the realm, when they’d been invisible and had the element of surprise.

“Sounds… great.”

“That’s one way to put it. I wouldn’t mind just leaving him here to deal with it, to be honest.”

“You didn’t leave me here to deal with this.”

“Yeah, but I _like_ you,” Kenjirou replies an irritated flick of his ears.

“Is that what you call it?”

Kenjirou wishes they could touch, if only so he could smack him this time.

“Try to get some sleep during the day so you’re not exhausted when we come to get you. Be as ready as you can be.”

“I bet traveling by dreamspace would’ve been so much easier…”

“Then wait in here for the next baku to wander by,” Kenjirou snaps, annoyed despite himself. He relents at once, and murmurs, “We’ll get you out, one way or another.”

He can’t stay much longer than that, not with the guard likely coming back soon and his own energy running low. Heading back alone is a frustrating and exhausting ordeal, and by the time he gets back to the hotel room, he wants _actual_ sleep. Ushijima is resting on the bed, nodding off with a book open on his lap. Tendou, in full fox form, is curled around his feet with his snout shoved up his pant leg. Somehow, he’s still snoring, even like that.

How disgustingly domestic. Even as cagey as Tendou has been, he still comes back to sleep here.

Kenjirou sighs as he approaches his body, slumped against the wall on the floor like usual. Ushijima had asked why he didn’t use a bed, but it feels unnatural to leave his body somewhere soft. It’s not a comfortable experience, nor does he want it to be.

He’s about to step back into it when something clamps down on his upper arm and throws him backwards through the far wall.

Kenjirou clambers back through the wall, pissed and _confused_ at what the actual fuck could have done that, since he’s still very much intangible _and_ invisible to the world at large. He finds his assailant in the form of a tall, looming, shapeless silhouette that burns through his field of vision and into the back of his brain.

The tariaksuq reels back with his hands clamped over his eyes, claws digging into his bangs like the pain will ground him. The air around him thrums as he _feels_ the thing come through the wall after him, and he shuffles back, hardly caring what he passes through so long as he puts distance between them.

“ _Ych’-ftaghu,_ ” Northot hisses, all too close. An iron grip seals around Kenjirou’s wrists and pulls them away from his face. The touch is _wrong_ , wrong in even in this form. Every bit of him screaming to get away from anything that can touch him. “ _I have wondered about you. I have wondered what manner of being you are, what you do at these times your unseen body lays empty. Is this what you do? Ch’ bug ph’sgn’wahlog?_ ”

“L-Let go of me,” Kenjirou forces out between chattering teeth. His fur and hair are on end and he can’t stop trembling. He refuses to open his eyes again. Just this proximity gives him a sharp and cruel headache at the base of his skull.

“ _Nashuggoth_ ,” Northot says with a low curl of a laugh.

Kenjirou feels his link to his body kick at him, but he can’t escape Northot’s grip. He can’t fight in this form—he usually can’t even touch anything in this form. He struggles in vain, hooves sliding against a floor he can hardly touch. Maybe shuffling away from the only witch in the world who stood a chance at seeing this hadn’t been the brightest idea in hindsight.

“You can’t hurt me, you’re not allowed to, you’re still under Ushijima’s leash.”

“ _A contract yhafh’drn has enjoyed. A contract that will not save you any more than it will save him._ ”

 _This_ is what Tendou had been referring to as the brain bug? Kenjirou kicks, but his leg goes right through where he’d expected to hit. Heat so intense it feels freezing shoots up his leg. He shrieks, and when he staggers backward this time, Northot releases him.

“ _Convince yhafh’drn to stop his stalling. Use the fox, fulfill the contract._ ”

“Y-You want me to convince Ushijima to use _Tendou_?” Kenjirou gasps out, followed closely by a half-wild laugh. He cracks open an eye, to see the figure of Northot in his peripherals. Shit. It has antlers, too. “Try again. I’m not important enough to come between that, and if _you_ haven’t been able to scare him into it yet, then I guess you’re just shit out of luck.”

“ _What courage you possess for ch’-ftaghu_.” Another colorless limb detaches itself from the main body and spears Kenjirou through the chest. He chokes on what little breath he needs before he’s dragged close to the deity once more. “ _It would please me to devour you here, but it would do little good as the power I can carry through to shugg is finite._ ”

“What about that contract you keep harping about?” The pain is more manageable this time. Perhaps it’s this not-body going into shock.

“ _Ya ilyaa kadishtu yhrii-ee y’ai. Ya ilyaa ch’ shugg ep hai li’hee naflyhrii. Your time is finite. Convince the summoner to not stall further._ ”

“And if I can’t?” He swallows thickly, glad he can’t bleed like this, and rephrases, “And if I say fuck you?”

“ _You walk between these planes in order to track something dear to you, do you not?_ ”

 _Taichi_. Kenjirou has no idea if the thing can read minds, or if it followed him, he does know that he will fight witches, tengu, and if need be, a fucking _god_ to get Taichi somewhere safe again.

Kenjirou spits in Northot’s face.

He’s dropped back to his feet and slices off the retracting limb with his claws. Northot roars after him, but Kenjirou is already running through the walls, finally making it back to the hotel room with the two unsuspecting ones inside. He rips the foul piece of Northot out of himself and dives back into his body just as the deity slithers through the far wall.

Ushijima doesn’t respond, or seem to notice, wherever Northot truly _is_. Kenjirou coughs, body finally reacting to the stress, and Ushijima’s head bobs as he snaps awake again.

Kenjirou may have just made an enemy out of a deity.

But Northot actually isn’t omnipotent, if it had been surprised about Taichi, and what Kenjirou was doing. It had little other options outside of asking _Kenjirou_ to somehow influence the witch.

Exhausted and still trembling, Kenjirou crawls onto the bed with the other two. Ushijima inclines his head, eyes tracking just a little too off from where the tariaksuq actually is, and murmurs, “You’re back.”

“I’m just going to nap up here for a bit. It’s not a big deal.”

“Alright.”

For maybe the first time, Kenjirou thinks they might actually get out ahead of this entire stupid plan.

 

\--

 

_How did I get out of the Dreamlands?_

Yui doesn’t remember dying. She doesn’t really remember the Dreamlands, outside of a long, hungry stretch that still sits uneasily in her stomach. She doesn’t remember anything between that and waking up in the warehouse.

But she remembered that man, the one with the spiky hair and fierce eyes. Why does she think of big cats and teal scales? She knew his voice, the blood-tang smell of the Dreamlands that hung off him like a cloud, and she knew the way he took himself too seriously when it came to taking care of that psychic—

Oikawa. _Tooru_. He’d aged well, even if he looked terrible then. Why did he smell like the Dreamlands? They both did, but Tooru…

Although she had forgotten so much of it, now, after the confrontation, it came rushing back in confusing, disjointed bursts. _How did I get out_ —

Yui curls up beneath one of Kiyoko’s tables. Kiyoko is out, or at least hadn’t come to investigate why Yui had come back so distraught, and Kiyoko _never_ didn’t know what went on in her shop. Her back itches as it tries to heal around the regrowing wings. She has enough of them back that she can feel the way her shirt wrenches them up against her shoulder blades.

In a fit of frustration, Yui accidentally rips the back open on her hoodie and shirt, clawing at her back. Maybe she’s bleeding, but it still itches, and it still hurts.

She’s so _hungry_.

Why does she remember all of these things about Suga and Tooru? She shouldn’t remember quiet date nights between them as intimately as if she’d been there. She shouldn’t know the _taste_ of Tooru, and she absolutely shouldn’t have to curl around her loud stomach when she thinks of him.

“Yui?”

The archangel jumps, and the sudden dimness around her makes her blink. She hadn’t realized she’d been glowing again.

Hitoka crouches down beside the table. “Yui?” she tries again, softer. “Are you okay?”

Yui turns to her, wiping away her tears and trying her damnedest to force on a smile. “These wings are starting to get to be a problem again, h-huh?”

Hitoka’s eyes slide over to them, and Yui wonders just how long they are now. “We can burn off some more of your magic, if you’d like. But what’s wrong?”

“I guess I need to finish up that shackle spell. It’s a lot harder figuring out how to write things when you can’t use the same kind of magic anymore.” Another humorless stab at changing the subject, even if she really, _really_ wants to know.

“We’ll figure it out,” Hitoka firmly replies.

Yui sniffles and wipes the rest of the moisture away from her eyes. “Where’s Kiyoko?”

“Running errands before the boys get here. I think she needed to fetch something else.”

“I didn’t grab any strawberry shortcake, she should probably grab some…”

“I’ll text her,” Hitoka reaches out, tentative, and brushes her hand over Yui’s now-bared shoulder. She feels so cool. “Would you like to wait and tell her what happened?”

It’d be _far_ easier to ask Hitoka than Kiyoko. Yui can respect why Kiyoko has been at a distance, even if it shames her. “N-No, that’s… I just. Um.” Her voice drops into little more than a hushed plea when she asks, “How did I get out of the Dreamlands? How long was I here before Kiyoko—stole my grace?”

“Are you sure you want to know? Some things… you can’t un-know.” Hitoka averts her eyes, but she remains firm.

“Yeah.”

“Um, so, some of the hunters had to go into the Dreamlands to rescue someone. Suga led them. Oikawa went with them and… s-something possessed him there. It walked right out with him and the others. That’s why he’s forgotten so much, and all of his mental barriers are reset, and he’s been having more migraines…”

Yui suddenly, _vividly_ remembers staring down a dragon in a kitchen with a body that felt both too big and too small. It had been deep teal, with darker points and forest green eyes, and had the same protective streak as the man in the grocery store. She lets out a creaking, screechy laugh that dies down into a heartbroken sob.

Hitoka pulls Yui against her, carding her fingers through her short hair. She hums and shushes and lets her cry herself out, and the shame burns at her all over again, hating how she’s crying in front of Hitoka, in front of anyone.

“Wh-Why didn’t she just put me down in the warehouse? Why am I still here? Kiyoko could do this w-without me, she knows how, she doesn’t have to harbor this m- _monster_.”

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“Why not?! God, Koushi and I have killed things for less. I _possessed_ someone, I-I killed someone—Tooru was my friend. I could’ve killed him too!”

“It’s not your fault. We’re working on controlling that.” Hitoka’s voice shakes, just the smallest bit.

Yui sucks in a breath for further, angrier arguments when they’re interrupted by the doorbell.

She jumps so bad she jars one of her tiny wings against the underside of the table.

Hitoka leaps to her feet. “W-We’re closed!” she squeaks, too quiet. “S-Sorry, but we’re closed!”

“Oi, open up!” Nishinoya Yuu’s voice floats through the door, and Yui’s eyes go wide.

Hitoka rushes toward the front door, and Yui scuttles around on the floor, trying to orient herself. The feeling of how much she’s _missed_ her favorite shortie washes over her, unfairly, and she wonders if she could make a break for the stairs. She’d have to cross the hallway, which is a straight view from the front door. Any snap of magic from jumping would draw attention.

“N-Noya, wh-wha-what are you doing here?” Hitoka stammers, falsely bright, and Yui chews on her lip as she hears the front door creak open. “Kiyoko is out right now—aww, you brought your dogs!”

“Decided to take them for a walk in this direction, figured dog therapy would be a good excuse to stop in and see how she was doing. You too. Heinrich, _down_!”

“Oh, no, he’s fine—”

“He’s rude is what he is. Can we come in? I promise they won’t knock over anything. They’re at least _that_ trained, and I wanna start getting them used to magic smells.”

“Kiyoko’s out, and I’m watching the shop,” Hitoka replies, voice edging painfully high. “A-And we have something soon, an, um, appointment.”

“I can wait, no worries.”

There’s the heavy thumping of boots and the little clicks of dog feet, audible beneath Hitoka’s alarmed babbling. It’s now far too late for Yui to dive for the stairs, but she can’t stay hidden under the table.

With no other choice, Yui _pops_ out of the shop, reappearing in the forests far from town. The snow crunches beneath her feet. She feels the cool air on her exposed skin, but she doesn’t feel cold outside of the terror she feels at herself, coming back in the silence.

The snow begins to melt around her, and her wings twitch and itch. The only sound outside of the creak of the branches far overhead is her gurgling stomach.

She misses Tooru.

 

\--

 

“Susie!” Tadashi crows as the shaggy dog excitedly puts her paws up on his legs, demanding attention.

“I think she has a favorite,” Yuu drawls flatly, chin on his fist, but there’s a smirk quirking up the corner of his mouth. Heinrich also tries to jump for the boys, but his leash has been tied to one of the counters, and he whines until Tadashi scoots over so both dogs can wiggle and lick and beg for pets.

“They’re so cute,” Hitoka sighs happily. Kiyoko, beside her, nods before sipping at her tea once more. She gives Kei a sharp look over the edge of her glasses.

This is certainly more upbeat than Kei had been expecting, but he’s confused at Yuu’s presence. To his knowledge, the man doesn’t know anything about Yui. Isn’t the point of today to get _rid_ of that? Kiyoko is so desperate to keep a lid on things, and they’re so desperate for luck.

The jar of swirling gold is by her elbow. Kei’s mouth nearly waters.

“Unfortunately, this is a private matter, Noya,” Kiyoko says politely. “There’s a lot to do, even on off days—”

“And you overwork yourself, no matter what I say,” he finishes with a grand roll of his eyes.

“We’re just doing a favor for them,” Hitoka mumbles with a sad frown.

It seems to work, and Yuu groans before pushing away from the table. “Fine! Fine, dog therapy can wait a bit longer.”

“I liked seeing them,” Kiyoko says, pacifying, “and you can bring them by the shop more. I think there are a few dog-friendly potions to get them more used to magic. It may take a little while longer than you hope to get them trained like Saeko’s…”

“I’m used to making miracles. I’ll turn them into kickass hunting dogs.”

The fluffy, sweet-eyed Susie and the slobbery, rump-wiggling Heinrich look up at their owner like they’re expecting treats.

Yuu groans. “I know, I know, it’s a work in progress. Have a little faith, would ya?”

“I always believe in you,” Kiyoko primly replies, and Yuu’s face goes bright red. He pulls his hood low over his head, rubs his cheeks a couple times as if to get rid of the heat, and shuffles away from her. Kei has _never_ seen him act so shy. No matter his complicated feelings toward Kiyoko, he’d pay good money to see Nishinoya Yuu reduced to _that_ on a regular basis.

There’s a ghost of a smile as Kiyoko raises her mug back to her lips.

When Yuu shuffles out the door, dogs in tow, and after the door clicks shut, Hitoka goes to make sure it’s locked and warded. Kei watches as Kiyoko casts silencing charms on the corners of the room before sitting down again. Hitoka comes back and waves her hands, murmuring more magic, and the entire room seems muffled.

“Thank you for doing this,” Kiyoko’s voice is strangely echoey. “Nothing anyone says will leave this room. I very, _very_ sincerely appreciate you two helping us with this, and I can only hope you know what you’re doing with the luck.”

“He’s a luck spirit,” Tadashi says, jerking his thumb over at Kei. “He knows how to handle luck.”

Kiyoko doesn’t respond. She slides the jar across the countertop at them. For a moment, neither react, until Kei reaches out with shaky, dark-tipped fingers and grasps it. It’s warm, reassuring and _familiar_ in a way that lifts his mood, the smallest bit. He still doesn’t like this plan. He doesn’t trust why Kiyoko needs Yui to be forgotten. He trusts her as far as believing that she’ll only take those memories, but memory alteration sits poorly with him to begin with.

But this seems worth it.

Tadashi sneaks a hand over to put two fingers through one of Kei’s belt loops. He tugs, gently, and leans his weight against Kei’s side. By god, they’re going to be in this together, a lucky, united front against any other bullshit life decides to throw at them.

“How exactly does this work?” Kei asks, eyes on the jar in his hands.

“I’ve prepared special potions that we’ll both drink. Tadashi will go first. We drink, I prepare a spell, and I pull the memories out. Your minds will naturally fill the gaps, and you shouldn’t notice anything different. You may have a mild headache, but that’s really the only potential side effect.”

That seems straightforward enough. The glass jars she pulls out from beneath the counter smell _foul_ , though—or one does, at least, but it fills the room quickly enough. Hitoka shies away with her nose covered, and Tadashi clamps his sleeve over his face. Kei tries not to do the same. Only Kiyoko seems unfazed.

“I’m not sure how it will work on any kind of spirit,” Kiyoko admits, gently swirling one that Kei surmises is his. At least that one doesn’t reek. “It won’t harm you in any way, but there’s very little information on using many kinds of magic on nonhumans. I’ll admit, I’m hoping you’ll act as a guinea pig for Yaku. And, if it comes to it, help me convince him.”

“Why does she have to be such a big secret? It’s not like half the city doesn’t know there’s an archangel on the loose or anything.”

“An archangel is one matter. An archangel who is helping us is another. And it being Yui… is also separate. We can’t help the first part, but the second two need to remain a secret, especially from certain parties.”

“Suga,” Tadashi answers for her. Kiyoko nods and continues swirling the jar’s contents around. “Why can’t he know? They were friends.”

“Yui and I are both remarkably bad at saying no to Koushi when it counts.”

“You’re being remarkably open about this with us,” Kei points out. Hitoka’s eyes flick from his to Kiyoko, and back again. She doesn’t seem nervous, nor does Kiyoko. “Is this going to get erased with the rest of it?”

“Well, yes. But I value honesty. I would never lie.” Kiyoko’s gaze is steely behind her glasses. “If Suga came in here, right now, and asked if the archangel was Yui, I would say yes. If he asked me what I was planning on doing with her, I would tell him. And he would stop us, and we would lose everything to Ushijima.”

“I thought we were going to stop him. He doesn’t have everything yet, does he?” Tadashi leans forward, fingers drumming an off-beat, agitated rhythm against the countertop.

“I can see visions of the future. I have seen a _lot_ of versions of the future, and more and more of them involve him getting that far. I’m preparing for what seems like an inevitability.”

“You don’t just…” Hitoka breaks in, gently, gaze downcast but her voice anything but meek. “Ushijima is someone very powerful, and very well-connected. You don’t just stop someone like him unless you have a lot of help.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t scared Kozume and his pet away,” Kei says.

Kiyoko flinches, just a little, and he has to admit, he’s gratified to see the crack in her put-together facade. He doesn’t like people who think they have everything together all the time.

“I’ve made my bed,” Kiyoko levelly replies, “and I’ll sleep in it. I need to know whether you two will help or not.”

“Yes,” Tadashi answers without hesitation.

He goes first. Kei and Hitoka cover their noses while the other two drink their potions, and Kei watches through slitted eyes at the silvery memories Kiyoko pulls from Tadashi. His eyelids flutter and his posture slumps, but she keeps him up with a hand braced on his shoulder, and the amount she takes from him is staggering.

Kei begins to fear what else she’s cleaning out of his brain.

His palms sweat and he wipes them on his jeans by the time Kiyoko turns to him. Tadashi groans and flumps down onto the table. “M’head hurts,” he mumbles, and closes his eyes.

“You can rest here!” Hitoka circles around the table, putting an arm around his shoulder, and he leans into her with a quiet little sigh. “It could be best to sleep it off. You two can rest here, and I can fix up any headaches.”

Tadashi did it, so Kei will have to, too. He’s not leaving him alone, that’s for sure. He swallows as he eyes the better-smelling jar, and Kiyoko nudges it over to him pointedly. He takes a deep breath before lifting it to his lips.

He swallows down half of it before his stomach churns in that familiar way. This may be magical, but it doesn’t mean he’ll be able to keep it down. Kiyoko takes in the paleness of his skin, the sweat breaking out on his brow, the way he swallows continuously, nervously.

“Let me try it, fast,” she says, and pulls him down across the counter until their foreheads touch.

Memory magic is a disgusting sensation. Memories feel a lot like how ghosts feel, and he cannot help the shudder that runs through him with each strand pulled from him. His mind claws at the thoughts, but it’s like trying to catch onto the last vestiges of a dream after he’s woken up, and he’s only gaining a headache for his troubles.

Kei resolves to try to relax, when his stomach flips over and decides it has had it with this potion.

Despite Kiyoko’s alarmed noise, Kei pulls away and rushes to the sink on the far wall, throwing up into the basin. Stomach acid burns his throat and his mind is a scrambled, painful mess. It feels like knives are slowly carving through his skull, starting at the base and working their way toward his temples, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the suddenly overwhelming amount of light in the dim shop.

“Tsukki?” Tadashi weakly says, sounding miles away.

“Hold still.” Kiyoko is softer, and closer, and he feels cool fingertips against his temples.

Kei jerks out of her grasp a moment later, like he’d been burned, and he heaves into the sink again. It tastes coppery this time.

“I’m going to have to purge it from your system. This is going to be unpleasant.” Kiyoko’s voice is businesslike now, and with a firm hand, she pushes on the back of his neck until he remains leaning over the basin. When she presses a palm against the small of his back, and it feels like she’s stuck her entire hand inside of him.

 _Unpleasant_ had been a fucking understatement.

His mind and vision both swim. By the time he’s done puking out his insides, his headache has worsened, and his limbs feel like jelly. Kiyoko presses a damp cloth against his face as he sinks down against the floor. Kei frowns in her general direction, unable to even crack open an eye anymore.

“How do you feel?”

“Your voice is killing me.”

“I can give you migraine medication, and a sleep draught. Is it alright if I move you both? I have a futon in the back room.”

He wants to laugh at the prospect of getting moved by that tiny woman—maybe the even tinier medic would help her out—when she murmurs something and scoops him up like she would a child.

Kei opens his eyes at that, just a sliver. Her hands are glowing faintly. Hitoka nervously follows, medicine in hand, fretting enough to be almost vibrating with her worry.

At least the blood dripping down from his nose onto Kiyoko’s shirt is red.

Kiyoko carries Tadashi—passed out but breathing evenly—and sets him down next to Kei. Tadashi instinctively rolls over and buries himself in Kei’s side, seeking the warmth he hardly puts off, and Kiyoko looks uncertain for a moment. “There’s a blanket here, if you want it,” she says, hesitantly, and folds a throw blanket over their feet. “Hitoka will give you what you need. She’ll be here when you wake up again.”

Kei nods, eyes shut again, and waits until he hears the click of the door before winding an arm around Tadashi’s waist.

He’s not sure what’s left in his jumbled brain, but he knows one thing for certain: there’s an archangel Kiyoko wants to protect, and her name is Yui.

 

\--

 

“Neither of you have any sense of direction,” Shirabu realizes with horror.

“This is just like that old logic puzzle. You just have to make every turn a right one,” Tendou replies with a little laugh. He’s in fox form, floating along beside them, after complaining about walking for so long.

“The magic feels stronger this way,” Wakatoshi says, pointing down the branching path to their left.

Shirabu groans.

“Can’t you track things?” Tendou curls around Shirabu without touching him. Even he has gotten pretty good at picking out where their largely invisible ally is at any given time. Wakatoshi wonders if they’re developing some sort of sixth sense through necessity, or if the mild flickers and glimpses out of their peripherals are enough for their brains to guess on.

“I’ve never seen or met a sphinx before, and you don’t have anything to track it from.”

“Follow its tracks or something.”

There’s a glimmer of movement and the sharp _clop_ of an angry hoof-stomp. The floor beneath them is smooth and polished in this part of the labyrinth. “ _What_ tracks? They fly!”

“We shouldn’t fight,” Wakatoshi tells them. He feels strangely like a parent. “We must remain calm and be ready for the sphinx at any time.”

“I want to find it already,” Tendou loops through the air until he’s pressing his paws against Wakatoshi’s dark hair. “I’m very good with riddles. I want to see if I can beat a sphinx.”

“That’s why you were brought along.”

“So Shirabu was brought along because…”

“He’s our ally too, and he could still prove useful in tracking it.”

“I can help!” Shirabu cries in dismay.

Wakatoshi cocks his head, expectant. His feet are beginning to hurt, and he’d like to get this over with sooner rather than later, too.

“I could project and see if I could find it myself.”

“Why didn’t you do that to begin with?”

“Do you want to wait around with my body?”

“It’s not as if I couldn’t think of things to do with your body while you’re gone,” Tendou says with another evil little chuckle. Shirabu must smack him, because he yelps and quickly ducks behind Wakatoshi. “We don’t have any paint or markers here, so you’re safe from the terrifying fox threat, _mon petit mâle_. Please go fetch us a sphinx now.”  [12]

There is a long pause. Then, “Northot isn’t here right now, is it?”

“No.”

Wakatoshi feels a strange sense of pride in the fact that Shirabu trusts them enough to watch his body, but it mixes with his last question. Wakatoshi may be some shade of possessed, but Northot’s behavior is unusual and inconsistent. He doesn’t want to think of where it goes when not seen.

He concentrates, for the time being, on the unexpectedly pleasant sense of camaraderie.

“Let me guess,” Tendou drawls, “you’re enjoying being part of a team again?”

Wakatoshi blinks at him.

“You have this look on your face.” He smushes his own cheeks for emphasis. It looks weird on a fox. “I’m starting to understand that you make that face when you’re feeling sappy.”

“I am not sappy.”

“You _like_ being part of a team.”

“I came to the realization that this _is_ a team,” Wakatoshi corrects. He wouldn’t lie about it, least of all to Tendou. “My prior partnership was hardly that. Kageyama was talented, but he didn’t have the proper drive, and he misused his talents.”

“Not to mention the fact that he left you.”

Wakatoshi’s fists clench at his sides. “Yes. He left.” He left and wasn’t bearing the brunt of the contract. Northot would undoubtedly come for him if it were to get free, but Wakatoshi would take care of it. Kageyama gets out without penalty. “You haven’t left yet, and Shirabu won’t leave until after this is over.”

“I came back when I left.” Tendou slithers around Wakatoshi’s neck and drapes himself there, blunt claws hardly trying to gain purchase. “What about after this is over?”

“I thought you wanted to show me the Seine.”

“So we ditch this place and jump ship to France?”

“It would be faster to fly.”

“Hell of an escape plan. I like it!”

Wakatoshi respects that Shirabu will want to leave them when they’re done, but he hopes Tendou wouldn’t take his earnings and leave, too. He looks forward to introducing him to—

Shirabu’s body jerks awake with a gasp and a flicker. “I found the sphinx, and it’s not particularly happy we’re here. It’s close, though.”

“Riddle time!” Tendou crows happily and leaps off of Wakatoshi’s shoulders. He turns human as he lands, tail swishing crookedly behind him, grin bright and sharp on his face. “Lead the way! I’ll handle it from there.”

“This is going to be good,” Shirabu mutters as he pushes past Wakatoshi, unseen.

It is close, almost disappointingly so. As they enter into a large, open area of the labyrinth, they find the sphinx crouched on one of the far walls, peering down at them with its tail quivering. It bends down, rump in the air, and tenses.

“Riddle!” Tendou demands.

The sphinx slowly raises its head, then tilts it to the side. Its short bob falls around its rounded, feline ears. “You’ve come for a riddle?” it asks slowly.

“Lay it on me. Give me your _best_ one,” Tendou says with his arms spread wide. A very easy target, and Wakatoshi keeps a hand on his gun, just in case.

“I was under the impression you were here to kill me.” It jumps down to the smooth floor, silent as the grave, and its wings flutter in time with the twitches of its tufted tail.

“That’s next, but he really wants a riddle,” Wakatoshi honestly replies.

Perhaps, in hindsight, not the wisest course of action. The sphinx snarls like a lion and it’s on them in two bounds. Wakatoshi shoves blindly toward Shirabu to get him behind him, and Tendou turns back into a fox with a yelp, ducking under a swipe that could have taken his head off. He zips beneath the sphinx, and Wakatoshi fires two shots into one of its wings.

He had thought, apparently mistakenly, that that would ground the sphinx. It rears up on its hind legs, great wings spread, blood running down its feathers. “What pride you must have! To come into the hallowed home of one of the cleverest beings in all realms, to demand my time and my blood?”

“Well, we’re getting the blood,” Shirabu mutters in Wakatoshi’s ear as another beat of its wings splatters blood onto them.

“I wanted a riddle! C’mon, miss cleverest, let me test that title of yours!” Tendou wheedles and, in the process of trying to gain the sphinx’s attention again, jumps into Wakatoshi’s arms. He nearly drops his 9mm as his arms reflexively come up to catch him.

“I will not stand for your mockery.”

“He’s actually not trying to—” Wakatoshi starts but the sphinx lashes out at them with both front legs, with claws as long as his palm.

The sphinx’s paws fall off and it crashes down against them. It scrambles back, holding up the stumps of its front legs. Wakatoshi stares down at the severed paws on the floor. He hadn’t done that. The sphinx looks around, then locks narrowed eyes onto a spot to their right.

Shirabu.

The sphinx lunges at him, and Wakatoshi drops Tendou in order to raise his gun and shoot. His first shot hits it in the nearer hind leg, the second goes straight through the thinner part of its wing, and the last two hit its shoulder and neck.

His gun clicks out, empty.

The sphinx rams into Shirabu and they both go skidding across the floor. It snaps blindly downward, and Wakatoshi can hear Shirabu grunting and see flashes of him pinned beneath the creature.

Wakatoshi snaps the lid off the flask on his hip and with a _force-cut_ spell, and darts forward before the knife can fully form in his hand. The sphinx turns at the last moment, and lashes a wing out. The blood blade sinks through the wing and leaves a gaping gash.

No luck. The sphinx rips its wing out from under the blade and sends it flying.

Wakatoshi hears the shuffle of Shirabu retreating to a safer distance.

“What impudence,” the sphinx growls as it struggles to stand on the remains of its front limbs. It regards Wakatoshi far too calmly for its injuries—then its gaze slides over to Tendou. It crouches, tenses.

Wakatoshi pulls from his magic on reflex, preparing a spell to push its jump away from Tendou.

Instead, it opens its jaws and breathes out a jet of fire.

Tendou swears, just as Wakatoshi reaches him to push him down behind a shield spell. The sphinx is not the only one he’s read incorrectly, as he finds himself in _nothingness_.

The pressure is suffocating. It feels like his lungs are evacuating through his ears. Somehow, he hears Tendou swear. Through his darkening vision, he sees Tendou grasp at him, but can’t feel anything, even when he sees claws puncturing his jacket. Tendou’s lips are moving, but he hears only wet static. His chest feels like it’s compressing into nothing. It feels like it’s been eons. He doesn’t remember when the tengu shoved them here, not like _this_ , not with the remains of clarity as his vision finally fades.

Wakatoshi gets a split-second flash of the labyrinth again, Tendou leaning down over him, before it’s lost to him.

He blinks at the sight of his Door.

The shackles keeping him from it are as strong as ever, and the alien magic itches under his ribs. He cannot move toward it, nor does he want to. Wakatoshi twists around until he spies Northot, looming at the edge of the light cast by the Door.

“ _Your wealth spirit has killed you, yhafh’drn_.”

“Your magic keeps me going. Send me back.”

When Northot makes no such move, Wakatoshi feels his heartbeat spike. He tries to move toward it, but the magic binds him in front of his Door. He remembers Northot’s irritation at Tendou, and Shirabu’s almost meek questioning about it. Wakatoshi will not give the god his body for it to do as it pleases. “Revive me, and stay away from them.”

“ _You cannot command me._ ” It has none of its usual cruelty or sneer, and for that, Wakatoshi fears it more. “ _But you will give me your realm. Do not stall longer._ ”

“I’m obtaining the last spirit now—”

“ _Are you?_ ” Northot tilts its head. Its many horns _clack_ against the frame of his Door, and it feels like a knife in his throat. Wakatoshi clutches at his neck, struggling for air he doesn’t need, and bends over before the deity. “ _My patience thins._ ”

“You can do _nothing_ to us,” Wakatoshi chokes out.

He hears no response, and when he blinks, he’s staring up at the colorless sky of the labyrinth. His entire body hurts, and he can’t force back the pain enough to figure out if he’s truly broken any bones or not. His eyes feel wet.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that again! It’s getting old!” Tendou’s voice is grating on his eardrums, and blessedly welcome.

Wakatoshi raises his arms, and Tendou pops into his field of vision, lip curled and ears flat against his messy hair. “The sphinx?” he asks.

“Dead, since Shirabu seems to like overkill.”

“It was self-defense!”

Tendou squints off to the side, almost smiling. “We were gone for a few seconds.”

“Enough for you to kill Ushijima,” Shirabu snaps.

Tendou’s near-smile doesn’t falter.

“You both work fast,” Wakatoshi says, and Tendou full-out grins, then laughs. The pain is beginning to fade into an ache, and with his raised arms, he tugs Tendou down against his chest.

—and immediately pushes him off as he rolls again, because that had been a _bad idea_. Wakatoshi coughs and dry heaves onto the floor, as one of them rubs circles onto his back. He thinks he should feel humiliated. He’s never been killed by friendly fire before, and he just failed _another_ attempt at capturing a higher spirit.

If the other two are bickering, then they’re alright.

They still have a couple days before the Old Moon Ball, and the ball itself will be swarming with higher spirits. It’s not ideal, but if necessary, that’s their backup. He _knows_ he—they—can do this.

Northot presses in on the back of his brain, out of the corner of his eye, too close to Tendou.

“Say, Wakatoshi,” the matagot breaks in, “instead of an apology for killing you, d’you want a riddle?”

“What kind of bullshit—”

“Alright,” Wakatoshi interrupts Shirabu.

“How far can a fox go into a forest?”

“I don’t know.”

“Halfway! Then it’s going out.”

“That was a very bad riddle.”

Tendou squawks like he’s been gravely injured.

They help him to his feet, and he finds the repetition of walking to be bearable so long as he lets himself focus solely on that. They have a long trek home, empty-handed.

Tendou tells riddles the entire way.

 

\--

 

“You look like shit, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima’s eyes pinch into angry slits, just looking for an excuse to maim Kuro.

“Play nice, children,” Suga deadpans. “I’m doing this as a favor to you all, and I’d like it if I didn’t have to listen to nonhuman squabbling the entire time. This is going to be an ordeal enough.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi folds his arms, “you’ve been saying ominous shit like that since you picked me up. Now that we’re done waiting, mind letting us know what the big secret is?”

“Daishou isn’t a secret,” Suga replies with an innocent air.

Kuro doesn’t really know Iwaizumi, but hell if he doesn’t like how the guy’s scowl deepens at that.

“Daishou Suguru is a very well-known witch here. He’s helped me, in the past, and he’ll help you three as a favor to me. I thought it would be a good idea for you three to formalize your legal identities here, just in case.”

Kuro swallows. That’s what he’d said on the phone, yeah, and Kenma had thought it was a good idea—or maybe he had thought Kuro getting out of their borrowed house was a good idea—but he’s not exactly sure what that means. He doesn’t _have_ a legal identity here.

“Ah,” Tsukishima drawls, “you’re bringing me back from the dead.”

“Bingo, you win the prize!” Suga points at Iwaizumi and Kuro, still grinning. “And you two get to adopt human identities. Kuro, it may help keep any curious or overzealous witches away from you, and Iwaizumi, you’re living with Oikawa, so you’re already settled. It’d be best if you especially figure out somehow to live peacefully with him.”

“ _Can_ you live peacefully with someone like that?” Iwaizumi mutters.

Suga laughs, but doesn’t respond.

They’d waited for Tsukishima at the train station, and now that he was here, Suga finally leads them up the stairs and into the cold city air. The sky threatens snow, thick and heavy overhead. Suga loops arms with Iwaizumi as he leads the way, and Kuro raises an eyebrow at that.

He turns to ask Tsukishima, but it looks like the kid is sleeping while walking, so he leaves him be.

Things are quiet. Too quiet. The bustle of the city doesn’t fill the silence in Kuro’s heart, and he ducks his face down into his scarf to hide his frown. Kenma hadn’t cared about him going out, even though Kuro always cares when Kenma goes out. Suga is as friendly as ever, but Kuro has to follow Kenma, and he knows the gap is widening with everyone else because of it.

Not that he regrets sticking with Kenma.

But it’s kind of, a _little_ nice to be out with others. Even if Suga talks about this Suguru guy like he’s a walking plague.

“You’re going to have to have some rules to follow,” Suga says as they draw closer to a towering skyscraper.

“We can’t just promise to behave ourselves?” Tsukishima asks around a yawn.

“Daishou is kind of an asshole, and I’m aware of who I’m saying that to.”

Tsukishima’s expression shutters, and Kuro grins into his scarf.

“None of you can pick any kind of fight with him, and god will he try. _Absolutely_ no fighting. Got it?”

“I think we can manage one meeting with this guy,” Kuro reassures.

Suga beams over his shoulder, and the heaviness on Kuro’s heart lessens, just the slightest bit. He abruptly misses Bokuto, because he also had kickass smiles that showed off all his teeth. Kuro pushes the longing back swiftly and roughly.

“He’s very good at what he does, so please keep that in mind when you realize what his personality is like. That said, do _not_ say anything about his face, and I don’t _care_ what kind of shit he says to you.”

“His… face?” Tsukishima uncertainly echoes. He and Kuro share a sidelong glance.

Suga doesn’t respond, and they push through heavy doors into a ritzy lobby. The entire place smells faintly of magic. Suga speaks briefly with one of the people at the front desk, before he’s given a pass on a lanyard and they’re all herded into one of the elevators alongside a pair in crisp suits.

One of the workers politely covers her nose and looks away from Kuro and Tsukishima. He knows he’s having trouble with keeping settled, but he’s wearing his amulet and Kenma had walked him through a couple exercises, so he should be fine. Normal humans can’t smell magic, much less demonic magic.

The other worker suddenly catches his eye when his wings buzz against his back. They’re thin, translucent, and Kuro would never have seen them against the dark material of his suit unless they’d moved.

“Suga, _what_ kind of firm is this?” Iwaizumi asks after the workers get off a dozen floors up.

“Firm? Like, a law firm?” Kuro asks curiously.

“Daishou’s a lawyer, yes. This is the only truly magical law firm in the city, I think something like half of its workers are human?” Suga leans against the wall of the elevator, head cocked in thought. “I’ve only been here a handful of times. Who _else_ did you think was going to help with legal identities for three nonhumans?”

“I wasn’t expecting fae to be walking around openly,” Iwaizumi replies.

“You’re going to see more than that.”

“How ominous,” Kuro says, and Suga shrugs and grins.

They get off at the eighty-seventh floor, which turns out to be fewer cubicles and more of the large, private offices lining the walls. It’s higher-end than what Kuro had seen of Kenma’s office, that’s for sure. He spots two more fae, something bipedal with scales and a thick tail, and a luck spirit that makes Tsukishima’s head snap around so fast Kuro is mildly surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash.

‘ _Daishou, S._ ’ is engraved on the plaque outside the corner office.

“Best behavior,” Suga reminds them in a conspiratorial whisper, and raises his hand to knock.

The door is thrown open before he gets that far. “Koushi!” the woman on the other side exclaims excitedly. She’s stunning, with thick, dark hair falling over her shoulders and dressed in a flowing dress with wide sleeves that flutter as she goes to embrace Suga. “It’s been so long!”

“ _Mika_ —” comes a deeply aggravated voice from within.

“We’re going to go have lunch to catch up, you’ve _got_ to let me treat you,” the Mika woman continues, hardly stepping out of Suga’s space even as she trails her hands down his arms to grasp his. Her eyes flick briefly over to the other three, and Kuro isn’t sure if he finds the sharpness in her gaze unnerving or charming. “Your friends, too,” she adds with a wide smile.

Her teeth are a little too sharp.

“Mika, I would love nothing more,” Suga begins, “but we have an appointment with your husband. I’m sorry.”

“Suguru’s taking the day off.”

“ _Mika_ , get out of the doorway and let them in,” comes the voice again.

This is turning into quite the colorful affair already, but damn if he doesn’t find this entertaining.

“It’s your day off, _dear_. You can’t work on days off,” Mika calls over her shoulder, attention otherwise fixed on Suga. She drops her voice into a whisper, and adds, “He’s been in the office for the past week and a half, Koushi. That’s not an exaggeration. He’s left _once_ , to fetch more of those horrible little dead mice—”

“I’m not sending anyone else out to touch Kimi’s food, they’d probably end up bringing back some street rat that’s been dead for three weeks.”

Mika is _finally_ pulled away, by a man with a large, green snake wound around one arm and a dead mouse in his other hand. Kuro’s first impression of the man is utterly _rumpled_. His hair falls into his eyes, his turtleneck is wrinkled and possibly stained, and it looks like this man hasn’t slept in several days. Suguru blinks at them, several times, then breaks into a wide smile.

Kuro notices the scars, stretching up from the corners of his mouth through his cheeks.

“You’re early, Koushi,” Suguru purrs. He passes the snake and mouse both over to Mika, then slips past the little group in the doorway, saluting cheekily. “Sorry for this appearance of mine! I’ll be with you in five minutes. Mika, please feed Kimi before she gets bitey.”

Mika sighs, looking down at vibrant snake in her hands. “Well, come in, then.”

The corner office is large, but plainly decorated to the point of near-sparseness. One of the couches has a couple blankets and a pillow strewn across it, and the trash is full of take-out containers, but outside of that, everything is pristine and in its place. Mika sits down on top of the huge desk, legs daintily crossed, and wiggles the dead mouse in front of the snake’s face. She doesn’t seem fazed by the _even larger_ snake sprawled across the desk just behind her. It’s long enough to have quite a bit of it dragging on the carpet, including its head, over the far edge. Kuro wonders if it’s even alive.

“You’re a doll, Koushi, but I really wish you would have fucked off today,” Mika says flatly.

“He’s still overworking himself?” Suga asks sympathetically, the only one still standing. Tsukishima seems happy to sprawl out on the bed-couch, eyes closed and glasses off, and Iwaizumi stares at the big snake on the desk like it has personally offended him. Kuro perches on the edge of the couch by Tsukishima’s feet and watches Suga for some sign of how to act.

“That’s not the half of it. We’ve _both_ been cooped up in this office for almost a month now. A coven witch that’s hunting a higher spirit?” She scoffs, and the snake in her hand recoils from the sound. “Ooh, sorry, Kimi. It’s just been… really stressful. Staying in the office has been a compromise. Suguru wanted to go out and try to beat Ushijima’s head in himself, I’m sure.”

“Would save us a lot of trouble,” Tsukishima deadpans from the couch.

Mika finally gets the snake to accept the mouse, and Kuro watches in horrified fascination as Kimi wiggles her jaws around it. “I just don’t want him to get hurt again,” she says in a small, scared voice. Almost immediately, she snaps back into a fierce scowl, waving the poor, chewing snake as she gestures. “But like _fuck_ that means he can stay cooped up in here, cramming charity case after charity case down his gaping maw like he’s this!”

She holds Kimi up to them, and the snake triumphantly swallows the rest of the mouse whole.

There’s a snicker from behind her.

“Mika, dear, I could hear you from the bathroom.” Kuro jumps, not having heard Suguru return, and he doesn’t think he’s the only one. Suguru now looks _polished_ —an equal counterpoint to Mika. His hair has been brushed and styled, side swept mostly out of his eyes, and he has a blazer over his wrinkle-free turtleneck. His scars are almost hidden now, and since Kuro can’t smell magic on him, he assumes makeup. Suguru gives each of them an imperious, pointed look down his nose, in turn.

Suga is the only one that smiles at him. “You almost look like you’ve slept.”

“You sleep enough for all of us.” Dismissed, Suguru sweeps around them, presses a fond kiss against Mika’s cheek, and takes a seat behind his grand desk. He strikes quite the imposing figure, especially with the woman draped in snakes at his side. “Alright, Koushi, what have you picked up from the gutter this time? Two demons and a…” His narrow gaze lingers on Iwaizumi, which is probably for the best, considering how Tsukishima’s face scrunches up in irritation.

“He’s a shapeshifter,” says another voice. The bigger snake lifts its head from the floor and resettles on the desk, flicking its tongue lazily out at them.

“So are you,” Iwaizumi points out.

“This is Nao,” Mika cheerfully supplies.

“Kuguri,” the snake immediately corrects. “Bodyguard. Going back to sleep now.”

“You have a bodyguard?” Suga asks.

“Security has been tripled. Do you know how many spirits we employ here? And Mika is an apsara—we aren’t risking _anything_ until the covens get their heads out of their asses. But!” Suguru spreads his hands on the desk, smiling pleasantly, eyes crinkled shut. “That’s neither here nor there. What has the zombie brought me today! Go on, introductions.”

“One case of a reclaiming of a dead identity, and I think two new ones. Nothing for you, right?” Suga replies just as chirpily.

Kuro is suddenly scared of being in the same room as these two.

“Nothing else?” Suguru pouts, playful and coy. Mika rolls her eyes. “Do I at least get to guess? Let me have _some_ fun, Koushi, especially since I’m doing this as a favor to a friend.” Mika smacks him, suddenly, and he yelps. Suguru rolls away from her in his chair, watery-eyed and betrayed. “We agreed pro bono for zombies!”

“When’s the last time you got paid for any kind of case?”

“Mika, please, I don’t intend to let Daishou’s famous hospitality sway me,” Suga breaks in, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she backs off with a pout that matches Suguru’s rather well. “This is a favor, but still a job, and I wouldn’t want any further favors to hinder our friendship, now would I?”

“Neither of you are any fun. Let’s see if your charity cases are any better, hm?” He stands, circles around the desk, takes Kimi back from Mika, and plops down between Suga and Iwaizumi on the couch. He throws a casual arm over each side of the couch, posture open and daring, and the snake curls around his neck like a necklace. Suguru totally ignores Iwaizumi, and inclines his head toward Suga. “How’s Tooru, by the way?”

“I told you, we’re no longer together.”

“You were such a lovely couple, I’m not sure anyone could be better for him. Or you, for that matter.”

“Suguru—”

Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches. Kuro raises an eyebrow at the complete transparency of this.

“I’m not staying here if you’re going to posture and waste their time all day. C’mon, Nao.” Mika scoops up the other snake, despite its protests, and marches out of the room. Suguru frowns after her like a kicked dog.

“Even Mika thinks you could do better than that,” Kuro points out, and Suguru’s attention snaps over to him.

“I’ve never met an uncontracted demon before,” Suguru mildly replies.

“Kuroo Tetsurou, at your service,” Kuro replies with a mock bow.

“Charmed,” he says thinly. He regards Kuro for a long moment, evaluating, and all of his lilting words so far don’t prepare Kuro for the completely blunt way he says, “Did you eat your summoner?”

“Hey—”

“I can’t imagine that would endear you to many, but we all know Koushi’s heart is a little too big sometimes, right?” Suguru reaches over and grabs Suga’s face, squishing his cheeks together. Suga glares at him but makes no move to break free. “This is a last-ditch attempt to hide you from the coven witches, right? Koushi, you know it’s rude to use me against them. What happened to the _other_ psychic you were such good friends with? Is she done with your very own charity cases?”

“We needed _your_ skills,” Suga curtly answers.

“At least you appreciate how much work it takes to keep this town running outside of those crude gangs.” Suguru finally releases him, and Kuro finally relaxes. He sees Iwaizumi unclench his fist. “So we have Oikawa’s sloppy seconds, the one that got him possessed last Halloween, and a demon who ate his master.”

“I _did not_ —”

“The third one must be the identity reclamation, right? Another zombie case?” Suguru asks excitedly.

“No necromancy involved.”

“You’re cuter when you don’t play by the rules, you know.”

“It’s why I have such good, rule-following friends like you to keep me in line.”

“Is the other side so taxing that you don’t even have fun anymore?”

Kuro _clearly_ had misunderstood the situation. The way Suga had talked, he’d expected Suguru to come after _them_ , but it’s obvious he’s only here to mess with Suga. Kuro doesn’t get why they couldn’t ask any other lawyer on the planet to help them. Hell, he doesn’t _want_ an identity that badly if it means putting up with this.

He doesn’t think Iwaizumi is any more charmed by the situation than he is.

“Let me just ask your other little zombie friend if he has any fun since coming back from the dead.”

“I was expecting you to make me guess how you got those scars,” Tsukishima mildly replies.

Suguru looks a little like someone’s just slapped him, and Suga quickly hides a snort of laughter behind his hand. “Does death make people mouthy?” he asks, stunned.

“My apologies, I guess I should have realized you’d died by the way you looked earlier.”

“What does such a young, dead, demonic zombie stand to gain by sassing the person helping him?”

“I thought you’d like things that bit back, but maybe you’re all bark and no bite yourself.” The blond finally sits up, sliding his glasses back onto his face, and gives Suguru a totally disinterested stare. Suga’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“Do you want to see if you can die twice?” Suguru asks. He leans forward on the couch, and without a word, his snake slithers down one arm until she’s coiled on his palm.

“I’ve phased a heart out of a dragon’s ribcage. A witch with a mamba doesn’t scare me much anymore.”

Suguru’s demeanor changes instantly. “Ah, you recognize her?” There’s no more fake smiles or narrow-eyed glares, but instead something sincere in his words. He steps across the space and seats himself between them, bumping Kuro off the couch entirely, and holds up Kimi like a prize. “Do you like snakes?”

“I’m familiar with them,” Tsukishima replies while staring at Suguru like he’s something he stepped in.

“Reptiles, then?”

“Y-Yes, I suppose—”

“Let me guess, you were one of the dinosaur kids. You must have had a heart attack out of sheer joy the first time you saw a dragon, right? Is that how you died?”

“ _No_.”

“Koushi, I’m doing him first. Bring me my laptop,” Suguru says with a dismissive wave in Suga’s direction. He holds up Kimi to Tsukishima’s face until he reluctantly reaches over and pets the snake with his finger. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m about to dig up all of your records. Are you looking to fully reclaim your living identity, or would you like to stay buried, like Koushi?”

“Is he always like this?” Iwaizumi hisses as Kuro plops down beside him. Suga sighs, nods, and fetches the requested laptop.

“Be lucky he latched onto someone. I wasn’t looking forward to anything else he said about me.”

Not that Tsukishima looks any happier with his attention, but at least for the most part, Suguru has stopped any purposeful rudeness. Kuro thinks he’s still a little too blunt, but he can’t exactly fault him for that. Probably.

“Why does everyone think I wanna eat Kenma?” he sulks, chin in hand and elbow on his knee, slouched over on the couch.

“At least you haven’t actually gotten anyone possessed,” Iwaizumi grumbles and matches his position.

Suga slides in between them, and mimics Suguru’s pose earlier, one arm through over each of their shoulders. “C’mon, if you start thinking like that, he’s won. He just talks shit until something gives, and he’s lucky it didn’t end in bloody noses or broken teeth this time.”

“Whoever said dead men don’t tell tales has clearly never met you,” Suguru replies without looking up from his laptop. “You all may as well get comfortable, and get used to the sound of my voice, because we’re going to get very cozy with one another. I’m going to know more about each of you than your therapist.”

 

\--

 

“How did it go today?” Kiyoko asks. She looks up and gives Suga a soft, warm smile that, even after years of experience, still makes his heart flop over in his chest.

“About as well as expected. Tsukishima and Kuroo are taken care of, but Iwaizumi stalled out. He’s stuck on a name and Suguru is too enthralled with the fact that he’s supposed to be extinct to be much help,” Suga laments, playing up the hang of his head and the slump to his shoulders.

Kiyoko clucks her tongue, mostly sympathetic, and makes room for him on her tiny couch. Suga allows a few glorious moments of sprawling all over her lap, in spite of her disappointed frown, enjoying the softness of her legs.

“I brought take-out. It’s cold,” he offers before she tells him to get off. “Cold gyoza for you, just how you like it, you monster.”

“What kindness,” she flatly replies, but Suga knows that spark in her eyes.

They end up curled on the couch together, Kiyoko eating her cold take-out with little flicks of magic in her fingertips. She eats enough even Suga feels his stomach aching, and supposes that just goes to show how poorly she’s been taking care of herself lately. She stays awake through their movie, however, even if her head does droop to rest against Suga’s shoulder.

“We should get together more often, like we used to,” Kiyoko says as the credits roll. The room is dim with the black background and white text, and Suga carefully studies the faint light as it gleams off her glasses and the gentle curve of her nose. “We’ve been busy.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice we’ve been running ourselves ragged,” Suga replies, voice light.

Kiyoko sighs, like it was the wrong answer, but she doesn’t move from where she’s pressed against him.

“I kind of feel like the parent of a whole herd of chickens. They’re all headless, and running around, and you can only try to hold one at a time. Two if you don’t mind getting gouged by claws. And there’s blood, everywhere.”

“You’d be a good father.”

“I think you’d be better at it. You’ve got the emotionally distant and terrible sense of humor parts down,” Suga jokes, and this time, when she frowns, he knows he’s made the right move.

Kiyoko jabs him in the side. “You complain, you have a harsh sense of humor, you can’t maintain homeostasis, and I’m not ascribing gender to any of these qualities. But you’d still be a good parent.”

“I’ll take the compliment, weird as it is. I don’t think Daichi and I are going to settle down anytime soon. If I ever want a kid, I’ll just remember my _amazing_ chicken metaphor.”

“…Yui and I talked about children, once,” Kiyoko volunteers. “She was enamored with the idea of starting a family.”

“Oh god, she _asked_ me about that. I thought she was _joking_.” Well, that certainly colors _that_ conversation in a fucking horrifying new light. “Do you think you’d see yourself with Hitoka? Settling down, adopting, watching how neurotic she gets trying to care for a baby?”

“She’s good with kids,” Kiyoko murmurs defensively. “Better than me. I’ve never seen myself with kids, however.”

There’s a good opening, even if he hates to ruin the mood. “Alright, then. We’re shelving the kid talk. Let me see the list.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“I did that earlier.” Suga gives her a Look, and she relents. Kiyoko leans up and away from him, rubs at her eyes, and Suga fidgets as she retrieves her notebook.

She doesn’t curl back up near him when she hands it over. It’s never easy, going over this with him, but it’s a different kind of difficult ever since he died the first time.

There are so many tally marks. “This much…?”

“This is _just_ visions concerning the apocalypse,” Kiyoko informs him in a very small voice.

“You’ve seen me die _eight times_?”

“There were two more that were unclear.”

Suga breaks line of sight with the marks near his name. There are some new names he hasn’t seen in the notebook before.

Kiyoko puts her hand over his. “I’ve seen Tadashi and Tsukishima more than once. I thought you’d want me to…”

“No, thanks.” Kiyoko has been getting visions of her friends dying for all of her life. Most of her visions aren’t so macabre, but while she’s hopeful at heart, she’s a pessimist in action. “Do you think we have a concrete timeline yet?”

“At least half of those can be scratched out,” she punctuates it with a squeeze. “Anything can change anything in the future.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“I don’t know. It seems most likely that it will happen next week—”

“ _Next week_?!”

“ _Technically_ , on the fifth. Maybe soon after,” Kiyoko carefully corrects. “The ball would be too good of an opportunity for him to pass up, and everyone would be distracted…”

Almost angry—though at what, who even knows—Suga looks back down at the neat names and tally marks. Sugawara Koushi: eight. Tanaka Saeko: two. Tanaka Ryuunosuke: three. Nishinoya Yuu: _six_ —

“This is _just_ for Monday?”

“I don’t know what happens when, or if it will happen at all,” she replies, reproachful, and he knows, he _knows_. She cannot control her visions, and half the time they’re nonsense at best. The names Kiyoko has written grip at his heart, and each perfectly written name and line next to it worsen it.

Two next to Tsukishima’s name.

 _Four_ next to Tadashi’s.

Suga takes a deep breath through his nose, and exhales it through his mouth.

There’s several names he’d expect to be on here that aren’t, however, and with reluctance, he turns the page. More names, more people he knows, next to horrifying counts. Oikawa Tooru: one. Iwaizumi: two. Sawamura Daichi: two.

“We’ll stop this,” they tell each other, in chorus, nearly perfectly. Kiyoko and Suga blink at one another, then break into light, breathy laughter.

Suga doesn’t ask about the specifics of what she’s seen. He knows it’s not infallible. Hell, she’d never seen his experiment with Yui coming, and if she had ever seen Asahi’s passing, she hadn’t shared.

He also doesn’t remark upon the single name with shaky handwriting: Yachi Hitoka. Three.

 

\--

 

“It feels soooo much better!” Shouyou exclaims. He’s nearly shivering with pleasure.

Kenma lets himself smile, just a little.

“How did you do that?” Kageyama demands. He hovers over Kenma’s shoulder like Kuro used to, infinitely more oppressive and _loud_.

The smile is gone fast. Kenma shrinks down, shoulders hunched, until even Shouyou is looking down at him.

“Leave him alone!” the tengu snaps and swipes at him, but Kageyama ducks, knocking his chin into the top of Kenma’s head.

Kenma quickly ducks out from between them, rubbing at his skull with his free hand.

“I’ve never seen a glamor work like that, and you normally are so unstable it starts shaking apart in five minutes!” Kageyama yells, not even noticing the blow.

“Um, the first one he bought was really poorly made,” Kenma volunteers. “Fixing it didn’t help much. So I just wrote a new one. It should work for owl tengu too, right?”

“Yeah, if it works on one tengu it should work for everyone. You’re talking about the Bokuto guy who declared you his mate, right? Ukai was _so mad_ when he heard about that, nearly tried dragging me back again—”

“You’re mates with some tengu now?” Kageyama’s still scowling, and Shouyou smacks him again. “You don’t seem to _do_ much. That’s all.”

“You were _just_ saying what good magic he writes! Make up your mind!”

Kenma wonders if he could politely lock Kageyama in another room. The librarian has already shushed them twice, and he’s _very_ surprised they haven’t gotten kicked out for the crow sitting on his shoulder.

Kenma’s hoodie pocket squirms, and he wiggles the fingers he has stuffed in there, keeping Midna entertained.

“Are you pregnant?” Shouyou asks, leaning into his space, and Kenma scoots away again with a nervous little laugh.

“That’s not what human pregnancy looks like, and human guys can’t _get_ pregnant, dumbass!” Kageyama barks and cuffs him. Shouyou lunges back at him with claws he doesn’t have anymore, and they squabble like kindergarteners. Kasa hops off of Kageyama’s shoulder and onto the table, then squints at Kenma’s pocket. “Oi,” Kageyama says, and when Kenma snaps back to look at him, he has Shouyou’s wrists held above his head and is completely ignoring the way Shouyou is attempting to gnaw his own arm off. “You got a familiar, right?”

“Yes,” Kenma murmurs. He _had_ wanted to show Shouyou, but he’s not sure about showing another witch. He’s also not sure why he should feel defensive over a kitten. After a breath, he reaches in and pulls Midna out, setting her on the table next to Kasa. “It was Kuro’s idea, but I think I’m happy I got her. A little.”

Midna mews at him like she’s calling him out.

“So your magic got better since you got her, right?” Kageyama asks, leaning _way_ too close to her. Kasa pecks at him until he backs off.

“I made that glamor before,” Kenma retorts. It’s actually a reworked glamor he’d meant to give to Akaashi, but since he’s still dodgy around the other tengu, well. It may as well go to _some_ use. “I’m a spellwriter, remember…?”

“Yeah, so back off his magic. Just because _you_ are jealous of his amazing witch magic and my amazing tengu magic—”

“Who do you think is earning all the secrets to this amazing tengu magic, huh?”

“S-So,” Kenma interrupts, and winces at the way they both turn on him, “you, um, got that curse taken care of? Did Hitoka figure it out for you?”

“Ah, yeah.” Kageyama flexes his hand a few times, like he’s surprised at it. “I feel fine now. The nightmares are still there, but those aren’t that new, so I can live with them.”

“You’re having nightmares?” Shouyou sounds surprised. Kenma thinks this probably _should_ have come up earlier, especially if there’s even the slightest chance they could be related to a curse from a Great Old One.

“They started when I first got the contract with Ushijima,” Kageyama replies simply, whereas both Shouyou and Kenma make faces, “and I don’t know, they might be night terrors. It’s mostly just this big, hulking thing that stands around and speaks in tongues at me.”

Kenma _vividly_ remembers the nightmare of that warehouse and seeing what Ushijima did to himself. “That… sounds a little like possession.”

“You’re possessed?” Shouyou squawks, and Kasa begins squawking, too.

Kenma scoops up Midna and shoves the kitten back into his pocket as the librarian stomps over. “You three, and that animal, _out_!” she hisses with such venom that they’re already halfway to the doors.

“Maybe, um, talk to Hitoka about that,” Kenma feels bad for keeping Shouyou between himself and Kageyama. “Or Sugawara, I think he knows about possession.”

“I’m not possessed, I would have noticed.”

“I think I might’ve, a little, too. It’s not like he’s particularly subtle,” Shouyou agrees with his chin in hand. He rocks up onto his tiptoes to peer into Kageyama’s face. He wouldn’t look wrong with a magnifying glass and a deerstalker. “We’ll ask Hitoka about it.”

“Be careful.”

“The god doesn’t have any kind of sway over me, and it can’t even track us. We’re the ones following Ushijima.”

“How’s that going for you?”

“We’re working on it,” Shouyou interrupts as Kageyama opens his mouth. He leans back out of the witch’s personal space, plants his fists on his hips, and haughtily declares, “I promised we’re going to help stop this guy, and we’re _gonna_. He still needs the spirits and the First egg, right? Who do you think can follow an egg better than a tengu?”

Kenma averts his eyes as he recalls exactly who lost the owl First egg (two tengu), and who retrieved it (a necromancer and a demon). “Okay. If you say so.”

“I think you both worry too much.”

Kasa lets out a screechy noise that could resemble a laugh. Even Midna squeaks a little from inside his pocket.

Kenma wonders if maybe another part of having a familiar is that they’re smarter than their witch.

 

\--

 

Even disguised as cats, they don’t really blend in. Morisuke swats his tail against the wall but the nekomata—that old one is the size of a bobcat—ignores his blatant aggravation. “You wanted to see me?” he asks.

In the hotel towering above them, Lev and Alisa are distracted with Yuuki. Morisuke rather wishes he could rejoin them.

“Bakeneko have it so easy,” the old one huffs, and lays down with his head on his folded paws. Even down, he’s nearly as large as Kai. “Did you know you’re the last kind of youkai to be born here naturally? You can still live with humans, if you’re smart about it.”

Morisuke wisely bites back any snide remarks.

“We have a dilemma, you see. Shibayama was born here, much like you I suppose, and we think he’d like to live here. Do better here. And surely being with his own kind would be better than traveling with three old nekomata,” he continues. Kai and Shouhei both roll their eyes at the ‘old’. Morisuke doesn’t comment on that, either.

“He’s not that young. Humans are stupid, these days. He just has to stay away from witches and he’d be fine, if that’s what he wanted.”

“That’s what we were thinking, too. Until we heard the rumors about the matagot hunting other spirits.”

“It’s a witch,” Morisuke flatly corrects. He can’t stop his fur from rising. “He’s using the fox as a scapegoat.”

“All the more a problem, if the witches can’t even control their own,” the old one replies. “The tengu are in a tizzy and the fair folk are ignoring it all, but what else is new. What truly concerns me is how poorly everyone else is reacting to this chaos. I heard even a trickster got killed here not too long ago.”

“There may be another anti-magic backlash from the humans in the near future. We want to give Yuuki a chance here, but not if he’s going to get sacrificed to some god, or chased back out soon. He also needs guidance.”

“You want to pawn him off on me,” Morisuke finishes.

“That’s a crass way of putting it.”

“I’m not hearing any arguments.”

“Wouldn’t it be best for him to know another bakeneko? Another luck spirit?”

“Why would I want to be responsible for another young spirit when, as you put it, the human realm is soon to be chaos?” Morisuke swishes his tail again in poorly-concealed aggravation.

“Another?” the old nekomata asks, oh so politely.

“I have my hands full as it is. Spit it out, exactly what you want from me, and what you’ll give me in return.”

“So feisty, for such a tiny spirit,” the old one chuckles, and stands back to his full height. Morisuke is not cowed. “Watch over Shibayama, until he either feels he does not want to live in the human realm any longer, or you feel it in his best interest to live elsewhere. What do you want in exchange?”

Morisuke cocks his head, and thinks. It’s not any real matter what he wants or needs; he needs to figure out what would be best to ask from three nekomata. “I would like three things from you. Each of you, if you’d like, it doesn’t matter how.” The old nekomata nods, and Kai and Shouhei tilt their heads, the latter squinting at him. “I want your help with the other ones I’m watching over. I want cat magic lessons for two of them, and a pact with the third.”

“What kind of pact?”

Morisuke grins.

By the time he works out the minute details, including how much longer they’ll be staying here and what kind of timeline he has to ask for, his stomach is growling and a bundled up Russian has come outside looking for him. The nekomata all startle when he ambles around the corner with a plaintive, “Yaaaaaaku,” but Morisuke jumps up onto his shoulder and rubs against his scarf.

“I got you something as an apology for getting you kicked out,” Morisuke informs him.

“I won’t say no to a present. What is it?”

“We’ll turn you into a proper summoner yet.”

 

\--

 

Kiyoko has never seen so many pillows in one space in all her life. She certainly doesn’t own this many. “How did…?” she begins, but Hitoka pops her head up over the pile with the most adorable bedhead and grin.

“Ah! I, um, tried to make a pillow fort! It didn’t really work out, but I still have most of three of the walls here, so there’s a little cave in here that’s about person-sized…” When Hitoka wiggles out of the pile, it caves in. “…Oh.”

“I’m sure it was lovely, anyway. Why were you making a pillow fort on my bed?”

“I thought it’d help you sleep! I also thought Yui could nap in it, too, because she’s been having trouble sleeping, too. But she hasn’t been back yet, has she?”

“No,” Kiyoko glances to the side, away from her tiny girlfriend. “She told me she wanted to stay the night in the forest. She had a makeshift camp set up, but I’d thought she’d enjoyed staying here again…”

“Well, after the scare Noya gave us, maybe she just thought it was safer for a little while. She should be fine! Actually, will she be warm enough? Oh, I guess she generates more heat now…” Hitoka trails off thoughtfully, and her speaking is so natural that Kiyoko doesn’t realize when she’d crossed the room to take her hand and tug her toward the bed. “I’ll fix it up tomorrow, but I’m sure we can find some place to sleep here, tonight.”

“Seems lumpy.”

“It’s soft! I already tested it!” The bedhead proved that.

“Alright,” Kiyoko gives in. Hitoka laughs, warm and bright, and they fall onto the plush pile together. Kiyoko isn’t even in her sleepwear yet, and they’re sideways on the bed, but she’s starting to believe the pillows may be charmed for how gladly she sinks into them. “Where did you get all these?”

“I borrowed them from the coven house. They’re spelled with restfulness, and dreamlessness, and I think one or two may have some knowledge sponges leftover from finals week?” They all smell strongly of lavender and mint. Kiyoko, as used to all manner of herbs and smells mixing as she is, wonders if she could actually sleep with all this surrounding them.

Hitoka reaches over and gently pinches her nose, murmuring magic under her breath.

The smell fades away. Kiyoko smiles and reaches over, as Hitoka releases her nose, to brush some of her golden hair out of her eyes. “Thank you. This was very thoughtful.”

“A full and proper night’s rest. Doctor’s orders,” Hitoka replies with a pleased blush high on her cheeks. She reaches forward and kisses the tip of Kiyoko’s nose, then slides her glasses off for her.

“Let me change my clothes and get ready for bed. You can remake the pillow fort, if you’d like.”

“I think maybe a pile would be safer? They’re pillows, but they could fall over on top of us and crush us or suffocate us and I don’t ever want to die by suffocation—”

“Shh. It’ll take more than a couple pillows to take out either of us. We’re fine.” Kiyoko presses a kiss to Hitoka’s mussed hair before getting up and out of bed to change. She doesn’t care whether or not Hitoka watches as she strips off clothes. Sex has been a far thing from her mind lately, and bless Hitoka for not holding it against her.

Maybe they could have another use for the pillow pile later.

“I’m turning off our phones,” Hitoka calls from the bed. Kiyoko pulls on an oversized t-shirt and steps out briefly to double-check the shop. She re-does the wards on the door with her toothbrush in her mouth. Yui has inadvertently broken through them twice now, but thankfully no one has noticed.

Hitoka has formed the pile into a proper, enticing nest by the time she returns upstairs. Her breath is minty and her hair has been loosely braided into pigtails. Kiyoko’s face warms up. She’s _always_ been painfully conscious of the fact that Hitoka is incredibly cute, but quiet, unassuming moments like these still catch her off guard. The moments Kiyoko is most thankful for.

“Time for an actual good night’s sleep?” Hitoka snuggles into the pile. It looks as if she’s using pillows for blankets. Kiyoko isn’t sure where her sheets are in that mess.

“I hope so. Thank you.”

“Like I couldn’t use the sleep, too?”

“Come here.” Hitoka gladly curls and allows Kiyoko to spoon around her, body heat warming their cocoon of a bed, and Kiyoko drifts off into a peaceful slumber with Hitoka in her arms.

 

\--

 

“We need to find that fucking baku,” Tooru groans to the ceiling. “And you need to stop thinking so loudly about first names. I’m going to start calling you each of them.”

“I haven’t ever gotten to choose a name for myself. It’s a lot,” Iwaizumi dully replies.

“Just pick one!”

“Easy for you to say!”

“Don’t get snappy with me,” Tooru whines, and Iwaizumi grinds his teeth. They _need_ to sleep. “Yeah, I know… The things I wouldn’t do to have a nap right now. Half an hour, even. I think I’m going to hire someone to find a baku for us.”

“What if we just end up in that place again?” Iwaizumi rolls onto his back and unapologetically spread-eagles across the bed, his legs hooking over Tooru’s and one hand close enough to play with his hair. “At least Miyanoshita knows what we went through. I think she’d have the most answers, of anyone.”

“I’m reaching the point where I’m wondering if another trip to the Dreamlands wouldn’t be worth it,” Tooru mutters. “At least I could sleep there.”

“You spent most of the trip unconscious.”

“I _miss_ being unconscious.”

Iwaizumi could have sworn he just blinked. His body ached with fatigue, his mind swam with names and baku and latent horrors, and the next thing he knows, he’s in that dark, empty space again.

The Tooru light is closer, this time. He has the sense that it’s looking back at him. Neither move toward the other, even though light promises warmth, comfort, _Tooru_.

Tooru takes the first step, and Iwaizumi breaks into a run.

A sharp thump on his chest wakes him before he can get close enough to make out Tooru’s expression. “ _Ow_ , th’fuck was that for,” he hoarsely demands. Sleep still itches at his eyelids and the back of his brain.

“We’re going to have to figure this out. This means experimenting, or grabbing a net and going baku hunting.”

Experimenting meant sleep, or attempts at sleep again—they can’t even do this stupid thing on purpose—but baku hunting meant safe, sane answers. Normal, well-rested Iwaizumi could formulate a plan. Current Iwaizumi wants some goddamned sleep.

“We got out once.” He shouldn’t be risking himself or Tooru like this. He shouldn’t tempt fate again. “We… know the science behind it, kinda. Maybe if we fall asleep there again, too, we can jump back out,” he adds with a pathetic attempt at a joke.

Tooru is already snoring beside him, mouth open and drool slicking his cheek. Iwaizumi wonders how long he’s been trying to get his words together.

“Do you know how hard it is to avoid you two when you’re crying out like this?”

Iwaizumi blinks twice, at the baku leaning over into his vision. There’s no more void, no more blackness or far-off Tooru light. He’s back in the desert, but even that feels cold.

“Why were you avoiding us, then?” He means to have a bit more anger. He sounds a little pathetic, a lot like Tooru whining.

“No one wants to visit a monster who can shove them into another realm, do they?” Miyanoshita asks with a sneer. “We almost died because of you. Anyone would get scared off by that. When will Tooru leave, too?”

“Oh, you’re not her,” Iwaizumi realizes, disappointed. He turns from her and takes stock of the filled dreamspace around him. Probably a step in a good direction? He can’t replicate the living feel from before, the heat or the sun or the texture of the sand beneath him, but at least it’s not _nothingness_.

The baku floats around in his peripherals, trying in vain to regain his attention. “You’re taking unnecessary risks. You’re going to end up killing him yet. Why have you gone so far in search of what you cannot gain?”

Iwaizumi continues to ignore her. Something about her speech pattern rings familiar but unlike the real Miyanoshita. It’s still easy to dismiss. Iwaizumi tries to change the landscape around him, dredging up further memories of the Dreamlands, but it doesn’t so much as quiver. Huh. He can’t even change himself here.

“This was for nothing. You will accomplish nothing.” Her voice has taken on a particular rasp, not quite a growl, but ticking off every instinctual red flag he has.

“ _Ywgah’n lw’nafh hai, Ptar-Axtlan_.”

Iwaizumi turns and finds himself. His skin is unmarked, clean of tattoos and burns, unscarred and unlined from age. He’s younger. His hair is shaggier, falling into his eyes, and he’s gaunt, half-starved. He looks feral. He looks _so young_.

 _This is a weird fucking dream_. This _could_ just be an actual, literal dream, no bullshit buried beneath it, nothing more lurking in its shadows.

The thought is very, _very_ quickly banished when Tooru, glowing gold and dripping stars, stumbles in and shatters the entire dreamspace. Iwaizumi sighs as the nothingness comes back. It had been a pleasant change of pace while it lasted.

“You were screaming,” Tooru tells him in the deep, rasping tones of the angel.

“I wasn’t.”

“I heard you. You were screaming.”

“I don’t really want to go back to the Dreamlands,” Iwaizumi says tiredly, even as he holds his arms out to touch Tooru. It’s like they’re magnetized to one another here. Tooru brings warmth and life with him, and the roughness to his voice falls away when he smiles.

“Let’s not go there again,” he says, and ducks cheekily out of Iwaizumi’s reach. Flowers spring up beneath his feet. Iwaizumi tilts his head back to enjoy the feeling of sunlight on his skin. “What if it was… just this. Just this, every time we slept, from now on. Would that be so bad, Iwa-chan?”

“I thought sleep was for the mind to rest, too.”

“Right now, I’m not so picky.”

Iwaizumi can’t argue with him there.

Tooru sits cross-legged in the long grasses, and gestures for Iwaizumi to do the same. They’re just out of arm’s reach from each other.

The pins and needles return in Iwaizumi, and he pulls at the plants around them to try to get rid of the feeling. “Did you ever dream much?”

“Yeah, I guess. Sometimes it was weird stuff, bleeding through from others’ minds, but sometimes it was _my_ weird stuff. Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about alien abductions and visiting mars? _The Waters of Mars_ fucked with me. I made Makki and Mattsun watch it with me,” Tooru braids strands of grass together, with his eyes downcast.

“I never really dreamed. Not that I can remember. It’s a product of spending too much time in the Dreamlands.” One of the tamer side effects, for sure.

“You got us out.”

“I’m not sure humans can’t live without sleep. What if Miyanoshita is suffering somewhere from the same problem?”

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru sighs, stern. When he looks up at him, his eyes are hard as steel. “I’ve been friends with all kinds of people who kill other things for a living. You’re going to have to try very, very hard to be pathetic enough to think you stand a chance at being the monster you think you are.”

Iwaizumi leans forward, their knees knocking together and creating cracks in the atmosphere, and grasps Tooru’s hands in both of his. The rest of the dream crumbles away, and vertigo pulls at them, even if he doesn’t bring himself to look down at the jagged edges of the Dreamlands. “It’s hard to be optimistic when _this_ is what happens when we sleep. When we touch. What if this bleeds over into reality, too?”

Tooru maintains eye contact with him, gaze still fierce and determined. Even with the Dreamlands rushing up to meet them, Iwaizumi can’t help but think about how hopelessly handsome Tooru is. “We survived. Yeah, it was pretty bad while we were there, but we came back. We’ve even figured out this much by trial and error.”

“I’m used to this,” Iwaizumi mutters. He ignores how Tooru leans in further, inching their faces closer. “I know what it’s like to live there, to live alone. I know what it’s like to leave everything, or break everything, or do shit you shouldn’t. I’m not going to let you be one of those things, Tooru.”

“Sorry to say, but you’re stuck with me,” Tooru replies, hardly a whisper, breath warm on Iwaizumi’s lips.

The dream falls away before they can meet.

Iwaizumi finds himself seated upright in the bed, in the same position as before; they’re sitting cross-legged across from each other, still intimately close, fingers still intertwined. The room is painted in stark whites and soft greys, colorless. Tooru looks even more sickly and exhausted like this. Iwaizumi can only imagine he looks little more than a ghost himself.

The harsh light comes from a solid disk that seems like someone has taken a pair of scissors to Tooru’s bedroom wall. The hole spills out over the edge of sharp, familiar cliffs and sprawling forests winding off into a staticky distance. The colors are vibrant but too strong, and bubbles float up beside the neon orange waterfall.

“I recognize that place,” Tooru says faintly. Iwaizumi nods. He’s utterly speechless.

That is one hundred percent the Dreamlands.

“You just opened a portal to another realm in my bedroom.” Tooru’s weak voice is so unlike him. Iwaizumi smells blood, but he can’t turn away from the hole, even for Tooru.

They’re undeniably awake. No dream or dreamspace has ever felt like this.

Iwaizumi reaches under the bed to grab his dragonskin. He fits it onto his hands, scaled up to his elbows, and stands on the tips of his toes to hook a claw into the top of the hole. It’s like grabbing a curtain. There’s no resistance at all as he folds it up, and it closes without a hitch or the tiniest whisper of magic.

Iwaizumi sniffs wetly, and wipes away the blood dripping from his nose.

Tooru matches him, staring in stunned horror, then his eyes roll back and he collapses onto the bed.

Iwaizumi cleans their faces, rolls Tooru onto his side so he can breathe easier, and covers him with his pelt like a blanket. He stays the rest of the night hunched in the corner furthest from him, closest to the portal, forehead pressed to his knees. He does not try to sleep again.

 

\--

 

Tadashi wakes from a fitful slumber to the sound of his phone ringing. He flails beneath his pillow, Kei already grumpily stirring behind him, and rolls out of bed before answering. “H’lo?”

“Tadashi, there’s a job,” comes Suga’s breathless voice. “An emergency. I’ll explain—I’m already on the train, I’ll meet you at your stop. Get dressed, grab your bag of things. …Bundle up.”

Tadashi mumbles out a vague affirmative, rubbing at his eyes and then the bridge of his nose. He’d been _sleeping_ , too, goddamnit. Squinting at the phone, he finds it’s almost three in the morning, which means he probably got a little less than two hours of sleep. Beautiful.

Kei doesn’t even wake as Tadashi slips out. He leaves a note on the nightstand next to his glasses, just in case.

The sky is orange, even this late at night, clouds hanging heavy and low over the city. Tadashi’s breath puffs out in front of him as he waits, hands jammed in his pockets. He wonders if he should have brought Morisuke’s collar, too. Suga, uncharacteristically, hadn’t told him what to prepare for.

The train pulls in, and through the car windows, Tadashi can see Suga pacing. He’s a worrier, they both are, but this is beginning to feel _bad_.

“What kind of emergency?” Tadashi blurts out as soon as Suga jogs toward him.

Suga pulls his scarf off, looping it around Tadashi’s neck and pulling it snug against his face. “I told you to bundle up… come on, we have to switch lines.” Suga grabs his hand and drags him down the station, and Tadashi goes along with only minimal grumbling.

“We’re headed uptown? What’s the emergency that you came to pick me up instead of meeting me there? I can travel by myself, you know.”

Suga sighs heavily as he flops into the nearest seat. They’re alone in the car. “So, once in awhile, you need a lot more than two or three people for a job. And once in a _long_ while, you get a job that’s considered important enough for covens to ignore their bickering. That’s what we’re doing tonight.”

“We’re not witches. We’re not in any covens.”

“Yes, but we’re freelancers. And when the head of Foxglove Coven calls you personally, you go and help,” Suga says like he sorely wishes he could’ve ignored the call. “Kiyoko isn’t picking up, and I’ve called and texted Kenma, but…”

“I can help,” Tadashi says with a frown.

“It’s called a purge,” Suga glumly tells him. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. It’s probably what’s going to go down once Ushijima slips up and someone gets hard evidence on him. You need seven magic users, at least, and half of them need to be witches. That’s why coven lines are ignored. But, them being them, only two witches per coven can show up, so…”

“So the coven leader called you because you’re still on their side without being in the coven.”

“Yeah. It’s an emergency, but it’s a power struggle.”

“So, what’s getting purged? Why do I have to wrap myself up like a marshmallow?”

Suga reaches over and begins tucking Tadashi’s shaggy hair up into his hat to hide it. “They know me, they know who I’m friends with. You’re still relatively unknown.”

Tadashi hadn’t thought working under Suga or being friends with Kiyoko would count as unknown, but he supposes that’s two degrees of separation in his favor?

“What’s getting purged?”

Suga’s eyes slide away after he tugs up his scarf around Tadashi’s face once more. “If Kiyoko or Kenma answer me and come, I want you to go home tonight.”

Tadashi gets the sneaking suspicion that this is far, far above his pay grade. “What do you need me to do?”

“The magic itself isn’t difficult. You’ve never cast anything with someone else before, though…”

During the train ride, Suga shows him the runes and what to expect. It’s not long, but it’s also not hard magic, so Tadashi knows the trick lies elsewhere. There are nerves thrumming low in his stomach at the prospect of finally meeting proper coven witches, but he dreads what they may be trying to contain. He recognizes most of the runes: _confine_ , and _protect_ , and _bind_.

“Don’t speak at all, if you can help it, outside of casting. Stick close to me and don’t talk to anyone else. I don’t know who else is showing up tonight, but generally speaking, anyone’s going to be grumpy getting woken up late at night to try to do some mass confinement.” Suga sighs again, but it has the usual edge of playful pessimism that Tadashi expects from him. “I’m sorry, Tadashi.”

“For what?” He frowns fiercely, then corrects, “I’m doing jobs like this because I want to, and I _can_ do them. I’ll be fine.”

Their stop arrives, and Suga fusses over him once more before leading him back out into the cold night. He checks his phone for directions, and curses at the lack of messages. Tadashi can’t help but eavesdrop as he calls Kiyoko and Kenma again. The pleading tone he adopts is unnerving.

To Tadashi’s surprise, the first face they see is a familiar one. “Kentarou!” Suga calls with a huge wave, relief pouring off of him.

The blond hunter turns and scowls. Tadashi doesn’t see Yahaba anywhere, but offers a little wave of his own. Kentarou just nods at them both.

“I guess that answers that. The other four will be the witches,” Suga says with obviously false cheer. Kentarou shrugs, aggressively. “Who called you?”

“Nametsu,” Kentarou grunts. He eyes Tadashi, unsubtly but not straight-on. When Tadashi tries to smile at him, he looks away with a darker frown than before. “Dunno who else is gonna show up.”

“Yachi called me,” Suga replies conversationally. Kentarou doesn’t seem interested in the offer.

Suga catches Tadashi’s raised eyebrow, though, so he leans over to whisper, “Yachi’s mom, Madoka, is the head of the Foxglove Coven. Nametsu—Mai—is also part of her coven, so she’ll probably be the one showing up tonight.”

It isn’t long before the first witch shows up to interrupt their awkward, half-frozen shuffling beneath the streetlight. The night is a little foggy, but Tadashi is shocked to see someone fly in on a broom so casually.

It’s a man, yawning widely, rolling back wide shoulders as he dismounts the broom and approaches them with a sleepy wave. “Why’s it always gotta be so fuckin’ late at night?” He makes no move to introduce himself or ask for names, but squints at Tadashi, as if trying to place him.

Suga steps between them with a smile. “You know how the universe works. It’s always inconvenient.”

“You got that right.” He rubs at his eyes, leans against the streetlight, and apparently dozes off again.

Suga leans over and whispers, “Eyebright Coven. He’s a healer, though, so I’m not sure how much he’ll be participating tonight. I think his name is Yamamoto? Ryuu knows him, at least.”

Not a minute later, two women fly in, and based on the terrifying presence both Suga and Kentarou shy away from, Tadashi knows one of them has to be Yachi Madoka. One of the women is older, with huge, russet curls peeking out from beneath a hat, eyeliner and mascara smudged around her eyes like she’d been sleeping on it. The other woman is younger, comparatively, likely around Suga’s age, Tadashi supposes. She looks like she’s sleeping on her feet, and her hair is in complete disarray from bedhead, only the feeblest attempt at tying it back keeping it out of her face.

“What an honor,” Kentarou deadpans as soon as they land.

Yamamoto’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and upon seeing the women, he turns an interesting mixture of red-faced and terrified.

“Did you get in touch with Shimizu?” the older woman demands of Suga.

“I was just with her earlier, but her phone keeps clicking over. It probably died. We’ll have enough people, anyway.” There’s a defensive note in his voice, a defiant jut to his chin as he stares her down. Keeping Tadashi behind him, Suga tugs on his hands, and points to each of them in turn. Tadashi nods: the older one is Hitoka’s mother, and the younger one is the Mai witch that Kentarou mentioned.

He wonders if Hisashi would come.

“Two for Foxglove, huh? Including the leader?” Yamamoto asks without a trace of hostility.

“Is anyone else from Eyebright coming?” Madoka asks thinly.

“I’m just medic tonight, if things go south,” he replies with both hands up like she was pointing a gun at him. “That’s all I was told.”

 _Kind of poorly planned_ , Tadashi thinks, rather unimpressed, if still more than a little nervous.

“Who’s the sassy little shit?”

Tadashi jumps a foot in the air as someone comes up behind him. He thinks he sees several others jump, too. Suga whirls around, and Yamamoto hilariously even raises his fists, but the man standing behind them looks even more bedraggled than Mai. His hair is black and naturally curly, though bedhead did no favors for him, and most of his face is hidden behind a medical mask. He looks tired, or bored. Probably both.

“Kiyoomi!” Suga exclaims. It’s hard to tell what emotion is tied to it.

“How have you been, Kiyoomi?” Mai asks with a toothy, sincere grin.

“You and you,” Kiyoomi points at Tadashi and Mai, “need to get your goddamned mental walls back up. I don’t need a migraine on top of everything else happening tonight.”

“How nice it is to see you again, Sakusa,” Madoka flatly tells him. “Do you know who else is coming?”

“Yeah, he’s getting coffee for us. I reiterate: brace your brains, because I have limited patience tonight.”

“It’s rare for you to grace us with your presence.”

“A favor got called in, since someone didn’t want to step on coven toes.”

“And you have no problem doing that, of course,” Madoka says.

“Of course,” Kiyoomi echoes without any of the animosity the woman radiates. “Two Foxglove, two Eyebright, and the rest of us. How much fun tonight will be.”

Suga and Madoka snap into matching, furious sneers.

The last of their party jogs up through the fog, convenience store coffee held in each hand. Ushijima hands one off to Kiyoomi and sips at his own when he catches sight of Suga and Tadashi.

“No,” Madoka says with a voice like iron.

“We only have two witches from our coven,” Ushijima replies, impassive. “Yamamoto will not even be participating outside of providing support.”

“It’s better than your lot,” Kiyoomi adds. He pulls his mask down to sip at his coffee, completely unperturbed. “Everyone knows Shimizu Kiyoko and her lot are in your pocket even after she left.”

“And everyone knows you’re still in bed with Eyebright,” Madoka bites back.

“Don’t we have some demons to kill?”

Tadashi’s hand finds the back of Suga’s coat, and pulls, _hard_. Suga stumbles back, against him, and looks upside-down up at him.

He’s careful with his thoughts, as careful as he can be. He hadn’t expected to meet another clairvoyant tonight, either, and worse is how stupidly friendly he’s being with Ushijima. Madoka speaks furiously in another language on a phone for a few minutes, then, unsatisfied with whatever happened, jerks her head down the street to get their unhappy little knot of people moving.

Ushijima stoically avoids eye contact with both Tadashi and Suga. A minor feat, considering how hard Suga is glaring daggers at the side of his head.

“These are supposed to be neutral, professional events,” Mai says, smiling nervously, and Yamamoto nods so many times it’s a wonder he doesn’t snap his neck.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Kentarou growls under his breath.

Tadashi clings to the group with every fiber of his being, and still ends up tripping twice. Bad luck sucks. It doesn’t help that he falls onto Kiyoomi, who looks like _he_ wants to take Tadashi around the corner of a building to shoot later.

Kiyoomi doesn’t comment on Tadashi’s undoubtedly tempting train of thought.

“Here,” Madoka gestures up to what seems to be an apartment building on the corner of the intersection. It’s not too shabby looking, but certainly not in line with the rest of the neighborhood, and Tadashi can’t see any lights on in any of the windows facing them. The streetlight here is broken.

Just before they’re broken into groups, another witch arrives on the scene, landing lightly and without a word. They’re small in stature, and bundled up to high hell and back. Like Kiyoomi, they have a face mask on, plus a hat pulled low, a hood up over that, a long coat, and sunglasses despite the fact that it’s three in the morning.

Kentarou rubs at his nose, frowning in confusion, and Suga frantically tries to hide a smile in his sleeve.

“Unaffiliated?” Madoka asks, and the figure nods. “Fine.”

“They’re with me,” Suga breaks in, rushed, and pushes Tadashi back out of their circle. “Replacement.” He gives Tadashi a meaningful look over his shoulder: _go home now_. Tadashi scowls at him, and stays. He’s close enough to hear the whispered, “ _Thank you_ ,” Suga gives to the stranger.

“Sugawara, Kyoutani, and Nametsu, you’re on the ground. Ushijima, Sakusa, you’re with me. They should be on the fourth story. Stranger, you’re on the roof. Confinement, negation, evac, then purge.”

“It would be easier to purge the entire building,” Ushijima says, quiet and offhand. Madoka looks a little like she’s about to throttle him, but he doesn’t even notice, and adds to himself, “But we have the strength here to handle it this way.”

“Blunt as ever,” Kiyoomi fondly sighs.

“You two, you’re on the ground, provide support in whatever way you can,” Madoka says dismissively, flapping her hand at Yamamoto and Tadashi.

With that, the witches take back to the air.

Suga whispers one last thing to the stranger, and Tadashi can’t catch it.

Tadashi and Yamamoto find themselves seated on the damp sidewalk nearest Mai, and as it turns out, purges are _boring_. He hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting, especially with Suga as wound up as he was, but this is quiet, even for their standards. He hears the faint chanting of magic, and seeing group casting in action would be a little cooler if it weren’t so goddamned dark or cold out.

“This your first purge, huh?” Yamamoto says casually. Tadashi nods. “Fuckin’ sucks. You got out of the magic, though, but—Sugawara’s keen on you, huh?”

“I guess,” he replies.

“Oh, so you _can_ talk.”

Tadashi gives him a sour look and pointedly does not answer him this time.

Yamamoto tips his head back and laughs, loud and grating in the silent night. Mai spares him a disdainful eye before turning back to her magic. “So, _freckles_ ,” Yamamoto continues, like they’re sharing a secret, and Tadashi leans in despite the ominous way he said the word, “we’re supposed to respect the anonymity of the night an’ all that, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of gossip, right?”

Tadashi says nothing, but he’s warily curious.

“My buddy Ryuu, he’s friends with Sugawara, right? He says there’s this kid they’re training up as a hunter.”

 _Uh-oh_.

“High school kid, I heard, bit of magic in him, picked up first by Sugawara.” Yamamoto’s grin is a sharp, white slice in the darkness. His eyes glint despite the lack of relative light. “The magic community is both big and small, kid, and it has ears. If you’re so keen on flying low under the radar, you’re gonna need powerful friends, or better ideas than to get dragged out on a purge night.”

“I-It wasn’t my idea…”

“Sugawara plays it friendly with Foxglove, but don’t let him sway you too much. Play it close to the vest, right? Don’t come out on another purge until you’re older.”

“Confinement in place!” Mai calls out, and Tadashi hears the echoes from the others. “Laying down magic negation blanket!”

“How do you negate magic?” Tadashi asks.

“It’s actually pretty easy when you get into the nitty gritty.” Yamamoto rubs his gloves over his cheeks to get feeling back in them, and with perfect disinterest, he explains, “This right here is when we pretty much flood the area with raw magic so it all cancels each other out. Kind of like putting out a fire with too much oxygen. A flash, and then it’s gone.”

There’s no flash or boom here. Mai yawns, too, after Yamamoto’s, and gives him another sleepy, annoyed squint.

“There’s other stuff. Silver or iron will fuck with most kinds of magic. Dead man’s blood or ashes, holy water, a few kinds of plants. Also, if the body can’t properly channel the magic, then you can’t cast, either. So anesthetics and numbing agents can also do the same. Or pain.”

Despite the subject, despite the situation and time of night and location, Tadashi thinks he likes Yamamoto. He’s in the same coven as Ushijima, sure, but he’s friends with Ryuunosuke, and he’s helpful, in a kind of dark way. Tadashi smiles, though it’s mostly hidden by the scarf.

“Alright, evac time!” calls Madoka from above.

Suga jogs around the side of the building as they reform into a group at the front doors to the apartment lobby. “You, stay,” he hisses at Tadashi, and looks at Yamamoto for a brief second, like he wants to ask him to make sure he does.

Madoka hands out orders like candy, and Tadashi and Yamamoto remain sitting on the cold sidewalk, listening to witches debate whether or not pulling the fire alarm is a good idea.

“Mass sleep spell and shove ‘em in the lobby until we’re done,” Kiyoomi stubbornly insists. The stranger and Ushijima both nod.

Mai and Suga chime in with the kind of confusion that would cause, and Kentarou gives up on them and sits on Tadashi’s other side with a huff. “Godfuckingdamn witches. I could be sleeping right now.”

“We all could be, man,” Yamamoto agrees with yet another yawn.

It’s put to a vote, and they decide on the sleep spell. Suga doesn’t look pleased. The peanut gallery is at least allowed to help carry people and unlock doors, even if the apartment building is surprisingly empty. There are maybe a dozen people from the first three floors piled in with blankets and pillows in the lobby.

The upper floors are trickier, and that’s the end to their help. Tadashi hears them complaining about stairwell guards and muffling charms and the need for stealth, and he, Kentarou, and the stranger stay seated by the sleeping people in the lobby.

None of them talk, now. Kentarou’s head bobs as they wait.

It’s Ushijima who walks down to meet them, an older woman and her pet dog in his arms. “The upper floors are cleared. We need you two on the fourth. Suppressors and charms on now,” he says flatly, and lays her down with surprising gentleness, dog in her lap. The glare he gives Tadashi is frigid. “You. Outside.”

Tadashi weighs the merits of talking back. He _still_ isn’t sure what about tonight enforces such strict neutrality, and he isn’t sure how far it extends. Discretion may be the better part of valor. It doesn’t stop him from putting up both middle fingers as soon as the man’s back is turned.

The stranger next to Tadashi laughs, softly, muffled by the mask. Tadashi’s eyes go wide, because he _knows_ that huffy little laugh, but he’s stopped from saying anything by a gloved finger pressed to his lips.

Kenma hurries up the stairs after Kentarou and Ushijima.

Tadashi slinks outside, back into the cold, alone this time. He shoves his hands into his pockets and leans against the dead streetlight, wondering if he’d be able to talk to Kenma after this without raising suspicion. Yamamoto already knows who he is, and Ushijima sure as fuck does. Who knows what the psychic had been able to read from him.

He’d kind of thought he’d been keeping everything secret. It’s sobering to think that he hasn’t, and that most of it has been outside of his control. _But if Suga and Ryuu don’t think it’s that bad, is it?_ He thinks of Issei, and the obvious extremes he goes to in order to keep himself separate. Even that hadn’t lasted.

He can’t fucking believe Ushijima is even _here_. They were speaking, they exchanged words, and no one’s tried to attack each other, even with Kenma there. Tadashi wonders where Kuroo is, but surely it’s too dangerous for him to have come along, especially with everyone else here. Ushijima had seemed businesslike, at least. Blunt, but professional. Not really caring about who he’s speaking to.

 _‘Upper floors are cleared, we need you two on fourth_.’ The man is like a robot. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything other than anger from him.

(Except for maybe when he’d rushed to that stupid matagot’s side.)

‘ _Suppressors and charms_ ’, Tadashi goes back to mimicking. Why the fuck does he care if the man trying to end the world is emotional or not? He doesn’t need a sobbing backstory.

Wait.

 _He hadn’t said suppression charms. He’d said ‘and’._ He hadn’t specified anything about what kinds of charms, or magic, or spells. He had separated them out, and suppressors were—

They said to confine, then negate the magic, evac _everyone else_ , and then it was the purge. The goal wasn’t to stop the magic. The goal wasn’t to arrest or capture.

“Oh my god,” Tadashi hisses as he bolts for the lobby once more. In a building this old, there aren’t any elevators, and his leg twinges by the time he reaches the second floor. “Oh my _god_ —”

Suga wouldn’t. Would he? He’d been jumpy, and apologetic. Kenma wouldn’t—Ushijima would. His bad leg cramps in protest by the third floor, and he pauses, throat burning with cold air, to massage his thigh until it stops. He thinks he hears noise from upstairs.

He _definitely_ hears a scream, halfway up to the fourth floor.

Yamamoto catches him in the hallway, wide-eyed and with a knife drawn. “ _Shit_! You should have stayed downstairs, you almost gave me a fuckin’ heart attack—”

There are _bodies_ in the hallway. Tadashi stares, transfixed. “What are you doing up here?”

“What the hell did you think a purge was?”

“Those are _people_!”

“Half of those are demons and chimeras!” Yamamoto snarls, and they both duck down into the stairwell again when the short, muffled sound of suppressed gunfire comes from one of the apartments down the hall. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing up here right now, but you need to go back downstairs.”

“Where’s Suga?” Tadashi demands angrily.

“Guardin’ the other stairs—”

Someone barrels past them into the stairs, followed by a shout from inside. They’re splattered with something hot, and with horror, he realizes that the person staggering down the stairs is trailing sizzling black blood.

“Shit!” Yamamoto shoves his knife in his belt and reaches for an inside pocket on his jacket, and Tadashi scrubs at the burning blood on the exposed parts of his face. Yamamoto ignores where the black is smeared over his cheek and bridge of his nose.

“Stop!” Tadashi grabs at the gun, making Yamamoto hit the eject button before anyone can get hurt. The magazine clatters to the floor and Yamamoto shoves him away.

Kentarou bursts through the doorway behind them and vaults down the half flight of stairs, directly onto the bleeding demon. In movements too quick to be anything but rehearsed and businesslike, Kentarou pulls a silver knife from a holster on his thigh, shoves it into the demon’s neck, and stomps down on it. Repeatedly, until the demon’s head is mostly severed and it’s stopped kicking.

“Tadashi, what the fuck!” Suga, having heard the commotion, darts through the doorway and wraps him up in something that is less a hug and more a method to restrain him. “You should have waited downstairs—”

“You’re killing people?” Tadashi wishes his voice hadn’t cracked.

“That’s a demon,” Kentarou growls at him as he trudges back up the stairs. His knife has been chipped along its edge, and he inspects it with disappointment. “There were five of them summoned by some fuckwads who thought black magic was the best route to stopping the fucking apocalypse or whatever the hell everyone has a stick up their ass about. And now we get to clear them out, before more people die.”

“Sugawara, teach your kid not to run into a goddamned firefight,” Yamamoto mutters.

“Tadashi, you could have been killed,” Suga’s hands are painfully tight on Tadashi’s arms.

“This is what you asked me to help with? _This_?” He doesn’t mention Kuroo, not with all the suddenly trigger-happy hunters and witches around.

“A single summoning wouldn’t be cause for a purge, but—”

“This is why Kenma was so scared of everyone.”

“Demons _kill people_ ,” Kentarou loudly reminds them. “They eat people. These things are worse than some stupid poltergeists.”

“You have an inugami contracted to you!” Tadashi cries. “What would you think if—”

Suga covers his mouth with his gloves at the same time Kentarou snarls and draws his gun.

Suga is tense against him, in between Tadashi and Kentarou, but his back is to the gun and he doesn’t turn to look. “There are always exceptions. And there are always people deciding what’s best for themselves. But you have to realize that—”

“How about you both shut your goddamned mouths before running them.” Kentarou shoves his gun back into his holster, pushes past them, and they’re left alone in the stairwell.

“…They don’t know,” Tadashi whispers as soon as Suga releases him.

“They know. Kentarou’s father was almost put down like this when he summoned the inugami—Yahaba. But since they were contracted by blood, he was considered fit to control him. Kentarou is under the same rules. He has to play along, play nice with the covens, otherwise…”

“That’s a protection racket.”

“He has Oikawa looking out for him. That’s more than some can say.”

“Suga, you do black magic.”

“Yes, I know.” At the very least, he has the good grace to look ashamed of himself. “But I’ve never summoned anything sentient. And I’m in the same boat. Foxglove Coven—Kiyoko’s old coven—declared I’m not a threat, I’m not some monster wearing my own corpse, and so I’m allowed to go about my business.”

“Kenma’s in there.”

“I know.”

“ _Kenma_ is in there. With Ushijima.”

“I _know_.”

“Why did you invite him here?”

“So you wouldn’t have to come. I never thought Yachi would drag you in like this, too…”

A sudden thought strikes Tadashi like a bucket of ice water down his back. “Do they know about Tsukki?”

“No. Kiyoko and I made sure that the covens won’t know who or what Tsukishima is—”

Suga is interrupted—god, Tadashi believes him, too shaken and too horrified to think of anything else—by an unsilenced gunshot from inside. Both of them jump, and despite Suga’s order to stay there, they both duck out into the bloody hallway to find Kenma and Ushijima in a stalemate. Kenma points a magic arrow, arm drawn back and trembling with tension, and Ushijima calmly aims a gun. The front of Kenma’s coat is soaked with slick blackness, glimmering faintly with the light his arrow casts.

“They’re bleeding black,” Ushijima calmly announces.

“Not mine,” Kenma bites out.

Madoka, heedless of the weapons, stomps out from one of the further apartments. “Put the gun _down_. Sugawara vouched for them, and they flew in on a broom.”

Tadashi doesn’t know if Ushijima realizes who Kenma is, but he absolutely knows that Suga knows a demon. When his eyes come up to glare at them, Suga doesn’t balk. Tadashi is still too angry with the situation to shy, either.

“Lower your weapons,” Madoka orders.

Neither man does.

“If it means that much to you, you _have_ a medic. See if they’re injured,” Kiyoomi calls from the furthest open door, the one closest to Ushijima.

All eyes fall on Yamamoto.

“Yeah, fine, I love sticking my fingers in corrosive blood,” he replies, pushing up his sleeves as he walks over. Kenma is definitely trembling now, and Suga’s hands fist at his sides. Ushijima does not lower the gun, even under Madoka’s glare, until Yamamoto is leaning down to Kenma’s level.

Suga slowly reaches into his messenger bag. Ushijima continues glowering at _them_ , so Tadashi is certain he knows exactly who’s under that hat and hood. Suga doesn’t stop moving, and Tadashi wishes he had something more than his own little silver knife.

Yamamoto sucks in a breath.

Mai and Kiyoomi stick their heads out from opposite ends of the hallway. Kentarou does not reappear.

“He’s fine,” Yamamoto announces.

Suga freezes, and Tadashi works _very hard_ not to let out an incriminatingly confused sound.

“Are we almost done here?” Mai asks nervously. “I don’t think this was a very good group tonight, and I think everything has been taken care of.”

“We have to scrub out the black magic,” Madoka sighs and massages her temples.

Ushijima finally holsters his gun again. Kenma’s still shaking even as he lowers his arrow, and Yamamoto sticks pointedly close to him.

_Does he recognize him, too?_

“I can scrub it after a sleep,” Suga wearily volunteers.

“No,” Ushijima counters. Loudly.

“I’m asking another coven to come in and take care of everything. I don’t want my people or any Eyebright people near this mess anymore. Kyoutani, you can stop sulking and come back out now!”

“‘m going home!” he shouts back.

“ _Fine_. Everything here is taken care of. Dismissed,” Madoka says with a curt wave.

Suga grabs Tadashi’s wrist, marches over to Kenma and Yamamoto, and places himself between them. Yamamoto reels back like he’d been bitten, gloves soaked in black. “Goodbye,” Suga growls and grabs Kenma’s hand. He pulls them both along behind him like a parent dragging unruly kindergarteners.

“Wait—” Yamamoto begins, reaching out for them, and Kenma throws himself into Suga’s back to duck away. Suga swats the witch’s hand away from Kenma.

“Yamamoto,” Ushijima calls.

Suga pulls them out before anything else can happen. None of them speak until they’re on the ground floor, and even then, it’s just a subdued murmur from Suga. Tadashi’s bad leg aches and Kenma is shaking and panting, but they wait until they’re out of sight of that horrid building before Kenma collapses.

“What’s wrong? Why did he cover for you?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kenma gasps, hands pressing tight against his side. “It was just—one of them stabbed me in front of Ushijima—”

“Let me see—”

“I said I’m _fine_.”

Suga, slowly, draws back. Kenma pulls the mask away from his face so he can breathe better.

“Tora already healed it. I’m just exhausted,” Kenma clarifies, apologetic. “We’re even now. F-For helping Kuro.”

“You didn’t have to come because of that.”

“You shouldn’t have come at all!” Tadashi exclaims. “What if someone figured out who you were? Or noticed you were contracted, or—”

“We’re not. Anymore. Kuro is safe. I’ve done purges before.”

Oh, great, so only Tadashi was the one missing out. He stupidly feels a _lot_ like a child, Too Young and told to sit in the corner. “So you both knew that these purges killed people? And you _helped_?”

“Kuroo is a bad first impression for a demon,” Suga replies. “And it’s not as if people go out and hold these every weekend. I’ve only done three. Usually with Kiyoko.”

“It’s not like there wasn’t a reason,” Kenma mumbles, fidgeting.

“I don’t think either of you can judge other people for some black magic—”

Suga chops him with a glance. The conversation is over. He lets out a sigh, and turns to Kenma. “Thank you for coming by to help out.”

Kenma nods, but keeps himself small.

Tadashi puffs up, but it’s clear he won’t be able to say anything more. No matter how contradictory they were, they wouldn’t listen. The strong can do whatever they want, he reminds himself bitterly.

As Kenma and Suga’s one-sided conversation continues, Tadashi catches sight of a book peeking out from Kenma’s jacket. It’s small, old, and worn, and he can’t recognize the language on it. Did Kenma usually carry a spellbook around with him? He didn’t think so, and something feels a little weird about it, but what does he know? Apparently nothing.

It has been a while since they last saw each other. He could have picked up something in the meantime. If anything was off, one of the witches in the purge would have said something.

He shrugs it off. More importantly, he has to nurse the bitterness in his heart.

 

\--

 

Midna cries in his lap as he looks down at the little card in his hands. It’s fake, of course, but exciting. He likes the picture. He likes the name next to it even more.

He’s always been Kuroo Tetsurou—he’s always been Kuro. This makes it seem more official somehow. Suguru, for all that he was an utter asshat, helped both Tsukishima and himself. He turns over the first name in his mouth, whispering it to the kitten between his legs. Kenma still isn’t back, and the sun is rising, painting the sky pink and orange. He thinks he’s stared at this little driver’s license since those phone calls rushed Kenma away.

So, officially, he exists now. It had been fun figuring out his story and the details of his life for Suguru to falsify, but also it was so _different_. None of that stuff happened; Suga warned him off trying to mirror real events or anything from Kenma. So that life, no matter how hilariously fake, is only _his_.

 _Tetsurou_. He thinks he likes it more, now.

“Well. How lucky.”

His head snaps up at the sound of a very familiar voice. Akaashi lands lightly on the roof beside him, stumbling only slightly as their claws scratch at the shingles.

“Where’s Bo—”

“Where’s Kenma—”

They speak over one another, and both fall silent. Akaashi makes no move to speak first again. Their sharp eyes linger on the plastic card, then on the kitten, so he scoops Midna up and holds them both out. “I legally exist now, and this is Kenma’s familiar.”

Akaashi cocks their head. “Tetsurou,” they say.

“It’s not _new_.”

“I know, but would you prefer it now? You seem very pleased by this little card, inordinately so, considering I know most of its information is bullshit and I have no idea what it’s for.”

Tetsurou slowly smiles. “I think I would. To be fair, does this mean I can call you Keiji now?”

“You already could.” Akaashi slumps down, gaze lingering on Midna again. “It still feels strange. How is Kenma adjusting to having a familiar?”

“He seems a little happier, I think. He has another plan for the apocalypse. He won’t share, though—”

“ _Kuroo_!”

Akaashi delicately picks the kitten from Tetsurou’s grasp just before Bokuto collides with him.

Bokuto kisses him on both cheeks, all over his face, until they’re both smiling too much. Tetsurou sits up with Bokuto awkwardly seated in his lap, both of them pink-cheeked and grinning at Akaashi. “It’s only been a couple days,” Tetsurou points out.

“Yeah, but you guys gotta stop leaving so suddenly! Last time I know it was ‘cause of the fight, but this time, I swear I didn’t even do anything wrong. So I missed you! _We_ missed you.”

“I suppose,” Akaashi indulgently agrees, though they’re smiling, just a bit. “Koutarou, please get off of Tetsurou. And this is Kenma’s familiar.”

As if to keep him pacified, Akaashi shoves the puffed up, unhappy kitten at Bokuto’s chest. He wrinkles his nose, although Tetsurou isn’t exactly certain if it’s because of the tiny claws hooked into his shirt or something else. “Tetsurou?” Something else, then.

“Yeah!” He proudly shows off proof of his secured identity. “I’m a legal resident here now. Human and everything. Oh, but you don’t gotta call me that, Bo.”

“You just said—”

“I wanna keep calling him Bo,” Tetsurou primly butts in. “So fair’s fair. Besides, that means _we_ get to be a little closer, _Keiji_.” He waggles his eyebrows, though the effect is lost with his hair mostly in his face.

Akaashi looks a little like they’ve just stepped on a particularly squishy bug.

“Where’s Kenma?”

“Dunno, exactly. He’s been sneaking off by himself a lot lately. But he usually takes Midna…” He takes the complaining kitten back from Bokuto, petting her until she slowly calms down in his arms. “Also, did you know having a pet is weird? Cats shit in sand. _Sand_.”

“We have pets at home,” Akaashi deadpans.

“Well, news to me!” Tetsurou holds Midna up, making her meow in protest again, and makes eye contact to tell her he’s _still_ surprised at the sand thing. “I like her, though. She likes Kenma best, but at least I come in pretty easy second favorite to you two. I’ve never seen her so puffed up.”

“She’s already fluffy,” Bokuto reaches over to pet her again, and she frizzes up, just like how he’s seen Morisuke do. He only draws back when she hisses and swats at him with tiny claws extended. “Right, right, she’s just like her witch. No touching.”

Tetsurou pets her with two fingers, a little smugly.

“What are you two doing here? And without glamors? I’m pretty sure that is a bad idea.”

Akaashi colors prettily, whereas Bokuto bursts out laughing. “A-Alright, so let’s get it out of the way—we suck at being human!”

“We were out hunting before the sun was fully up,” Akaashi clarifies, clearly embarrassed. “We brought glamors with us, and we’ve seen the city. Sightseeing is fun. But when it comes to restaurants…”

“We have no idea what half of the food is. And, related to that, we found out that I’m allergic to this really cool kind of candy. Well, two candies. Maybe three.”

“He ate himself sick on any kind of sweets we found, and it didn’t agree with him. The one time we went into a restaurant, we were turned away for our attire. We’ve gotten lost more times than we can count…”

It’s Tetsurou’s turn to laugh. Maybe it’s a little mean, but he isn’t sure what he expected, hearing these two recount their human realm adventure. He’s just upset he missed it all. “The human experts can show you around when the other one gets back, okay? It’ll be a really good excuse for Kenma to eat something proper. Although he’ll probably be tired…”

They chat until the sun is fully up. The sky begins to clear as the day warms, but it isn’t long before Tetsurou invites them inside their borrowed house. He sets Midna down and she immediately scampers off, movements a little wobbly but definitely energetic. He catches Bokuto watching her with bright eyes until she’s up the stairs and out of sight. Kenma hasn’t really gone out without her before, but she seems to default to his little nest with the laptop upstairs.

There isn’t much to offer them and his view of hospitality is rather skewed, but he’s happy to curl up with Bokuto on the couch and listen as they take turns telling a story about their adventure with the metro. He knows he’s dozing off, but they don’t seem to mind. Bokuto is warm and solid beneath him, and that’s enough for him.

Tetsurou jerks away by the _click_ of the lock of the front door. Akaashi looks up expectantly, but it takes a few moments for Bokuto to rouse. Tetsurou hadn’t been aware he’d fallen asleep, either.

Kenma stumbles in, dried blood ruining his coat, a book under one arm, and _reeking_ of alcohol.

“Is that blood?”

“Is that _booze_?”

Kenma takes a long, long moment to evaluate the sight of the tengu in the living room, his face a mask.

Midna squeaks and totters her way down the stairs and up his pant leg. Kenma scoops her up with his free hand.

“Look who found me,” Tetsurou says, leaning over the back of the couch, making grabby hands. “I even stayed settled all this time. Your night seems a lot more eventful.”

“Tora protected me,” Kenma says thickly, brow furrowed in confusion. He fumbles with his boots before yanking them off, and drops the book next to them and his shed coat before making his way over to them.

There is only the couch and a single small chair, both occupied. Kenma frowns at all of them like they’ve done him a great injustice, then moves to lay on the floor.

“Don’t be like that!” Tetsurou scoops him up with an inky limb before he can. Kenma grumbles, but settles as soon as he’s on top of Tetsurou. “Tora was there?”

“Sugawara thought he could out-drink me,” Kenma mumbles. “A way to show his gratitude for the evening. Tadashi is mad at me. Why are there tengu here?”

“We need guides for your home,” Akaashi informs him.

Kenma nods, closes his eyes, and falls straight asleep. Midna claws her way up the couch and up onto Kenma, then curls up into the tiniest ball in the small of his back.

“All things considered, this could have gone worse.”

“It’s not like he hates you,” Tetsurou says.

“I know,” Akaashi sighs, “he just doesn’t warm easily to others, does he?”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Bokuto says.

Akaashi purses their lips and turns away.

Bokuto reaches around Tetsurou to brush Kenma’s hair out of his face. “Well, we can figure out what to do after some sleep, huh?”

“There are a few places that would be fun to show you.”

“Also… about the future,” Akaashi says neutrally.

“Did you want to come join the cuddle pile before having this conversation?” Tetsurou cranes his neck to waggle his eyebrows again, and Akaashi makes the same scrunched-up face as before.

“Maybe when there’s no risk of crushing small familiars. I don’t think that would endear me to Kenma.”

“I heard familiars taste good,” Bokuto mutters, and Tetsurou is quick to drag his hands away from Kenma’s waist, too close to Midna. “I wouldn’t! We were talking about food, weren’t we? I’m _hungry_.”

“I’ll feed you after!” Tetsurou exclaims. He drops into a whine, purposefully pushing his bottom lip out, and asks, “Can’t you wait until after a nap?”

“I told you I wouldn’t,” Bokuto protests. He shifts beneath Tetsurou, jostling him. The witch grumbles in his sleep and rolls, just a bit, wedging himself between their bodies and the couch for stability. Midna rolls with him without the slightest complaint, despite how she ends up squished between the cushions and Kenma.

“Is he going to be conscious again anytime soon?” Akaashi asks.

“Did you actually need him to be?”

“I would prefer him to be,” Akaashi dryly responds. They fidget, claws clicking, and sneer at the far wall in lieu of anyone else. “I’m awake, for the time being. But I suppose if everyone else needs sleep…”

“What exactly are you so antsy to talk about?”

“Kenma has the power to call Koutarou in for anything now, and that involves an apocalypse.” Their claws dig into the fabric of their skirt instead of their fidgeting. “I just want to ensure we’re all on the same page regarding that.”

“Keiji likes to worry about such things. They spend like eighty percent of their life worrying about what happens to me,” Koutarou confides like it’s a grand secret.

Tetsurou snorts into Kenma’s hair. “What’s the other twenty percent?”

“Sex.”

“Koutarou, please,” Akaashi nearly begs, massaging their temples, “it’s a far higher number than that.”

“To which?” Bokuto asks with a grin.

“You’re too noisy,” Kenma mutters into Tetsurou’s shirt. He digs in further between them and the couch, as if to hide from them, and Midna finally complains about all the movement. In the process of rolling to collect her gently, Tetsurou manages to fall off the couch completely. Kenma spares him a cool look, kitten on his chest, nestled between Bokuto’s side and the edge of the couch like he means to claim the rest of the space for himself, too.

He wiggles, just a little. Bokuto is scooted to the side.

“I have a bed upstairs,” Kenma says. There’s the barest slur to his words. He cranes his head around until his cheek is resting on Bokuto’s chest, neck at an impossible angle, Midna nestled neatly on his stomach. “Or we could have a conversation now, like Akaashi wants.”

“Don’t,” Tetsurou and Akaashi say at once.

“Let us sleep, then. Talks about what I’ll do to Bokuto in the morning.”

“It is morning,” Akaashi says, cut across by Bokuto’s leer and, “What will you do to me?”

Kenma rolls off of him in protest, flopping onto Tetsurou, who _oofs_ both at the sudden weight and the tiny kitten claws in his shoulder. Still, he doesn’t complain, and he wraps his arms around Kenma and Midna both.

“In the morning,” Kenma mumbles. “Promise.”

 

\--

 

“Heard you had a rough night,” Saeko calls as she jogs up beside them.

Ryuunosuke throws his gloves at her. “I have spent the last hour trying to avoid that, thank you!”

“What, _whyyyy_ , everyone has to get a little blood on their hands sometime—”

“I’m fine,” Tadashi interrupts. He waits until Ryuu’s attention is back on him before raising the gun once more. His body feels leaden with exhaustion and he’s sure that he’s somewhere in a horrible mixture between hungover and two seconds from passing out.

He’d love to sleep. He really, _really_ would.

“You don’t look fine, but what do I know.” Saeko sets down her bag, tosses the gloves back to her brother, and leers at Tadashi’s positioning. “I definitely don’t know how shitty of a stance that is, but who really knows.”

“Second rule of gun training: don’t even _think_ about sarcasm or sass anywhere near Sae before ten,” Ryuu whispers behind his hand.

“It wasn’t sarcasm,” he says, a bit petulantly, and Ryuu covers his ears before Tadashi aims at their makeshift target. He thinks it’s supposed to be a demon today. Gross. There are three bullets in the clip, so he fires three times before dropping his arms. Two of them hit the tree the paper is stuck on.

“Would it cheer you up more if I offered to let you see my baby, or if I shittalk demons or witches some?” Saeko asks, and Tadashi slumps. News travels fast. Infuriatingly fast.

“Probably cheer him up more if you unzipped your coat and let him hug you,” Ryuu remarks with a shit-eating grin.

“Suga doesn’t tease me when he teaches me things,” Tadashi points out.

“You’re a dirty liar, Yama. Suga is made of sass and teasing and sad necromancy.”

“The necromancy doesn’t stop him from being such a hypocrite.”

The Tanaka siblings exchange a knowing look—there’s that feeling of being a child again, rearing its ugly head, nestled right near the headache pounding against his eyes.

It’s Ryuunosuke who speaks up. “I kinda thought it would be obvious, but you kinda gotta play nice with y’know, the only people stopping everyone from summoning Satan and turning the city into a crater. They ain’t nice, but at least covens keep some semblance of order.”

“ _Ushijima_ is still trying to do that! And no one’s stopping him! And instead, they’re just going around, pinning people down and slaughtering them like monsters—”

“Back up there, Yama,” Saeko harshly interrupts. She doesn’t seem quite so teasing now. “Personally, if I were there, I think there might’ve been some friendly fire last night. But I wasn’t. Because people know I don’t stand for that kind of shit. You’re a newbie, so you either gotta make a reputation for yourself, or you gotta play by their rules.”

“I didn’t know there were rules about murder.”

“Suga really stepped in it here, didn’t he.” Ryuu takes the empty gun from Tadashi to stop him from gesturing so much with it, and takes the magazine out to reload. “Yamaguchi, I’m gonna be real fuckin’ frank with you. And I’m not giving you the gun back, or any other training, unless you promise me that you’ll be honest with me too. Am I understood?”

Despite their height difference, there is no comparison in their presence, and Tadashi ducks his head with a meek, if annoyed, nod.

“Am I _understood_?” Ryuu demands in that same crisp, loud tone that Daichi sometimes takes when he’s fed up at work. Tadashi wonders if it’s a military thing.

“Do you want him to call you sir next?” Saeko asks, and laughs at the immediate way Ryuu’s fierceness falls away in place of embarrassed spluttering. “I’m with Ryuu, like always, and honesty is key when working with people in any professional setting. But you gotta _trust_ ‘em if you’re armed, or if you’re depending on someone to have your back, ‘cause they’re depending on you, too. ‘Kay?”

“That’s not where I was going.”

“I’m allowed to impart wisdom, too!”

“This is your first time with us! Wait a session or two for your turn!”

“Uh, guys?” Tadashi chimes in, and they turn to him with matching scowls. He can certainly see the family resemblance. “You were going somewhere with this…?”

“Oh, right.” Ryuu gestures with the gun, pointing off to the side before folding his arms. “So, how exactly are you defining a _monster_? Since you’re fine with killing those.”

“Something… that hurts people, and that can’t live with them.” He doesn’t trip over any words, but his voice sure as hell isn’t as strong as he wanted.

“People hurt each other.”

“Something that isn’t human,” he mutters, pressed into it.

“Can monsters be sentient?” Tadashi nods again, and Ryuunosuke ejects the clip. He checks it again, pushes it back in, and clicks it back out. “What if they look human?”

“Demons aren’t monsters.”

“Look, I worked with Kuroo for awhile too, remember? Yeah, he’s a pretty chill guy, but I’ve also seen him unhinge his jaw and eat a live pigeon. Kenma was scared shitless of him, and for good reason. Honestly, most of the time the witches shit themselves over summoners and try to burn ‘em at the stake anyway, but most measures are preventive. Now—what makes a monster?”

“I don’t know,” Tadashi forces out. “Happy? I don’t know.”

“Well, neither do they.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay to—”

“Bakeneko eat people, did you know?” Saeko interrupts brightly. “They eat people and burn down houses. Demons kill their contractors ninety percent of the time.”

“You didn’t know what a trickster was before I hauled you along with me, and you were ready to kill it anyway.”

“And I’m still _fucking pissed_ you brought him along and exposed him to that!” Saeko grabs her brother in a headlock. He squawks and flails, and for once, Tadashi doesn’t enjoy the amusing image. “Point is—okay, I still don’t know Ryuu’s point. But you’ve been taking everything on faith that _we_ know right from wrong, and now you’re pissed that something contradicted what you thought, huh?”

“I guess,” Tadashi bites out. He plucks the gun from Ryuu’s grasp before he can hit his sister with it, and ejects the magazine again. “But I’m never doing one of those things again. Demons aren’t monsters, and people don’t deserve to die for being contracted to things.”

“Just be prepared to dig your heels in,” Saeko advises.

“You can be stubborn when you wanna, you just gotta have the balls to do it in front of someone like Yachi or Ushijima. Big Yachi, not the cute little one. There’s a reason Ushijima won’t even fuck directly with her.”

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sure Kuroo would be touched to hear you’re gunning so hard for him,” she says wryly, and _finally_ releases her brother.

But it’s not Kuroo. Kuroo is fine, he makes Kenma happy and he’s kind of a goofball and he’s helped them even at risk to himself, but—

He supposes the Tanaka siblings don’t really know about Kei’s position now.

“If you’re done with the teenage angst and morality crises, though, I can still show you my baby!” she cries, excited, and dives down to rummage around in her bag. “Today, we’re teaching you about rifles! This is my baby, and I’m gonna kick a god’s ass with it if it comes to it.” She hefts out a ridiculous sniper rifle, the kind Tadashi had assumed only really existed in video games or expensive military movies. Saeko beams and cradles it like her firstborn.

“Are you gonna show him the thing?” Ryuu asks in a low voice.

“I will, if you got something set up for me.”

“Hell yeah!”

“What’s the _thing_?” Tadashi asks suspiciously.

“So, we’re both kind of shit at magic, right? Not like Suga, or you, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I’m _entirely_ useless. And, as it turns out, I got a trick up my sleeve.”

“She slept her way into learning some pixie magic,” Ryuu says with a laugh, especially at the way she scowls at stealing her thunder.

“You’re just jealous you didn’t do it!”

“Fuck _yes_ I am.”

“Pixie magic?”

“It’s like… tengu have their own magic, and so do a lot of different kinds of spirits. The fae do, too. A few years back, I snagged myself this pixie chick, and she ended up teaching me a few tricks. Like a sight charm that just so happens to work _really really_ well with sniping. Funny, right?”

“Sae’s the best sniper in the city,” Ryuu proudly declares, chest puffed out.

“Half of it because of my baby,” she purrs and rubs her cheek against the undoubtedly cold metal of the barrel. “Military grade .338 Lapua Magnum. It will punch a hole through damn near anything. I know for a fact it can get through a dragon’s hide, and I’d _love_ to test it out on Ushijima’s face if he manages to actually pull off his stupid end-of-days deal.”

“We’re trying to see if we can get some vorpium bullets, like with the .22. We’re gonna show all those witches, and spirits, and definitely the god thing that you don’t need magic to kick some serious ass!” Ryuu declares with all the confidence Tadashi had been searching for earlier.

It’s reassuring. At least someone can remain stable when Tadashi still feels like he’s trying to regain his footing.

Tadashi reaches out to touch the sniper rifle, and Saeko jerks it away with a protective growl. “I-I thought we were practicing with—?”

“Not _my baby_.”

“Dude, you’re borrowing my hunting rifle,” Ryuu laughs, clapping him on the back, “you’re not starting off with a sniper rifle. Baby steps. Even _I’m_ not allowed to shoot that gun.”

“I’ll _show_ you,” Saeko tells him. “Otherwise, you’re stuck with my baby brother. I’m just here to give you something to aspire to.”

They share another laugh, and Tadashi smiles, wobbly but earnest. His headache doesn’t appreciate their noise, but his heart does.

 

\--

 

When he wakes up, Kenma finds that he didn’t dream up the tengu presence in his borrowed house. He’s _definitely_ disappointed that Kuro allowed him to sleep on the floor. His entire back cracks as he stands up and tries to stretch it out. “You’re a terrible pillow,” he grunts before plucking Midna off from where she’s clawing her way up his pant leg.

Kuro raises his head, bedhead even more absurd than usual, and frowns sleepily at him.

“Can we eat now?” Bokuto groans, a dramatic arm thrown over his face, sprawled impressively on the couch. Akaashi is curled into an equally impressive tiny ball with their legs tucked beneath them and their cheek resting lightly on Bokuto’s calf. They regard Kenma with their usual slightly intimidating disinterest. “Naps are fine, but this isn’t all that comfortable, either.”

There were several serviceable beds upstairs, something Kuro apparently neglected to mention. Kenma hopes his day isn’t shaping up to be an exercise in patience in the face of two grouchy tengu.

“Restaurant,” Kuro rasps. Kenma normally likes his hoarse sleep voice, but he doesn’t show it right now, and turns from all three of them in the direction of one of the bathrooms.

His hangover makes his stomach roil, but it’s not enough to throw up, which is a pity. He sits on the toilet and writes cleansing and purging runes on his wrists until his headache clears to manageable levels and he doesn’t feel so wobbly.

The pull on his magic is worryingly noticeable.

The knock on the bathroom door makes him jump. “Everything alright in there?”

Bokuto. Tentative, but not as shy as he had been.

“Fine.” Now he’s hungry, at least. After splashing some cold water on his face and attempting to brush out his hair, Kenma ducks out between the waiting Bokuto and the door frame. Midna meows at him as they pass. “You want to go out?”

“They’re confused about human culture. Tour guide time!” Kuro croaks.

Akaashi eyes him and Kenma doesn’t know what kind of expression that is.

“There’s that diner you like?”

‘That diner’ is almost an hour ride by train from here, and Kenma only likes it for the apple pie, which he does not want for breakfast after a rough night. “Fine,” he answers, and goes upstairs to change.

He has to wear a hoodie to carry his familiar, but he at least finds a pair of reasonably unstained jeans and the cleanest binder he has, so he doesn’t look completely frumpy. He wonders why he cares. When Kenma returns downstairs, Kuro is half-naked as he searches for a shirt, both tengu are glamored, and Akaashi is fussing with Bokuto’s hair.

“You two are staying in the human realm?” Kenma asks, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah! We got the time off, ‘cause it’s kind of tradition, and it’s not like we’ve really been here for an extended period of time before. We found an inn—hotel?—to stay at, but we’ve been kind of scavenging for proper food stuff, lots of small stores but that’s kind of misleading too—”

“Koutarou is very allergic to what I suspect are many artificial ingredients,” Akaashi deadpans. “We’d appreciate your help navigating the social cues surrounding restaurants with you.”

“So, like, a date,” Kuro says triumphantly.

Kenma resigns himself to That Kind Of Day.

While they may have been emotionally ready for the idea of restaurants, they are _not_ emotionally ready for train stations. It’s packed, and Kuro intervenes before Akaashi takes someone’s head off after a little too much jostling. Kenma pushes the nearest—his demon and Bokuto, thankfully—in the direction of the turnstiles and swipes someone else’s card with a flick of his wrist, for each of them in turn. Akaashi looks mildly traumatized by the crowd and the confined space.

The train itself, of course, is worse.

“How do humans travel like this? All the time?” Akaashi nearly _pleads_ , pressed up against the wall with Kenma standing protectively in front of them. “I know the population is far denser here, but how does anyone put up with this?”

“It’s a morning rush, it’s not always like this,” Kenma mumbles, a touch defensive. “And this is a main line.”

They thankfully switch to another line after a few stops. Bad news: they miss the first train and must wait for another, and the station is still far too crowded for either tengu. Even Kuro looks a little flustered by the throng of commuters. He’s easy to direct, at least, and he holds hands with the other two to keep them together. Kenma leads the way, and they find a quieter section near the end of the platform while they wait.

“I apologize wholeheartedly for thinking it strange how touch-shy you seem,” Akaashi mutters.

Kenma rolls his eyes and prays for further patience. He can only imagine how poorly they would do in legitimate rush hour. There would be a massacre.

“There’s so many _people_!” Bokuto hisses like he’s scandalized by the very thought. “Oh, there’s a fae down all the way over there—”

Kenma yanks him down from waving to the stranger. “Don’t talk to strangers here. Just stay near us.”

“Most tengu know each other on sight,” Akaashi points out.

“You’re not there, you’re here. It’s not nice or wise to talk to strangers,” Kuro replies and wraps an arm around their waist.

Akaashi’s frown deepens, but there’s also the faintest pink on their cheeks.

“It’s gonna be a blast seeing you two go through a menu, not gonna lie.”

“We know how to select food.”

Kenma gets the task of herding Bokuto onto the train as it rolls in and the crowd pushes toward it. They momentarily get separated from the other two, but Bokuto provides a good force with which to drive through crowds. Kenma pushes on his back until they make it to the end of the car where Kuro has _somehow_ managed to snag a seat at the very end.

Akaashi is on his lap, narrow-eyed and scowling, with Kuro’s arms wrapped further around their waist like a poor imitation of a seatbelt. Bokuto’s grin is wolfish, but he doesn’t say anything. Kenma just hangs onto his shirt instead of reaching around for the pole, and hardly sways when the train moves, even if Bokuto almost loses his footing every time.

He’s shocked no one has sprouted frustrated feathers by the time he tugs them all from the train.

It’s a blessedly short walk to the homey little diner on the corner from the station. As soon as they push through the doors, warmth and food smell blowing over them, Bokuto looks as if he may melt on the spot. “ _Finally_ ,” he sighs, and moves to go sit down when Kenma pulls on his vest again. “What now?”

Kenma points to the Please Wait To Be Seated sign.

Their server is a happy older woman who is either honestly delighted at their presence or the most accomplished waitress of all time. Kenma doesn’t make a point of sliding into the booth next to Kuro, but Akaashi gives him a look, anyway. He probably doesn’t deserve it.

He does allow himself a smile—Kuro grins in unrestrained delight—as soon as they’re given menus to look over.

“What’s a waffle?” Bokuto asks immediately, head cocked to the side and menu held at the same angle.

Oh, this is going to be good.

It takes a _lot_ of discussion and back and forth, but somehow, he and Kuro manage to talk the tengu pair through human breakfast foods and halfway through the concept of sandwiches before Bokuto loses patience and points blindly to a spot in the menu. Akaashi sighs, heavily but expectant, and swiftly makes a decision after that. Kenma would bet money that they don’t have the faintest clue what they’re ordering, either.

Actually ordering comes with its own problems, too. Namely, money. He won’t skip out on a bill if someone has bothered to serve them, but he fears the appetites he now has to feed.

Midna pops her head out of his pocket and he lets her lick at his fingers until the food arrives. Kenma suspects that she’s inordinately well-behaved for a cat, and wonders how much is personality and how much is status.

He googles whether or not cats can have cooked bacon while Bokuto oohs and ahhs over the steak and potatoes he ended up with. Kenma _really_ hopes tengu can handle starches.

“So,” Akaashi begins, cheeks stuffed with crepe. Kenma isn’t certain how it’s already half gone. “You now have the right to ask Koutarou to help you with anything, up to and including an apocalypse.” They swallow, shove another offensively huge bite into their mouth. “Please don’t do that.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto says, face red, and he stabs at his food with a fork. Kenma isn’t sure if he’s confused about it or if he’s just embarrassed. “I’ll help you guys—I mean, I want you to be safe, and I probably don’t want the human realm to get wrecked.”

“Don’t ask him to risk his life for what you have here.” It looks like Akaashi is already cleaning up the remains of their plate. What the hell. “If you need sanctuary, come with us.”

“I can’t really leave everyone here,” Kenma mumbles, then raises his voice, “I have a plan to help. Others have their plans, too, and we will figure out a way to prevent it—and if not, stop it.”

“And I can help,” Bokuto says, mostly to Akaashi. “ _We_ could help, you know.”

“I fully intend to,” Akaashi primly replies. “But we would be smart about our involvement as third parties, something which Koutarou has demonstrated he is _not_.”

“ _Keijiiii_!” Bokuto slumps against the table, very narrowly missing his food.

Akaashi quickly moves it out of the way, and, presented with the opportunity, starts eating it themselves.

“I can do this! And what’s so complicated about killing a god that wants to kill my friends?”

“Actually,” Kenma gently interrupts, and both look up at him in mild surprise, “I’d like your help in a different way. I need tengu magic for a spell.”

“Another protection spell?” Kuro asks.

“Not quite. I have to ask a few other people for help—”

“A _few_?” Kuro asks hopefully.

“We don’t know how to mix types of magic,” Akaashi points out. “Do we have time to figure it out?”

“Hopefully. I can think on my feet, though. I just need three more things before I can write it, and then it doesn’t matter when or where.”

“This is a very vague plan,” Akaashi comments around the last few bites of Bokuto’s steak.

Bokuto only then realizes his meal has been stolen, and enacts some sort of plan that involves apparently trying to steal the food back out of Akaashi’s mouth.

“I can worry about the details.”

“We could—Koutarou— _mmf_ —” After a bit of flailing, and with both of them ending up covered in more than a little ketchup, Akaashi grits out, “Let us help you, on your terms. Is that alright?”

 _Unusually gracious._ “If you want to help, I want your magic.”

“Besides that. You’re living in an abandoned house, don’t think we haven’t noticed both of you losing weight, and I don’t believe it ever bodes particularly well for someone’s life when they stumble in after dawn, reeking of demonic blood and alcohol.”

“I don’t judge _your_ life.”

“Keiji, lay off. Kenma’s still in one piece, right? Maybe not everyone needs your fretting.”

“I’m _not_ fretting!”

Kuro rests his chin in his hands, elbows on the table, and doesn’t seem to notice Midna gnawing on a stolen piece of sausage. Kenma isn’t sure he’s any more comfortable with that fond look in Kuro’s eyes as he was with the physicality of the two tengu.

“You’re talking us in circles. I wanted to discuss the future outside of apocalypses, too, if that’s alright. You two,” Akaashi draws a line with their finger between Bokuto and Kenma, “are mated, for better or for worse. I’d like to know what your intentions are, so if need be, I can start with the damage control.”

Kuro furrows his brow when he asks, “Why do you need damage control? Are they still mad about that?”

Bokuto barks out a laugh. “I’ll say. But it’s no big deal. We just gotta figure out if you’re gonna, y’know, come visit anymore. Otherwise we have to figure out a way to play it off as not working out, or some sort of tragic interspecies love story, without rescinding your title. It’ll be kinda tricky. So you should just come visit us from time to time, and then we can play it off like you don’t totally hate me.”

There is a long silence before Kenma tells him, “I don’t hate you.”

Bokuto leans across the table and cups a hand around his ear. He seems _smug_. “Repeat that, please? This glamor plugs my ears sometimes.”

“Don’t fish for compliments halfway across the table. You’re getting your clothes dirty.” Akaashi tries to pull him back, but Bokuto stubbornly leans forward, fighting their grip—until they let go and Bokuto accidentally knocks his head against Kenma’s.

Kenma sinks down in his seat, glaring at him through watery eyes. “You okay?” Kuro and Akaashi ask at the same time.

“What about me?” Bokuto whines.

“Your hard head can withstand more.”

“That’s mean!”

“Maybe if you hadn’t been so needy…”

“That’s even meaner!”

“C’mere,” Kuro says and pulls him across nearly the entire table length to kiss his forehead. “I thought tengu were supposed to be big, fearsome spirits.”

“We can be your big, fearsome spirits when it comes to kicking Ushijima’s ass. Right now, I want to find out what a waffle is.”

Kenma wordlessly slides his across the table, and Bokuto looks as if he’s received the holy grail.

 

\--

 

“You’re still drunk,” Tooru realizes in dismay.

Suga peers up at him from his couch. He only sways a little.

“I was sleeping it off ‘til you said you had an emergency for me. You’re not bleeding and there’s no burglar in your bathtub.” He turns to find Iwaizumi, and his entire body goes with it, and he ends up flopping against the couch. “D’you got your name stuff figured out? You can talk to Daishou on your own, promise.”

“No, I don’t,” Iwaizumi replies evenly. “But I think this still warrants some concern.”

Tooru props Suga back up so he doesn’t get any ideas about passing out on the couch. “Honestly, Koushi, try to stop being a hot mess for five minutes for this one. I promise it’s an emergency.”

“Make me.”

Tooru grins, horribly, but Iwaizumi yanks him back by the collar of his shirt before he could do anything. Pity. “Stay awake for five more minutes, Koushi. Even if we fall asleep.”

“Why the _fuck_ would I.”

“Please, you two, stop it. This is serious.”

Suga crosses his arms and waits. Iwaizumi and Tooru sit on the cleared living room floor in front of him, facing each other, and Tooru wonders how they’re supposed to fall asleep after everything that’s happened. They haven’t exactly figured out the trick behind any of this yet.

Iwaizumi’s breathing softens and evens, and the tension in his body and mind both disappear. Tooru tries, _god_ does he try, but Suga is an unfortunate distraction on top of general insomnia.

Ten minutes pass before Suga irately demands, “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

Iwaizumi cracks open an eye. “We opened a portal to the Dreamlands in the bedroom last night. Since you’re the only other person who knows anything about it, we figured you’re the one to consult.”

“You… did what?”

“We figured you’d want proof—” Tooru begins, but cuts off with a start as Suga plops down on the floor beside them.

There’s still an uncomfortable glassiness in his gaze, but his mind is more alert than it had been. “What do you need to do?”

“We’re sharing dreams, somehow, or something like that. But neither of us have been able to sleep, and we can’t find that baku again to ask, either—”

During the explanation, Suga reaches up onto the cushions into his bag, and pulls out an envelope. Tooru recognizes it just as he rips it open and dumps sleep soot onto both of their heads.

They cough and splutter and Iwaizumi even sneezes more of it into Tooru’s face, but he hardly feels any sleepier than he did before. Before he can complain, however, Suga reaches over and traces a familiar rune against his forehead. The last thing he hears is a gentle, “ _Sleep._ ”

He can immediately see the different quality of this sleep. Everything is rough around the edges, too big and too hard, despite expanding into nothingness. It’s suffocating. Tooru feels fright slip down his neck, and he searches in vain for the bright spot that usually accompanies Iwaizumi.

“ _Shh_.” He startles at the strong arms that circle around him. It’s not Iwaizumi’s voice. They pull him back into nothingness. There’s no sense of up or down but he knows he’s flipped, and he thinks he’s supposed to be falling.

Tooru lands on Iwaizumi with a heavy _thump_. This time, it’s definitely his arms that come around him to brace him. Sunlight and desert flowers and red earth bloom into being around them, right before it all crumbles again. “Hold on,” Iwaizumi whispers in his ear, and Tooru nods against his shoulder.

When they wake again, they have a doorway to the Dreamlands behind them.

“So, yeah. That’s happened. Twice now.” Iwaizumi rubs at his eyes with the hand not still clinging to the psychic. They part tentatively.

The Dreamlands wink and shift behind them.

“I think there’s a kind of system to it, but it’s going to be hell if we can’t sleep at the same time anymore, and I have no idea why we can fucking do this now, or _how_.”

“You made a realm door,” Suga says faintly. Tooru isn’t sure he’s ever seen him so pale.

“ _You_ made a realm door to the Dreamlands before,” Iwaizumi retorts.

“Keep the thoughts down,” Tooru adds.

“I made a realm door with my weight in necromancy, a native sacrifice, _and_ it was only on the spiritual plane.” Suga scrambles over them, all sharp knees and poorly placed hands, and reaches into the Dreamlands before anyone can stop him. The portal shimmers like water where he touches it.

Iwaizumi yanks him back and Tooru throws himself on top of him to prevent him from moving toward it again. “What the _fuck_! What if that thing closed?”

“I could, maybe, get back. I don’t know. I apparently have never been physically in the Dreamlands myself.”

“What if it closed on you and trapped you there, Koushi, don’t you scare me like that when I haven’t slept in days!” Tooru’s heart is racing. “That’s so mean! Don’t touch bad magic, shouldn’t _you_ of all people know that?”

“What even _is_ bad magic?” Suga murmurs.

Iwaizumi grabs his dragon pelt, and when he closes it again, Tooru’s vision swims. He remains conscious, he thinks, though he doesn’t remember getting propped up or when Suga had moved to the couch. He definitely doesn’t remember the tissue shoved up his nose.

“Anything for us?” Iwaizumi asks, tensely and unhappy.

“We need to find that baku again.”

Tooru thinks that’s bad enough, and closes his eyes again. The sleep now is a little smoother.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko and Suga stare at one another from across the coffee table. They’re alone in the shop. Soft music plays in the background and the smell of tea and herbs are especially strong today. It doesn’t help his current blood alcohol level. He doesn’t even know where he’s at in the horrible spectrum from plastered to hungover.

Kiyoko has never missed a purge before, and certainly not when Madoka had called for her. Suga has never been the one called instead, either, and never told to bring someone else.

There’s also the matter of a realm door.

“You smell like angel,” Suga mutters. He scrubs a hand over his face, and reaches for the teacup on the table, breaking the tension. “How’s your magic been?”

“…I’ve been trying to stay cautious,” she replies, guardedly. He’s not used to that level of wariness from her. Then again, he’s never been left out of the loop for this long from her.

“I think it’s about time you told me what you’re planning against Ushijima,” Suga coolly informs her. His teacup _clinks_ against the saucer as he sets it back down without drinking.

“I wasn’t doing anything last night. My phone was off, I told you—I told Madoka. She’s already reprimanded me.” The fact that Kiyoko gave herself up like that means it probably wasn’t her fault. Maybe Hitoka stayed over. Madoka would never allow her daughter to be in any danger, anyway.

Which meant Suga still would have had to drag someone else along.

“Six people summoned or tried to summon illegal creatures. It was literally a hideout for desperate witches. There were three chimera, and five demons. Tadashi is hardly speaking to me. Ushijima called in _Sakusa_ , of all people—”

“I already know, Koushi. I’m sorry. I never foresaw anything about this. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t really want an apology.” He’s also not sure what he wants. Answers maybe, but she wouldn’t have them any more than he does. He hangs his head and wishes it would stop pounding. “I just… I didn’t think this much bad shit could happen all at once.”

“I do have a plan to stop Ushijima,” Kiyoko replies carefully, “but I’m not omniscient. I have no idea what anyone else is doing. I can only… guess and hope.”

“Your guesses are usually better than the average person’s.”

“That may be,” she allows, and almost smiles. Suga does smile in return, and _then_ he is rewarded with an actual Kiyoko smile. “Would you still trust me if I told you I was willing to risk anyone to save this city?”

“Kiyoko, I’ve known you for over a decade.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m scared of what you’ll think of me if you knew what I’m afraid I may be capable of. As always.”

“Again, over a decade. This isn’t new. Remember the manticore incident?”

“I got you all out.”

“Yeah, you did.” While Kiyoko had managed to save everyone, she had also allowed two Betony witches to almost die while they acted as bait. Saeko had been livid the entire time it took her leg to heal up.

“Ryuunosuke likes to call it tough love.” Kiyoko sips at her own tea. “He’s too soft at times. I’m glad I can always count on you and Saeko to swing by and yell at me.”

“A purge, and a realm door, and the Old Moon Ball is the day after tomorrow. Do you realize what kind of shit we’ll be in if someone else finds out about Tooru’s new party trick?”

“I vote we lock them in fallout shelters for the foreseeable future.”

“I _want_ to see you try to come between Tooru and the banquet.”

“You two are not allowed to see each other.”

“I want to see you try to come between us,” Suga amends with a wide grin. He has to show off for Daichi, after all. “Have you and Hitoka picked out dresses yet?”

“She has, I think I’ll just be wearing that navy one.”

“You wore that two years ago.”

“Koushi, we both have more on our minds than what a couple of spirits say about our fashion.”

“I think I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have something fun to look forward to. With our luck, the next thing we’ll be dealing with is someone unleashing a garuda downtown or something.”

“Please don’t jinx us. I don’t think any of us can handle anything more at this point.”

 

\--

 

“They did _what_ ,” Kei says in utter, disgusted disbelief.

“Oh no,” Hitoka chews on her nails, “oh _no_. That’s why mom was so upset… I _turned off_ her phone! It’s my fault she—”

“Wait, _what_ is a purge?” Hinata breaks back in.

Tadashi had wanted to get coffee with Hitoka and beg her for purification spells for Kei. Maybe himself, too, since as it turns out, hangovers _still fucking suck_. He’s pretty sure they’re not supposed to last this long. Another fun perk of being unlucky.

Speaking of unlucky, meeting and consequently dealing with the twin joys of Tobio and Hinata is high up there.

Hinata _would_ be pretty cool, if it aforementioned hangover weren’t there, and if there were happier things to discuss. Tobio might be alright, even if Tadashi is a little skittish around him. Even more amusing would be the fact that Kei has already met them both.

“It’s when witches get together and put down any groups that violate the laws,” Tobio recites without looking up from his coffee. “They’re honor-bound to help each other. When I—Ushijima was very careful about never leaving enough evidence that they could use…” He ducks down further, looking particularly sorry for himself.

“Yeah, apparently that’s a big concern right now,” Tadashi wearily agrees.

“How do you two know?”

“I worked with him—”

“He was at the purge last night—”

Tadashi and Tobio both freeze, then stare at each other in growing horror. He _worked_ with him? Hinata quickly intervenes, throwing himself across the table, making their drinks rattle and the crow familiar squawk. “It’s okay now, he’s not a huge asshole anymore! I bought him out from beneath the god,” he smugly declares. “We’re using what we know of his plan to stop him! We’re gonna track down the First egg before he can get to it.”

“How are you going to do that?” Tadashi asks, not meanly, but not exactly on board. To his knowledge, Suga and Kiyoko had both chalked the First egg up as a loss and are concentrating on trying to stop Ushijima from getting the spirits.

“Hitoka said you have finding magic!”

“Yeah, and I don’t think an egg owns anything to track it by.”

“Y-Yes, but there are other ways to use finding magic,” Hitoka points out. The boys slowly pry apart from their inadvertent argument. “And if you’re trying to find a crow tengu egg, and you have a crow tengu helping you…”

“We thought it was worth a shot,” Tobio says.

Tadashi opens his mouth to respond—hell yes he wants to help stop Ushijima—

He pauses. They’re unlucky right now. _He’s_ unlucky right now, and he’s not supposed to be giving away his skills for free. Not that he intends to say no, but he needs to think of trying to stay afloat, too. “Is there any way a tengu could help us purify demonic magic?” Tadashi asks hopefully.

“I know a couple basic purification spells. I could try? Why, you got someone with a demonic curse?”

“Not exactly,” he hedges. Hitoka shoots Kei a worried glance, but he remains impassive in the face of their joint concern. Tadashi sees the tension in his jaw.

Kei had told him about some sort of deal with Kiyoko, though he’d been vague on the details. It got them a jar of luck, and it involved a minor purifying spell, but it hadn’t been enough. They have to get him closer to zeroed out before he can start generating his own luck again. Tadashi must be stingier with magic use around him. Trying to track down an egg probably won’t be an adventure he can help with.

“We really shouldn’t do it in Starbucks, though,” Hinata adds with a self-conscious little laugh. It’s sort of cute. Tadashi hadn’t known tengu could get so small, honestly. “And casting anything while wearing a glamor feels kind of like you’re getting smothered with a blanket?”

“There’s a coven house a few blocks from here!” Hitoka volunteers.

The last thing Tadashi wants right now is more coven bullshit, but the prospect of a safe, private place to cast magic is appealing. Issei has given him far too many judgmental looks for practicing at work.

They head out into the cold, blustery day, and despite being nearly noon, the sunlight is weak in that wintery way that makes Tadashi miss June. Hinata bounces around like he has limitless energy _and_ no sense of temperature—definitely no sense of shame with the way his skirt flips up with his movements—but the rest of the group is unusually down.

Tadashi sidles around Hitoka, but right when he opens his mouth to ask how she’s feeling, there’s a _pop_ and a cat drops to the sidewalk in front of them.

“Good morning!” Morisuke says cheerily, and goes from a smiling, very happy cat to a tan, puffed-up ball of spitting and protective instincts in the span of a blink. “Wh-What are you doing with a _tengu_!”

“What’s a cat spirit doing here?!” Hinata squawks, likewise reeling back, tripping over Tobio in his haste.

Kei reaches down and picks Morisuke up like he were a normal cat. For a brief moment, Tadashi thinks he’s about to try to eat him, but instead he brings him up and buries his face in the fur on his side. Morisuke looks quite torn between continued dismay and confusion.

“Hi, Morisuke,” Hitoka says with a weak smile, clutching at her chest like she’d just had a heart attack. “G-Good morning to you, too.”

“This is that tengu friend of yours,” he says, not asks, and she nods. “This is the little one that Kiyoko continues fawning over?”

“Sh-She just helps me! That’s all!” Hinata squeaks, suddenly scarlet. Tobio’s pout becomes more pronounced. “We-We’re still working on g-getting that other egg back, and we’ll be good!”

“Why do you sound like a kid trying not to get grounded?” Kei asks. It comes out pretty muffled by the luck spirit he’s still trying to inhale.

“So, I guess the luck isn’t treating you all that well,” Morisuke says sympathetically. He worms his way out of Kei’s gloves and when he lands on the ground, he’s in human form. He pulls his hat low over his ears and fights with his tail to hide it beneath his baggy hoodie. “Where’s a troop like you going?”

“Why did you stop by?” Kei counters.

Tadashi realizes that they have a luck spirit _right here,_ and someone who could potentially get Kei back away from the demon end of the spiritual spectrum. Of course, it had to be the one luck spirit they know who _won’t_ help them with it. He’d laugh if he didn’t think he’d start crying.

“I pulled a couple favors, and I’d like to borrow Tadashi later. If you’re busy, I can wait.”

“We were going to find the last missing tengu egg,” Tobio informs him.

“Safely!” Hitoka hastens to add. “We have a-a very good plan, very safe, and we won’t get into any trouble at all with it. And Hinata can return that one, too!”

“The fact that you added all that makes me think it’s _not_ safe.”

“You didn’t sound very reassuring,” Tobio agrees.

“Are you still staying with Lev?” Kei asks, and Morisuke, as usual, flusters and drops the subject. Tadashi wonders if it’s mean to keep using that against him.

They near where Hitoka says the witch house is, and just as Tadashi dares _think_ that maybe Morisuke’s presence will help Kei rebound, their luck flops over again. The group pulls up short in front of the alleyway Hitoka means to lead them down; a gangly redhead sits on the fire escape just ahead of them, legs kicking, tail swishing across the metal grating behind him.

“Sup,” Tendou says with crooked, fanged grin. His tail _whumps_ against the metal.

“Who are— _hey_!” Hinata screeches as he’s hauled up with his arms pinned to his sides, and he kicks ineffectually, almost getting Morisuke.

“ _Shit_ ,” Kei hisses as the rest of them back away from the invisible threat. Tadashi pulls his little switchblade out of his back pocket, and at least his hands don’t shake as he holds it out at them.

“What good pickings you found for us, Shirabu,” Tendou coos.

“You idiot, _jump_!” Tobio barks. Tadashi isn’t sure when he drew a knife, either, but at least he’s not alone in this. Hitoka exchanges a scared look with Tadashi. He moves a little more in front of her and Kei.

“Glamors make it hard! Augh I—can’t—fucking— _kick_!” Hinata ducks down and bites, hard, earning a swear from Shirabu behind him. He’s released at once, and Tadashi guesses Shirabu is trying to shake him off, judging by the confusing flailing.

Hinata hits the ground, and Tendou jumps down to land lightly in front of them. Tadashi is only slightly gratified to see the bandages half-hidden by his wild hair.

“Pl-Please let us go,” Hitoka says with a quaver in her voice. Her fists are clenched and her expression is clear. He has seen nervous Hitoka, and this is certainly not it.

They have a witch, a medic, a tengu, a bakeneko, Kei, and himself. They have an invisible guy and a matagot. He likes their odds as they are, but he knows it’s not all.

Tendou _tsks_ and waggles his finger. “Look, we get _options_ today. Could you imagine if we caught a tengu?” He laughs behind a coy hand. Tadashi has no idea if he can see Shirabu or not, but he doesn’t seem to need any input. “We could make you choose. Who do you like least? The bird or the cat?”

Speaking of cat—Morisuke has been silent, and unusually still. Only the tip of his tail twitches, and although his eyes are fixed on Tendou, he doesn’t seem inclined to move.

“He bit me,” Shirabu sulks.

“Maybe we get extra lucky and we have two luck spirits, but I guess not, huh? Too bad we already have the lower requirement.”

_They have what?_

Tobio shoves his knife in Hitoka’s direction, and she doesn’t fumble it. He pulls a magic arrow out of the air, and points it directly at Tendou. “Where. Is. Ushijima.”

Tendou doesn’t seem perturbed by the group he’s facing down. Tadashi _knows_ he’s just biding time until Ushijima appears, but he needs to make sure that Tendou doesn’t grab someone and kill them with empty space.

“ _Am, stram_ …” Tendou points to each of them in turn, not just the spirits. Tadashi’s eyes widen as his finger lands on him last. “ _Gram_. Lucky!”  [13]

He lunges at Tadashi, and Morisuke catches him. They _pop_ out of the scene at the same time Tobio perfectly swivels around and pegs Shirabu, even unseen, with his arrow. Shirabu yelps, and that’s good enough. “Run!”

“Around the corner!” Hitoka cries and darts on ahead to lead the way. Hinata rips the glamor charm off and flaps into the sky, twisting in the air to glare down the alleyway they just vacated. “Hinata, get back down here! You’ll be spotted!”

“Where’s Ushijima?” he demands, but he swoops down to land again next to her.

“He’s supposed to be sending out that fox to do all his dirty work, right?”

“He wouldn’t leave him,” Tadashi mutters, but it’s mostly unheard.

“ _Open-unlock_!” Hitoka shouts and waves her hand in a quick, abortive gesture in the air. Ahead of them, the backdoor to a squat, brick building slams open, and they rush in. When it shuts again, it’s momentarily dark, until Hinata and Tobio both create lights.

“Morisuke didn’t come back,” Kei says in the ensuing silence.

Hitoka makes a tiny, sad sound, and begins pulling up and activating old protection spells. Tadashi has half a mind to watch her work, but he and Tobio peer out the sole window on the back wall. No sign of bakeneko _or_ matagot.

“We should be safe for awhile here. No spirit can show up here, so they’d have to come through a door like anything else, and there are a lot of really good protection and safety charms. Who has a phone?”

Tadashi pats himself down, but _of fucking course_ he left his at home today.

“I don’t really have anyone’s number,” Tobio mumbles as he scrolls through his. “And the reception in here is shitty. Who are we calling for backup?”

“I can call Kiyoko,” Hitoka pulls her own phone free. “She’ll know what to do…”

“And in the time it takes for her to get here with whatever cavalry she deems necessary?” Kei asks in a tight voice. “Forgive me if I’d like to have a little more firepower against Ushijima. I’ve seen firsthand what he can do.”

“I have, too,” Tobio grumbles. “I still have his number. We could block the call, and then ask him where he is?”

“Or, you could call him, and tell him to go fuck himself. I think that would have a similar success rate.”

“Please don’t fight,” Hitoka orders as she scrolls through her phone.

“Hey, what—”

“Hey!”

In a blink, both Tobio and Hitoka’s phones are plucked from their grasp, and there’s a spark as something stomps straight through them both on the floor.

Hinata and Tadashi both dive for where Shirabu is—was. They knock into each other and Tadashi ends up tripping over Hinata, going sprawling.

“Doesn’t this place have any kind of defenses against intruders?” Kei asks as he and Hitoka back away, further into the living room.

“None of us are witches. Even the spirit-only spells would…”

“Old-fashioned way it is,” Tobio writes runes down both arms. His fists crackle with electricity, sparkling in the dim light.

“Careful who you hit with that,” Shirabu replies, somewhere behind Kei. He whirls around, claws raised, and even Hitoka falls into some sort of martial arts stance. “Listen, I don’t give a shit about any of you, and I don’t like close-quarters. I really only want the tengu. Hand him over.”

“Like fuck,” Tobio and Tadashi say in unison.

“Fighting tengu is such a pain…”

With a swipe of Hinata’s wing, Shirabu is thrown towards the doorway. He does, at least, yell as he kicks him through the door, and the snap of all of the broken magic and wards is enough to make Tadashi’s ears ring.

Tadashi sees the barest flicker of a figure as Shirabu slashes upward, and claw marks open up along Hinata’s shoulder and neck. The blood disappears as soon as it splatters onto Shirabu, and the injuries don’t slow Hinata in the least.

“Binding! Confinement!” Hitoka splutters as she and Tobio rush outside. Tadashi makes to follow them, but pauses in the doorway, looking back at Kei.

“We know he’s coming,” Kei says. “If witches are half as neurotic as we think they are, they have to have something stashed here beyond brooms and plants. I’ll clear it out. You keep an eye out while Hinata eviscerates the sassy invisible one.”

Morisuke still hasn’t returned, but neither has Tendou. Tadashi is torn on how to feel about that. He wants to believe it’s a good sign, but if the higher spirit is the _last_ thing they need— _no, they can’t have the egg already, too, can they?_ He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and tightens his grip on his little knife as he ducks out into the alleyway with the others.

They wouldn’t be stupid about higher spirits; Tendou wouldn’t have risked anything, even if they had two chances in front of them. And come to think of it, last night could have been an opportunity for Ushijima to have caught a demon, but Suga would have been on the lookout for that. Kenma, too.

They might be down to their last two chances.

 _God_ , he wishes he were lucky again.

Shirabu has been pinned by Hinata—sitting on his chest—and Tobio, with a boot on his wrist. Hitoka circles around them, drawing in the blood that’s only visible after a certain distance, and Tobio steps away just as the circle goes up. Hinata bares his teeth in a poor imitation of a grin.

“For a baby tengu, you’re quite full of yourself,” Shirabu’s eye roll is nearly audible.

“There should be witch water inside. That should turn off any magics working on your body,” Tobio says, not exactly a threat, but Shirabu shimmers as he flinches. He’s not particularly good at hiding his reactions. “You got left by your so-called allies. So now we’re going to interrogate you, and they’re not coming back for you. Understand? You need to answer us.”

Shirabu scoffs.

“What ingredients do you still need to summon _The Thing That Should Not Be?_ ”

“A higher spirit,” Shirabu drawls, bored, and Hinata’s feathers fluff up defensively. “And I suppose Ushijima needs the egg.”

“You know where it is?!”

“Who do you think stole the damn thing?”

“You’re actually cooperating,” Hitoka interrupts. Her brows are drawn low in confusion. “Aren’t you friends with Ushijima? Is he paying you, threatening you? We can help you.”

There is an eerily long silence before Shirabu answers her. “Is this friendship time now?”

“This is answer time!” Tobio snarls and kicks through the confinement circle at him. He grunts as his boot connects.

Shirabu sits up, jostling Hinata, and the tengu hisses at him as they rearrange in the small circle. “You’re a bunch of kids, and you’re in over your heads.”

“We seem to be doing pretty well against you!” Hinata declares.

“Haven’t you ever heard the term stalling before?”

Tadashi thinks, panicked, back to Tendou and Morisuke. _He’s fine. He can outrun them._ But why hadn’t Tendou returned, then, if he lost Morisuke…?

“There’s witch water and a few brooms in here, but nothing else,” Kei calls from inside. Tadashi turns and ducks back in, because if nothing else, the witch water had given Shirabu something to think twice about. He doesn’t know what it _does_ , but he doesn’t feel particularly merciful.

 _What if it kills him?_ Is Shirabu a monster? …He doesn’t know what he is, either, but he knows that he’s tried to hurt or kill them twice now. Tadashi screws his eyes shut and tries to banish the thoughts again. _Not now_!

There’s a quiet report from outside, then another.

Suppressed fire.

Ushijima lands lightly in the alleyway from his broom, overcoat billowing with the movement.

“They haven’t heard of bait, either.” There is a flicker of Shirabu as he steps easily out of the confinement circle. “About time you showed up. You’d be shit out of luck with that egg if I died, you know?”

“I wouldn’t let you die, and they wouldn’t have killed you that quickly.” Ushijima keeps his gun trained on Tobio, who hasn’t moved from where he lays on the concrete, and glances over the runes written on the ground beside him. Hitoka, on their other side, shakes so hard her hair bounces.

Ushijima doesn’t give her a second glance.

He also hasn’t looked in the direction of Kei and Tadashi yet, frozen as they are in the building. Shirabu knows they’re in there, so if they want to keep the element of surprise, they need to act _now_.

“Tadashi,” Kei breathes, right by his ear, “remember that spell Kenma gave you?”

“Make sure you aim well,” Tadashi slowly whispers and writes the proper runes down along his pant legs as he prepares.

The magic tingles along his fingertips and he knows the intangibility spell has taken hold. Tadashi bursts out of the coven house, crashes into Ushijima, he sees Kei lob the jar of witch water at Shirabu, and they both fall through the far wall of what turns out to be a warehouse. Tadashi had been hoping for something with more walls, more space and obstacles to put between them, but he doesn’t have that because life fucking sucks.

Tadashi faces Ushijima with nothing more than a tiny switchblade and incredibly limited magical knowledge.

Why does he remember facing Ushijima in a warehouse before?

They fought in one before. He knows they did. But Tadashi had the vorpal sword, and there was—

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” Ushijima growls. “Sugawara Koushi’s apprentice. You’re not going to stop me.”

“Try me,” Tadashi snaps back.

Ushijima gets no further than raising his gun before Hinata _pops_ into the warehouse with them and lands squarely on his head. His weight sends them both crashing to the floor. Tadashi dives forward, wrestling the gun away from Ushijima as he struggles to unhook Hinata’s claws from his shoulders.

“Jump with him! Shove him somewhere else!” Tadashi yells, aiming the gun at the witch.

Tendou finally reappears like he’d been waiting for an opening line. He falls onto Hinata with a victorious cry, and they both disappear, leaving Ushijima bleeding on the warehouse floor.

“You don’t have the stomach to kill someone,” Ushijima informs him.

“You can’t kill anyone with this, either.”

He knows he’s right, because fuck him and fuck morality. Tadashi pulls the magazine from the clip and shoves it into his pocket, then chucks the empty gun as far as he can down into the warehouse. Ushijima can choose between rescuing an empty gun and chasing him, but he’s leaving. Tadashi through the next nearest wall, baiting the witch to follow.

Tendou came back, so where is Morisuke?

Tadashi circles around until he comes back out into the alley again, and Hitoka has Tobio back up and on his feet, albeit shakily. He’s supported by an arm thrown over Kei’s shoulders, even if he has to stoop a bit for him. “Where are they?” Hitoka demands.

“Took care of his gun, Tendou grabbed Hinata, I don’t know where they are now. Where’s Morisuke?”

“Haven’t seen him again. Wouldn’t it be best if he didn’t come back?” Kei hefts Tobio up a little higher. “There’s no need to serve them anything on a silver platter. I think Hinata should run, too.”

“That’s leaving us alone without our strongest fighter,” Tobio snaps, a slight slur to his voice.

“We should all run!”

“There’s no chance of us all getting away from Ushijima as things stand now.” Kei looks as if he wants to drop him, and Tadashi hurries forward to support Tobio’s other side. It looks like he’s favoring one leg and there’s blood soaking through his hoodie over his side, but Tadashi trusts Hitoka as far as saving his life. He probably won’t bleed out here, but he can’t move very well on his own. Hitoka isn’t large enough to support him for long by herself.

“So what, someone stays behind as bait?”

“Where’s Shirabu?”

“He ran for Ushijima as soon as we took away his invisibility. He’s a faun, by the way.”

“Fauns aren’t invisible,” Tobio grumbles. “And they don’t have claws. Whatever he is, spirit confinement circles won’t work on him.”

“He bleeds as well as anything else,” Kei says with a shrug. “But he doesn’t seem in a hurry to die. Maybe he won’t come back. Either way, his trick is out the window, and it’s easier to avoid something you can see.”

“We need some place where they can’t sneak up on us again,” Hitoka mumbles, then lifts her chin with determination blazing in her eyes. “There’s the parking lot around the corner. Aside from the fox spirit, they can’t sneak up on us there. Tobio can just sit with an arrow, and—”

“I can do those, too.” Maybe two, but it beats trying to drag other people through buildings.

They help Tobio hobble down the alleyway. Ushijima doesn’t reappear so quickly.

Tadashi thinks their luck may be changing when they find the parking lot littered with empty cars.

They end up hopping in the bed of a huge pickup. Tobio and Kei lean against the cabin, keeping a lookout, while Tadashi and Hitoka work to unlock the doors.

“What if Hinata doesn’t come back?” she whispers, out of range of Tobio for the moment. Tadashi unlocks the door, and they scoot into the truck. No keys. “Wh-What if he got caught…?”

“I don’t think they can restrain a tengu so easily.”

“But what if—”

“I don’t know how to hotwire a car,” Tadashi gestures at the dashboard for her. “Do you?”

Lips still trembling around her frown, Hitoka nods and leans down to pull the panel out of the way.

Tadashi hears shouting from outside, and he slides out the passenger side, leaning up against the back of the truck. “Tengu inbound again,” Kei points up to a nearing black speck.

Hinata darts out of the sky and lands delicately on top of the truck. “I lost him,” he proudly says. “Jumping around the Inbetween is one thing, but he can’t _fly_ , now can he?”

“Now stay put. The last ingredient shouldn’t be running around!” Tobio grabs his ankle and yanks him down into the bed of the truck, and Hinata flops down into a squawking heap. “I don’t like that we don’t know where they are.”

“Neither do I, but what can we do? Would you like to try calling him again and see if you can hear his ringtone?”

They all jump when the truck roars to life, and Hitoka cries out in joy from the driver’s seat. Tadashi slides back into the passenger seat and turns down the horrible blaring country music.

Ushijima is standing outside the back door to the warehouse, with a smaller figure with one antler Tadashi assumes is Shirabu beside him. Just as the truck lurches out of its icy parking spot, Ushijima raises both arms and draws back one, magic arrows shimmering into life in his grip.

“Drive, _drive_!” Kei slams against the rear window, but the engine is still cold.

Despite how Hitoka presses on the gas, the truck only groans and spins uneasily in its spot. The first arrow takes out one tire, and the second hits the other front one, and they all bounce as the truck screeches along the pavement.

The third arrow crashes through the windshield inches from Hitoka’s head. She and Tadashi duck out of sight just as the fourth goes through the hole and narrowly misses Hinata.

In a second, Ushijima has already covered half the distance to them.

By the time Tadashi and Hitoka are scrambling out of the truck to run, Tobio rushes close enough and shoots at him.

Ushijima deflects the arrow with his blood blade, and leaps over the cab in a single bound. He barely makes the _sss_ sound for his sleep spell before both Kei and Tobio throw themselves at him.

Tadashi reaches over the edge of the truck, but as he tries to yank Hinata away, Hinata plants his feet in a curiously solid stance. He pushes the truck over onto its side, and kicks the truck at them. It skids with a horrific metallic screech and shower of sparks, and Tadashi can barely hear the frantic yelling from the other side.

Kei phases through the truck, looking incredibly shaken. “You shoved a _pickup at me_.”

“You’ve already died once,” Hinata returns.

Tobio limps around the side of the truck, and opens his mouth to snarl the same complaint, but Ushijima is on his heels.

Tadashi, this time the prepared one, points his own magic arrow straight at Ushijima’s head. It’s nothing like aiming at a dragon, but neither is it like pointing a gun anywhere, so he lets go just as Ushijima’s eyes wide.

He misses. He misses from less than ten feet away because of the angry not-faun that tackled both he and Hitoka from behind. Tadashi hits the pavement with a painful scrape, breath knocked from his lungs, vision swimming from where his head hit the concrete.

He’s dazed a moment too long, and Tadashi watches uselessly as Ushijima hauls Hinata up by the scruff of his neck. Shirabu must be invisible again, because he can’t see what knocks Tobio back. Ushijima turns and pins Hinata against the truck.

He is, very suddenly, knocked to the ground by Suga, who has seemingly fallen from the sky.

“Kiyoko!” Hitoka cries and Tadashi rolls onto his back to see Kiyoko swooping in on a broom. She drops off instead of landing, and the broom clatters to the pavement in front of Hinata.

Suga kneels on Ushijima’s back, keeping one arm wrenched beneath his knee. Despite the way he hisses in Ushijima’s ear, Ushijima only looks mildly annoyed. His eyes narrow further when Morisuke lands lightly on Kiyoko’s shoulder.

“Had to pick up some help,” Morisuke announces.

“Tobio, you take the broom and—” Kiyoko’s eyes flick over each of them, cool and evaluating, “—you and Tsukishima leave. Hinata, go back to my shop and wait.”

“We actually had this!” Hinata exclaims, “I mean, Kageyama only got shot a couple times, and no one got picked up as a sacrifice!”

“Let’s keep it that way,” Suga replies with a tight smile. Ushijima wiggles in his grasp, and Suga presses down harder on his spine. “Give me a reason to make your day hell, Ushijima.”

“Yaku, go back with them,” Kiyoko says.

“What about Tadashi and Hitoka?”

“We’ll keep them safe.”

Tadashi gingerly sits up, keeping a wary eye on Ushijima, and feels at the sticky blood on his face. It feels strange in the cold, but the injury doesn’t feel too bad.

Kei doesn’t look thrilled about separation, about as thrilled as he looks at the prospect of riding a broom with Tobio.

“I’ll be fine, Tsukki,” Tadashi tells him, smiling crookedly.

“We can handle this!” Hitoka adds, flexing, and Kiyoko smiles at her renewed energy.

“I’ll ride with you two,” Morisuke turns into a cat again, jumps into Kei’s arms, and Tadashi sees a flash of gold as he rubs luck all over him. At least _some_ good came of this.

With the return of claws and blackened limbs, Tadashi isn’t sure if it’s enough good. He needs to get a proper purifying spell again.

Tobio shakily flies off, with Kei looking _very_ unhappy with the prospect of flying, and Morisuke wedged between them. Kiyoko gives Hinata a Look, and while he quails, he doesn’t leave right away. “I think they know where the last egg is,” he mutters, avoiding her sharp gaze, and points at where Shirabu would be. “He said he’s the one who stole it, or maybe he helped. I can bring him to Ukai and—”

“Not so fast!”

Tadashi and Kiyoko whirl on Tendou’s reappearance into the scene, but everyone freezes when they see Hitoka in his grasp. Her boots hardly brush the ground as she sways in his grasp.

“I think you’re going to let my friends go,” Tendou says cheerfully, “and then the little tengu is going to come with us. I suppose the bakaneko will live to aggravate me another day.”

“You let her go first,” Hinata says before anyone else can speak.

“I’m not playing tag with you again, shortie. Shirabu, start heading back, we’ll catch up. Now, we all know what happens to humans when they go between realms.” Tendou’s eyes slide over Tadashi, amused, then over to Suga. “Most humans. Do you want to continue pressing your luck?”

Suga slowly gets off of Ushijima. He stands, straightens his coat, then goes to Tendou’s side. Quiet words are exchanged. Tadashi can’t tell if Shirabu is still nearby.

Hitoka is let down carefully, but Ushijima keeps an arm wound around her shoulders while Tendou reaches for Hinata.

“Let her go,” Kiyoko says in a surprising growl. “Ushijima, let her go before this progresses any further.”

She takes a step forward, but Ushijima takes a step backward, crushing Hitoka against his chest. She puts up a hand against him, pushing weakly, gasping for breath.

Tadashi worries, fear gripping his heart, until he sees magic spark in her fingertips.

Ushijima chokes. He grabs at his chest, stumbling, until he falls over, dead.

Hitoka drops to the ground, staring at him in absolute horror. Tendou reaches for her, but Suga throws his hunting knife at the same time Kiyoko casts a jet of fire from her palm, and he jumps back with a yip.

Tadashi rushes to grab Hitoka just as her knees buckle. Tendou, as a fox, dives over the fire—Kiyoko tries to follow his movements—and lands on Ushijima’s chest. He growls at them, feral, before they blink out of the scene.

“Are they gone? Are they all gone?” Hinata warily scans for any flicker or sign of Shirabu, but nothing comes. “Hitoka, that was awesome! You took down Ushijima all on your own, and it was _so fast_!”

“I.” Hitoka stares down at her shaking hands. “I-I killed him.”

“I know!”

“He’ll come back,” Tadashi points out.

“How did you do that so fast?” Hinata excitedly demands.

“Hitoka—” Kiyoko detaches them with more force than necessary, and cups Hitoka’s face in her hands. “Hitoka, look at me. Are you alright?”

“What did you _do_ to him?” Suga asks. He’s the only one standing now, still looking around warily.

“I severed his aorta,” Hitoka replies blankly. She stares past Kiyoko, dry-eyed, and repeats, “I killed him.”

“It’s okay.” Suga brushes her hair back, behind her ear.

Kiyoko pulls her against her chest, and says, “Shhh, you did it to protect yourself, and prevent him from kidnapping or sacrificing Hinata. You save yourself, and you saved him.”

“Healers save people—they don’t k _-kill_ ,” Hitoka whispers. The tears come, but her lost expression remains.

 

\--

 

It had been so easy. So clean. There hadn’t been a speck of blood, and he hardly had any time to react.

Hitoka heaves again into the toilet, but nothing else comes up. Her throat and nose burn, and she reaches blindly for more tissues to wipe her face.

She can still hear Kiyoko and Suga arguing downstairs, but as usual, that didn’t last long. She wondered whose turn it would be to check on her after she hears unhappy stomping up the stairs.

“How are you feeling?” Suga asks from the doorway.

“Still like a-a useless sack of shit.”

“Now you’re sounding like me.” He sits beside her, not too close, but close enough to gently comb more of her hair out of her face. “Hitoka, I know it’s—”

“You _don’t_ know!” she bursts out. She hides her face from him. Shame crawls up from her belly, but not enough to override anything else. “I _help_ people, Suga. That’s all I ever wanted!”

“You saved yourself, and you saved Hinata. We all know in a fair fight, Kiyoko and I wouldn’t stand much of a chance against him, either. I know it seems like a shitty, hard decision, but—”

“He’s a person! This isn’t a monster you can try to explain away!” Her voice catches, and after a startled hiccup, she starts sobbing again. Her eyes sting and her throat protests, but she leans over the toilet, clinging to it. “I-I _killed_ s-someone, a-a-and I’m supposed to h _-help_ people!”

“I know,” Suga says softly, with a light hand on her back. It eases her sobbing, just a little.

But he _doesn’t know_. Suga has always skirted morality and rules. He and Kiyoko have the iron will to back up their own actions and views. Tobio did too, and Hinata, and even if Tadashi was upset he at least did, too—

“I took the Hippocratic Oath when I was twelve,” Hitoka sniffles, breath still stuttering on each inhale. She absolutely knows it doesn’t mean much. Her mother had let her, though, allowed her to make a ceremony of it like she was graduating medical school. “I’m _in_ m-med school. I’ve never—never been as strong as you, or Ryuu, or Saeko. I can’t fight things, not even the monsters.”

“It was self-defense. Who knows what could have happened if he hadn’t been stopped today?”

An _apocalypse_. The full scale of it is difficult, _terrifying_ to imagine, and she knows sacrifices have to be made. Tadashi had almost died, Suga _had_ died, Kiyoko was killing herself trying to maintain her secret and Yui…

Hitoka hadn’t really thought of herself as a sacrifice before. She hadn’t _wanted_ to sacrifice her own personal code.

She shouldn’t get to pick and choose such things, she’s no better than anyone else. Maybe she _did_ do something to help the others today, but the fact of the matter remains that Yachi Hitoka killed a man. She felt his heart with her magic, felt the careful little _snick_ of her scalpel spell. It had just been a quick but noticeable drain on her magic.

And that was it.

She felt the moment when he was alive, and then he wasn’t, and she killed Ushijima.

Suga holds her hair back for her while she dry heaves again into the toilet, until she’s not sure if she’s retching or sobbing.

 

\--

 

He needs a cursed object.

Kenma doesn’t have the time or the self-hatred to try to make one himself. They’re dangerous at best, and lethal at worst. Tracking genuine cursed objects down on the internet isn’t hard, not when you know what to look for.

The mirror had been his best bet. There were two options in the city, and another one about a two hour flight by broom to the south, but the mirror was ideal. It was small enough to hold in one hand, looked like it was in very good condition, and the curse attached to it hadn’t involved any Great Old Ones or summonings, as far as he knew. He can test that in person.

The problem is that it belongs to a collector.

No, the _actual_ problem is that he knows the name of the collector.

Oikawa Tooru.

“We could ask Suga for help,” Kuro suggests from his shadow. “He knows Oikawa. They used to be pretty buddy-buddy, from what I understood.”

“Sugawara has his hands full, and he does _not_ need to be asking why I need a cursed mirror.”

“His friend had the cursed mirror first. He’s a deathless necromancer. Maybe he’s cool with this kind of stuff.”

Kenma nobly resists the urge to step a little too hard on Kuro. They’ve gotten the walking thing down so it doesn’t look or feel unnatural, but a kick isn’t too hard.

“You think Oikawa won’t run immediately and tell Suga?” Kuro tries again.

There are two options for that: Kenma can offer to bribe him, or they could steal it. Kenma is slightly more inclined toward the latter. “At least we’d have the mirror by then.”

Tooru, from what Kenma had been able to track down about him, lives in a residential neighborhood and runs psychic services from his home. The Grand Psychic Oikawa Tooru. Kenma would roll his eyes even harder if he didn’t know that he was genuinely clairvoyant. He trusts his own mental defenses, but psychics tended to be a little too sharp with things like facial expressions and body language for his liking.

And Kuro, well. There was a very big reason why Kenma hadn’t told him much about his plan yet. After this, then they were in the clear.

Kuro tugs him out of the way of walking into people with tiny pats on his ankles, while Kenma continues walking along with his nose in his phone. He has the directions and address memorized, and he won’t know what to expect from the mirror until he sees it. Mostly he needs a vessel that can handle extreme amounts of magic, and not one that breaks instantly. He’s not too picky.

Kuro’s wikipedia history is a sight to behold. Kenma thinks he needs to get him a library card. Then again, he can get himself one now.

…Kenma will probably still help him. It’d be nice to spend a day in a library that isn’t trying to keep Shouyou quiet.

He weaves to avoid a couple walking hand in hand and taking up most of the sidewalk, pulling up his map as he does so.

A sharp yank on his hood drags him back.

Kenma turns, scowling, and doesn’t recognize either of the people. Midna squirms from the abrupt stop in his pocket, and he shoves a hand in to calm her before she starts crying. “Let go,” he says, and pulls his hood free.

“You’re the one who smelled like demon,” says the person on the right, an older man with a poorly maintained beard and thick glasses.

The woman next to him, bundled up extra even in the winter, points down to Kenma’s shadow. “It’s with him right now.”

“Can we _help_ you?” Kuro winds up off of the sidewalk, settling in front of Kenma. He’s taller than either of them, but his form is shaky, and his feet still lead off into darkness beneath them.

“You’re the little witch who ran off with the book, right?” the man asks.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about. So kindly step off.”

“You and your friends slaughtered _our_ friends,” the woman snarls and bares her teeth at them. They’re too sharp to be human.

So she’s the demon, and the man is the contractor. “How did you escape the purge?” Kenma neutrally asks. Midna squirms again, and he writes runes against her fur and hopes they chalk up the little movements to her.

“We were lucky we were out. Now, book back. _Now_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kenma takes a step back and digs his heel into their connected shadow. Kuro slinks back with a doubly terrifying sneer. “I have to go meet a friend now, so…”

“Sorry, kid, but we weren’t asking. We don’t got a lot of patience for murderers or hypocrites, either.”

The other demon lunges at Kuro and he meets her halfway. She tries flip him, but he has size on her, and he pins her to the sidewalk with a single movement. She gives up on her settled form and slips out from under him, and Kuro dissolves his in turn.

The man has drawn a short, gleaming knife from his pocket. The runes along its side burn brightly, and Kenma squints as he tries to read them. “You should know as well as I how easy it is to kill someone, contract or not. Give us the book, or you both die.”

Kenma looks down the street, but of course it’s empty. How did they track him? _Kuro_ , he realizes, _of course_. They have trouble keeping him stable and appearing human on good days, but to another demon? He must have stood out like a beacon. _Kenma_ must have.

The man throws a _pull-hook-bind_ lasso at him, and the magic snags around Kenma’s throat. Before he can do more than stumble a few steps forward, Kenma uses the strong _push_ spell he’d been writing up at an angle.

The man’s arm breaks in two clear places and drops, limply, at his side. The magic holding Kenma dies away, but the man doesn’t seem particularly fazed.

Kenma keeps one hand in his pocket to hide his writing and keep his familiar safely pressed against him The man can’t use his injured arm, so they would be on equal footing if Kenma were anyone else.

How to get away without killing them? Handing them over to Sugawara could potentially earn him brownie points, but he doesn’t need any favors, nor does he want to waste time figuring out enough binding charms to keep them both in place.

The man drops his warded knife and kicks it in the direction of his demon. Kenma makes to snag it back, but the man’s _cut_ spell rips a gash in his arm.

Kenma hisses with the pain. Alright, giving up on actually writing. It’s tricky getting into a magic fight with another witch, especially if endurance comes into play. Kenma isn’t used to being in things for the long haul.

The woman settles again before she grabs the knife. Even with her thick gloves, she flinches as she touches it, and Kenma abruptly realizes what kind of runes they are.

He starts forward at them, letting go of his arm and Midna in order to draw back an arrow, but he’s hauled backward by the nape of his neck. He shoots anyway, but it goes over the woman’s head. “Kuro, run!” Kenma shouts, feeling a horrible sense of deja vu.

“Like hell!”

The man wrenches Kenma’s injured arm behind him, and he grits his teeth against the pain. He starts shoving heat magic into his palm, but the man senses the gathering warmth, and grabs a fistful of his hair.

There’s a knife made of blood at his throat. Kenma stills, momentarily, half a heartbeat away from a _cut_ spell. “Give me back the book. That’s all I want,” the man orders.

Kenma remains silent.

“Stubborn for someone about to watch their tether to life die.”

_Stupid for someone who has a demon of their own._

The other demon ends up on top of Kuro, pinning his arms with her knees, and holds the blessed blade against his neck. He struggles to get away from it, and Kenma thinks he hears it sizzling even from where he is.

“If you kill me, you’ll never find the book,” Kenma’s voice is remarkably level for the way his heart hammers in his ears. “Then no one wins.”

“So I’m offering you a trade, so we both win. Your life for the book.”

The worst part is that they could kill Kuro without Kenma dying; threatening Kuro’s life is infinitely more effective than threatening Kenma’s. But thinking they’re contracted is keeping him alive, so Kenma keeps his mouth shut and tries not to look like this affects him. Most people don’t care for their demons, after all.

The man sighs against the back of Kenma’s neck. He feels his skin crawl. “I don’t particularly want to resort to nastier options. I need that book, and I don’t want anyone else having that knowledge. We’re trying to _stop_ the end of days.”

Kuro laughs at him. “Is that so?”

“There are other ways to make a witch talk,” the man says like he’s about to do something he didn’t want to do.

And he reaches down toward the squirming kitten in Kenma’s hoodie pocket.

It’s Kuro who shouts—a desperate “ _stop_!”—but Kenma who reacts. The blade at his throat has been dropped for the moment, and he aims a _cut_ spell up at a blind angle behind him.

The man yells as he stumbles back, and Kenma feels hot blood splatter against his neck. He curls over Midna and sprints toward Kuro, with a combination _force-down-push_ spell on himself to hits the woman with a solid, meaty _crack_.

The blessed knife clatters away from both demons, and Kenma grabs it up with his free hand, the other still cradling the kitten in his hoodie.

He hesitates. The woman holds her head with a low moan of pain, and the man across the street from them stares at the remains of his hand, blood turning his sleeve crimson.

Kenma wipes the man’s blood off the back of his neck and carefully pockets the knife in his coat. “I’m not killing either of you, but I’m giving you to the coven witches.”

“That’s as good as killing us,” the demon snaps.

A shadow passes overhead, and Kenma and the man both look up in alarm. It takes Kenma a long moment to recognize the silhouette on the broom, but when he does, it’s not an improvement.

Tora lands beside the two demons, takes a look at the settled woman, and pulls a gun. Kenma wishes he could pull Kuro away without drawing attention to them.

The man vaults toward them with fire and blood dripping from his mangled hand, but Tora steps back and rips the blessed knife away from Kenma. Kenma lets him, and reaches around the man towards Kuro.

He drags Kuro away at the same time Tora drives the knife into the woman’s skull.

“Shit,” Kuro hisses, and turns away.

“Try to settle again,” Kenma whispers as he eyes Tora’s broom.

The man has stilled from a combination of binding magic and shock. When Tora finishes by decapitating the woman, Kenma watches the horror and life drain out of the man’s face. He counts.

About ten seconds.

“Hold up.” Tora doesn’t look as he grabs Kenma by the cut hood when Kenma darts for his broom. “He said somethin’ ‘bout a book?”

“I thought you didn’t kill people,” Kenma shoots back.

“This was leftover. This is my _job_.” Tora eyes Kenma, serious and solemn and nearly terrifying.

“How long were you watching?” Kuro demands. “You were just going to watch the entire time?”

“I’ve seen how Kenma fights!”

“They had knives pointed at us! At our _necks_!”

“Where’s the book he mentioned?”

Kenma makes another short move for the broom, but Tora’s hold is iron.

“You’re handing the book over, Kenma.”

“If I give you the book, I don’t want you to come near me or Kuro ever again.”

“What kinda ass do you think I am? Who saved your hide in front of Ushijima and Yachi?”

Kenma averts his eyes, because yes, he _had_. He hadn’t known if it was out of some twisted sense of guilt, or kinship, or a poor stab at friendship, but he had wanted to ignore it.

“How’s your side doing, by the way? It was kind of a rush job, but I mean, compared to how you usually patch yourself up…”

“If we trade you the book, then we want protection,” Kuro says. That isn’t exactly what Kenma had wanted, but he’ll roll with it.

Tora grimly nods. “ _Fine_. And let me at least check you over even out your hair for you, sheesh.”

Kenma actually thinks he means Kuro’s usual mess until Tora releases his hood and swipes his fingers through the short hair on the back of Kenma’s head.

Kenma swats him away with magic crackling in his fist.

Midna mews from his hoodie, and Tora brightens illegally at the prospect of a kitten. “ _Shit_ , Ken, did you get a familiar?”

“ _Don’t_ call me that.”

“Your hot and cold game is a little exhausting,” Kuro informs him, while Tora makes puppy eyes in a vain effort to get Kenma to show him Midna. “Can we skip the part where you threaten to kill us next time?”

“Yeah, fine,” Tora absently agrees. “C’mon, dude, at least let me see her back at my place. I bet Akane would like to see her, too!”

In hindsight, Kiyoko’s brand of friendship was little compared to Tora’s idea of it. They’re both exhausting.

He wonders if it means Tora will try to one-up having an archangel almost eat them.

 

\--

 

Listening to Kiyoko and Yui argue is hardly a step down from Suga and Kiyoko. She wishes Kiyoko wouldn’t be arguing at _all_ , least of all about her.

Alright, granted, Hitoka doesn’t feel very fine. She could eventually be fine, at least in the face of more work. She’s not going to let the rest of them get hurt or die because she’s stuck in bed feeling sorry for herself.

Even if she’s feeling sorry for herself because she’s a horrible person who puts her own sense of morality above protecting others—

Hitoka remembers the feeling of that heart stopping, and screws her eyes shut as she buries her face in the pillow. It still smells very faintly of lavender. Like this, she can’t make out what they’re saying downstairs.

Yui had advocated a stronger offense against Ushijima. As in, turning her loose on him.

Kiyoko, for obvious reasons, had been against it.

 _Even if he’s deathless, what’s the point?_ Hitoka doesn’t care that he would come back, probably, from her own murder. It doesn’t soften the piercing feeling in her chest.

She jerks up out of the pillow when she hears a crash downstairs. It’d sounded like glass.

“ _Yui_! Stop, it’s—”

Hitoka can’t make out Yui’s response, but it’s deep, and grates against the air in her lungs. She throws herself out of bed and nearly tumbles down the stairs in her haste, but when she finds Yui towering over Kiyoko in the shop’s main room, she freezes.

Yui’s wings have grown out far enough to have developed two joints again, but her entire body _shines_ with pale, colorless light. The same white fire collects in her fingertips, and it’s only Kiyoko holding her wrists away from her that stops her from crashing over onto her.

“Yui!” Hitoka exclaims, and Yui blinks back to herself in a heartbeat.

She shrinks away from Kiyoko, settling again, and barely catches herself on the countertop.

To Hitoka’s horror, she doesn’t sound scared or apologetic. Yui just stares at Kiyoko and says, “If I’m going to become a monster, at least let me be a monster in Ushijima’s direction.”

“You’re not a monster,” Kiyoko sternly replies, shaking out her hands. Her skin is pink, but she doesn’t look too badly burned. “We need to figure out the rest of that shackle spell to restrain your power. It clouds your judgment, that’s all.”

“Kiyoko, I’m _hungry_ ,” Yui hides her eyes with her hand, but there are no tears in her voice. She sounds resigned. “What did I do to Oikawa? What could I do to someone else?”

“Kiyoko’s right, we just need to figure out a way to keep you balanced. Just because you’re different now doesn’t mean you’re not you,” Hitoka tells her as she comes closer.

Kiyoko holds out an arm, keeping her at a distance from them both.

“I miss my friends. Asahi’s gone now, I hurt Oikawa, and look at what’s happened now. If you had brought me with you to face Ushijima today—”

“I already gave two teenage boys luck in order for them to give up their memories of you. If Ushijima knew about you, then he’d change his plans, and I can’t… I’ve never foreseen anything about that. I don’t know how we’d stop him.”

“Hitoka wouldn’t have had to have killed anyone! Just let me go finish this—”

“Killing him wouldn’t stop this, Northot brings him back—”

“Let’s see him come back from getting _eaten_!” Yui roars. She clutches at the countertop to stabilize herself, and her claws dig into the wood.

“And if Northot intervenes?” Kiyoko coldly asks.

“It’s not _here_ yet, Kiyoko!” Yui raises up on too-long legs again, wings flapping behind her, shedding sparks. She glows brighter with every agitated gesture. “If you weren’t so dead set on doing this _cautiously_ , we could try to head him off before it gets that bad!”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” Kiyoko hisses, unlike herself. She doesn’t back down, fearlessly glaring up at the archangel, arm raised again to stop Hitoka from coming any closer. “Despite what I may see, we only have _one chance_ at this in reality. If we lose, we lose. I’m not taking unnecessary risks or using our last resort until we _must_.”

“I could eat that matagot. We could lure Ushijima into anything that shows everyone else how much of a monster he is.” Yui’s voice has become inhuman again, reverberating deep in the air around them. Hitoka _sees_ her sprout more feathers. “I could stop him.”

“You’d be hunted down before he would. Everyone would turn against you before him, no matter who you are.” The iciness falls away from Kiyoko in a blink and she reaches up to Yui, pulling her back down to her level. “He would use you as a scapegoat.”

“Let me go.”

“I’m not.”

“I need to stop him. I need to save everyone. I need to—” Yui freezes with a twitch of her wings. She’s nearly solid white again, still a full head taller than Kiyoko, and Kiyoko holds her still, aiming to calm her down.

Her stable form sloughs off like water and her wings flare wide. The archangel unhinges her jaws and says, “I’ll be strong enough to stop Ushijima. I’m just so hungry.”

“ _No_!” Hitoka writes in the air and shoves magic at the two, sending the archangel sprawling. She melts the plastic of the chairs when she gets back to her feet. “Yui, please, calm down!”

Yui ducks under the first binding spell Kiyoko tries to catch her with. She pushes over the nearest table for cover but Yui melts straight through it with her fist.

“Yui, you need to come to your senses! Hitoka and I are your friends—” She gives a small scream as Yui swipes at her through the table, nearly catching her sleeve. “Hitoka, _run_! I can handle this from here—!”

Hitoka turns and bolts for the stairs. Ryuu’s warded crossbow is in the upstairs closet.

Like a predator tracking movement, Yui is after her in a flare of light.

Hitoka doesn’t see her coming before she’s on top of her. She tries to roll, tries to get out from beneath her, but her arms are pinned and Yui’s weight is solid. Kiyoko shouts again behind her, but and Hitoka shrieks as she sees those sharp teeth open out of her peripherals.

Kiyoko swings the table at her, with enough force to knock her flat and pull her off of Hitoka. There are claw marks from where they dragged out of her, but the pain is a distant, ringing sensation.

Hitoka scrambles for the stairs and makes it this time. She grabs the crossbow, a handful of the bolts on the shelf next to the lightbulbs and an extra bundle of sage, and loads it as she jumps back down the stairs. Kiyoko is pinned against the countertop by Yui, and Hitoka is the one with the weapon in her hands.

Tears blur her vision as she raises it against the archangel.

She breaks a vase on the far wall with her first shot, but it doesn’t even make Yui startle. The second bolt goes through one of her wings, but that doesn’t, either, aside from an extra twitch of the growing limb. Hitoka can’t, _can’t_ aim at her head or chest, even if she knows it wouldn’t kill her, _couldn’t_ kill her. She can hardly look at Yui as she aims the crossbow at her.

It’s an accident that the third bolt goes through her neck. She’d been aiming at her other wing.

Yui reels back with a wet, strangled noise. Kiyoko sucks in a breath, releases it, and shoves the archangel away with a _push_ spell. Hitoka drops the crossbow, staring in horror at the bolt lodged in Yui’s throat, tears spilling hot over her cheeks.

Kiyoko jumps onto the countertop to have the height to grab Yui’s face. “ _Sleep_!” she shouts, desperate, then, “Hitoka, sleep soot and sleep draughts! _Sleep-bind-rest_ , Yui, _please_!”

Hitoka nearly trips over the crossbow as she staggers to the nearest rack. She knows where everything in the shop is by memory, but her hands shake as she goes through multicolored jars. Kiyoko continues pressing magic into the flailing, half-bound, bleeding archangel behind her, and her voice is going raspy and faint by the time Hitoka comes over with an armful of bottles.

Kiyoko plugs Yui’s nose and dumps most of a dreamless sleep draught over her face. Yui gasps and chokes on it. Her wings have gotten long enough to beat against the ceiling.

“ _B-Bind_ ,” Hitoka adds, voice catching, and prevents one of Yui’s hands from clawing at Kiyoko. “ _Bind-confine-sleep_.” The magic use makes her head swim, and she knows she cannot do much more.

Kiyoko is shivering with exhaustion by the time Yui slumps. Some of the angelic magic dissipates, but she’s only vaguely human in shape. Her hair has at least returned to its natural chestnut color.

Hitoka falls to her knees beside her and begins to write the runes for her magic scalpel when Kiyoko pitches sideways onto the table. “Kiyoko?” Hitoka asks into the silent shop.

Yui stirs in her sleep, her foot kicking.

Hitoka takes the bolts out of her wing and throat, hissing at the scald from her blood, and continues robotically pouring sleep draughts onto her parted lips until Kiyoko wakes.

 

\--

 

Kiyoko has never seen Hitoka like this. She hasn’t spoken since the fight. She hadn’t even tended to her own injuries until Kiyoko urged her to.

It’s too much. It’s all been too much. The world, Kiyoko, heaped too much upon her.

Kiyoko severs the rest of Yui’s wings again, though she doesn’t think it will help as much as whatever Kenma did had. She knows she can’t ask him, doesn’t _want_ to. She doesn’t want to butcher her own friend. Yui at least seems to sleep a little easier, and Kiyoko locks her in the bedroom with as many wards and spells as she can place on the room.

She did this to her. To _both_ of them. Kiyoko is the one who turned Yui into an archangel—even accidentally, even if she hadn’t known who she was. Yui is slipping further and further away, and it’s as if Kiyoko is losing her all over again. In pieces, this time. It’s even worse.

She’d _hoped_ , god had she hoped. Asahi had been able to stay with them for almost four years after his passing, and Suga came back altogether. Kiyoko had hoped for one more miracle so she didn’t have to lose her.

But now she is, and Yui almost took Hitoka with her.

Hitoka. Kiyoko never wanted her in any fights, she _never_ could have expected her to get into a position with Ushijima like that. She’s glad the situation had been resolved quickly, but at the cost of Hitoka? The fight with Yui had been the final nail in a coffin.

“Hitoka,” she says, and the blonde looks up at her with distant, red-rimmed eyes.

Kiyoko did this.

It had been a mistake to bring her into this. She should have kept her away, kept her _safe_.

She has one last chance to keep her out of this, and that means pushing her away. No more half-assed feelings.

“Hitoka, please drink this for me,” Kiyoko says with a smile. Her eyes burn, and her fingertips have the remains of the fairy sugar fugashi on them.

Hitoka doesn’t question what it is, though she lingers before sipping at it. Kiyoko doesn’t even know if she recognizes it.

“I’m going to make sure you don’t have to go through this again. I promise. Thank you for all of your help so far.”

Hitoka makes a small, questioning sound, but her eyes remain downcast. Kiyoko waits until she’s drank more of the potion before picking up her own and taking several large gulps.

Kiyoko brings their foreheads together. The memory potion never takes long to work, and soon, she knows they’re ready for her to pull the memories from Hitoka. “I love you, Yachi Hitoka, and I’m so sorry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( someone please help her
> 
> this is also the first chapter that the super wonderful [ellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/works) helped me and [hoshi](http://hoshi-doodles.tumblr.com/) with!! they are Very Good betas and help to make bbac everything that it is. (and, ah, [this is my tumblr](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/) and [this is my bbac tag](http://skittidyne.tumblr.com/tagged/bbac-feelings/chrono), in case you weren't already aware)
> 
> 1S’il te plaît, Semi-Semi. = "If you'd please, Semi-Semi." [ return ]  
> 2En chantant. = "With singing." [ return ]  
> 3Je vais toujours chanter pour toi. = "I'll always sing for you." [ return ]  
> 4D’accord. = "Okay." [ return ]  
> 5Donne-moi la bouteille, mon renard roux préféré. = "Give me the bottle, my favorite red fox." [ return ]  
> 6Mon petit mâle. = "My little buck." [ return ]  
> 7Combien de temps penses-tu qu'ils vivent? = "How long do you think they live?" [ return ]  
> 8La plupart d'entre eux vivent plus longtemps que les humains. Quel âge a ton sorcièr? = "Most of them live longer than any humans. How old is your witch?" [ return ]  
> 9Je sais pas. = "I don't know." [ return ]  
> 10T'inquiète pas. = "Don't worry." [ return ]  
> 11Mon oisillon. = "My little bird." [ return ]  
> 12Mon petit mâle. = "My little buck." [ return ]  
> 13Am, stram, gram. = "Eenie, meenie, miney, moe." [ return ] ))


	23. Hinata Shouyou Is Too Eager To Help

“Is there any easy way for you to become visible?” The man named Reon has an exceedingly gentle air about him.

That’s probably a good thing, considering Kenjirou is dizzy from blood loss and half a second from bolting out the door at all the _things_ in jars lining the shelves. It smells of a mixture of bile, blood, and antiseptic. The only two sources of light are a naked lightbulb on a chain, and the witch-light Ushijima holds up beside Tendou.

Kenjirou isn’t sure if his knees are shaking because of the large man with a scalpel. Reon’s teeth are white and even and contrast against his dark skin. He heard some faint trace of an accent in his words, but he can’t identify it.

He’d forgotten the man had asked him a question until Ushijima brings over a jar of witch water with a flick of his wrist.

“Not that I know of.” He’d rather deal with Ushijima fretting over him, blood magic and all. This place doesn’t even smell like magic. “Can I go? I don’t want to be here for this.”

“You need stitches,” Ushijima frowns severely. “A lot of them.”

 _I’m not going to die._ A few of the gashes came close to his neck, and thanks to Ushijima quick care, there are a few concerning points in his chest. Kenjirou also doesn’t want to think about how Ushijima dealt with Tendou’s injury to how he’s standing by, blank-faced, now.

“I think he means another illicit visit to his lover,” Tendou slyly points out.

Kenjirou doesn’t bother correcting him; he is _far_ past caring what they think of Taichi. He does feel a strange sense of gratitude—at least until Tendou points out, “Last time we did that, you snapped back to your body. Would it work if you flitted off afterward?”

Kenjirou doesn’t want them to watch his comatose body, but he also doesn’t want to watch this stranger stitch him up, either. He might as well leave.

For the second time that day, Kenjirou deals with the uncomfortable, trickling sensation of fully settling onto this plane. He feels especially self-conscious of his broken antler, based on how Reon eyes his half-there rack, and the only good thing in the situation is that he’s able to pass out like a light on command.

A second good thing, he discovers a moment later: Northot is nowhere in sight.

He puts both middle fingers up in Ushijima’s direction and skirts _very carefully_ around him, just in case. No offense to the witch. Kenjirou just doesn’t want any encore, _ever_.

“Toshi, what is he?” Kenjirou hears just before he slips out the wall. He scowls, ears low, and doesn’t watch them move his body. He almost thinks he can feel it. Can someone get phantom _body_ sensation?

“Our friend,” Ushijima stubbornly replies.

Kenjirou is able to get rid of the smile before he slides through the last few magicked barriers into the prison.

He nearly trips over the tengu guard _immediately_ there.

Taichi’s eyes widen—the one not swollen shut, at least—as Kenjirou tries to steady himself.

The tengu sneezes and rubs at her nose. Kenjirou can’t see her eyes with her helmet, but her posture has subtly tensed, and he edges halfway into the wall to avoid her.

He sits beside Taichi without a word. He would probably trust himself to speak, safely out of reach of anything that can’t move through the liminal spaces, but he doesn’t want to risk any more of Taichi’s health. He’s not really in the mood for talking, anyway.

He probably should mention Northot. He probably should mention a lot of things. What an adventure to catch him up on later.

Taichi’s breathing evens out, and his head droops, visibility flickering. Kenjirou settles in more comfortably beside him.

When Taichi finally falls asleep, he pitches sideways through Kenjirou, but jolts awake at Kenjirou’s yelp.

“You can sleep on my lap when you get out of here,” Kenjirou irritably tells him.

Taichi’s mouth twitches. Almost a smile.

When Kenjirou returns to his body, he’s been sewn up and his fur is slowly drying. There’s salve smeared all over his chest, thick and hot. His first movement is to try to wipe it off, but Reon grabs his wrist and smiles down at him.

“Not so fast. That needs to stay on you for an hour,” Reon gently informs him. He still has blood on his latex gloves.

“I thought you were going to magic me shut again,” Kenjirou retorts with an uncertain glance in Ushijima’s direction.

“Not a single bit of magic! It was fascinating to watch,” Tendou says.

“Their excitement is refreshing,” Reon remarks like neither are in the room with them. “But this is not so different from sewing up people, I suppose.”

“It’s not,” Ushijima flatly agrees.

“Almost makes me miss the mob. It’s easier to work with professionals. Though I wish they conked out and let me work in peace like this…” Reon finishes with a happy hum and a solid clap on Ushijima’s shoulder. “We’re all squared then?”

“Yes. Thank you, Oohira.”

Ushijima puts his coat over Kenjirou, and it dwarfs him like a blanket. His shirt feels tacky against the mixture on his chest. Tendou floats along after them, a fox again, too lazy to walk, with Ushijima pulling him along like a furry tugboat.

Kenjirou wonders why Ushijima waits until they’re a full three blocks away to say, “Tell me if that ends up hurting.”

“What kinda deal was that?” Tendou loops himself over Kenjirou’s shoulders. When he twitches from Tendou’s proximity to his neck injury, Ushijima picks Tendou up instead.

Tendou happily settles into his arms. Kenjirou wishes he’d dry faster.

“You were stoic, even for you. And he called you such a cute pet name, _mon oisillon_. If I were a lesser fox, I would most certainly be jealous.”  [1]

It’s clear that he’s definitely jealous.

“You may call me that if you wish. It’s just a shortened form of my first name,” Ushijima says dryly. “He has no real connections the magical community, which is why we relied on him now. He believed he owed me a favor because at one point I inadvertently saved a friend of his.”

“So. You helped out the mafia,” Kenjirou translates.

“Inadvertently.”

“You kill things for a living,” Tendou says with another, louder laugh. “It’s cute to see how prickly you get about gangs!”

Ushijima frowns down at him. “I do not.”

“Then what do you do for a living?”

“I offer magical services, like many witches—”

“To the mafia,” Kenjirou politely interrupts.

Ushijima’s frown darkens when he realizes he’s being double-teamed.

Tendou sends Kenjirou a wink, and Kenjirou almost smiles back, until he realizes they can probably still see him.

Well, he’s made worse mistakes, but he doesn’t feel like letting Tendou tease him for the next eon. That would probably be worse than nearly getting gutted by a tengu.

 

\--

 

“That’s a cute hat!” Bokuto exclaims at the sight of Kenma’s bunny-themed winter hat. The ears flop well past his shoulders, and it has soft blue stripes on the inside. At least he can kind of duck behind them, if he tries. He _knows_ he looks silly doing it, but he’s not used to seeing everything.

He hadn’t exactly been aware of _how much_ ‘evening it out’ would entail cutting off.

He knows Kuro is shaking his head behind him, probably mouthing something too, based on the way Bokuto stares in confusion over his head. “Where’s Akaashi?” Kenma asks.

“Went hunting. We didn’t get anything earlier, and that diner place was fun and good, but I swear we just burned off all that energy on the train ride back.”

Midna wriggles out of his hoodie, plops to the ground, and scampers over to Bokuto to declare her dominance through tiny mewing. Again. _Good girl_. Kenma lets her bat at him, trusting Bokuto to not accidentally squash his familiar. He means to retreat upstairs, but of course his tail won’t let him.

“Wait, Ken—” Tora takes one step through the door, locks eyes with Bokuto, and freezes to the spot.

“Told you to wait outside,” Kenma mutters.

He’s not sure why Tora doubted he had tengu visiting. _Maybe he thought I’d run_. A fair assumption, all things considered.

“Who’s this?” Bokuto asks, polite, but with none of his usual friendliness.

“Our,” and Kuro _pauses_ , incriminatingly, and Kenma practically sees Tora break out in a cold sweat, “friend. I guess.”

“Told you to wait outside,” Kenma reminds him before heading upstairs. There aren’t many things in this house, so the book is scarcely hidden by one of the blankets beneath the bed. Kenma runs his hands over the leather binding. He’d hoped for more time before getting reprimanded, and he hadn’t expected it to come from Taketora, of anyone. Sugawara had seemed more likely, and Kenma had prepared for that.

He pulls up his camera on his phone and flips through the book, not exactly sure what he needs, but knowing he won’t have time for everything. Frustration sits sourly in the pit of his stomach. He skips the opening chapter on the basics of summoning a demon and is halfway through photographing the different arrays before Kuro pops his head into the bedroom.

“ _Kenma_!” He has the gall to sound offended.

Kenma spares him a brief reproachful look, before skipping ahead again to the chapter on demonic physiology. _This could have been useful earlier_ , he thinks, before Kuro spreads his hands over the open pages.

“You’re supposed to be giving this up,” Kuro whispers.

“ _You_ volunteered that.” Kenma tries to move his hands, but Kuro presses down, crinkling the old paper. He doesn’t think it’ll look very good with pages scratched or torn, so Kenma releases him with a heavy, disappointed sigh. “Aren’t you being a little hypocritical?”

“ _Me_?” Kuro replies, appalled.

“This is a book about demons. You are a demon. You can’t really blame me for wanting to read up, especially since there’s not much firsthand knowledge of them, and it’s not like I did much research myself before you wrote yourself that contract.”

“…Are you mad I did?”

“No. Not anymore, I guess.” This time, Kuro lets Kenma remove his hands. “I don’t like not knowing things. And I need to be able to protect you, or heal you, or not die if I end up with any more magic.”

“…But Yamamoto ends up with the book.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for playing nice.” Kuro leans in to press a kiss against Kenma’s forehead over the fuzzy hem of the hat. After a long moment of self-debate, Kenma shyly pulls back his hat far enough to expose his forehead. Kuro smiles before leaning in and indulgently giving him another peck. “I think having a friend in one of the covens would be good. You have a knack for getting friends in powerful places, and why you don’t use it more often, I have no idea.”

“Tora is not my friend.” He _very graciously_ does not bring up Kiyoko, even if he knows Kuro is thinking of her, too.

“You didn’t see him after you passed out. The guy’s attached to you, and he’s helped us out a few times. Don’t push him too far away. And for the love of everything—I don’t know, video games and apple pies and Midna— _do not_ get snappy with Bo or Keiji again.”

Kenma pouts at that, because _getting snappy_ isn’t anywhere close to anything related to the tengu. Also— “It’s Keiji now?”

Kuro reddens and scratches at the back of his head. “I mean, technically, yeah? Status is one thing, but I feel like they kinda want to be a little cuddlier now. In a sense.”

Kenma cannot envision Akaashi Keiji as _cuddly_. “I’ll play nice with them, don’t worry.”

“Don’t do it for me, do it because you _know_ you like ‘em, too.”

“I guess.”

“I’ve seen the way you look at Bo sometimes,” Kuro slyly points out.

Kenma scowls and goes back to photographing pages. He doesn’t get as many as he wants done before Tora stomps up the stairs, ignoring Bokuto’s growls from downstairs. The only reason Kenma doesn’t hex him for barging in is because he deposits a purring Midna on his head.

She scrabbles at the hat before pulling it off and plopping into Kenma’s lap, on top of the book. Kenma glares at his traitorous familiar. She bats at the long bunny ears on the hat with a tiny mew.

 

\--

 

“I changed my mind. I don’t want to go anymore.”

“I’ve never seen a grown man act so childish before. And I’ve known Koushi for… how long has it been now?” Tooru is reclining like he’s posing for the cover of a fashion magazine, and only smiles as Suga’s middle finger appears over the top of the dressing room door.

“This is uncomfortable,” Iwaizumi repeats for at least the fourth time, and adjusts his bowtie _again_. Having something fit so snugly against his throat is not a welcome sensation. The awkward, stiff layers of fabric don’t help his overall comfort level, either.

“You look amazing,” Tooru offers. Iwaizumi scowls. “Maybe not that color, though. You could handle black over charcoal, but some color wouldn’t kill you, either—”

“Tooru.” Suga to the rescue as he throws open the changing room door with a little too much flair. “Leave him alone, he’s fine. Let him go basic. You look very charming, Iwaizumi.”

That’s more reassuring than he cares to vocalize.

Less reassuring: the way Tooru drinks in the pale silver suit and the easy, crinkle-eyed smile. Suga shoots the same look back. Iwaizumi has seen these expressions, and he’s not threatened, but he hasn’t seen them since Tooru regained his memories of Suga.

Suga looks good, in a way he probably doesn’t fully appreciate. He supposes he likes the light color on him. It’s strange to see him out of worn jeans and baggy sweaters, so perhaps that’s the draw for Tooru.

“I already know I’m getting this one, so you can pick your jaw up off the floor now,” Suga teases after one last twist to show off the flattering cut on the pants. They match the delicate silver of his jacket. “We need to figure out how to catch that baku of yours, though.”

“I thought you liked shopping,” Tooru pouts.

Suga laughs, already unbuttoning his shirt before he disappears back into the changing room. “We have business to take care of, that comes first. I also don’t like dragging unwilling participants along.”

It takes Iwaizumi a beat to realize that he means him. His frown deepens as he begins tugging off the bowtie. Tooru tuts at him before standing to help him. “You both don’t own tuxes, I know that much about the two of you. Yes, I know we need to find Miyanoshita again, but are the dressing rooms the best choice?”

“Yes, because this will be quick,” Suga replies firmly.

Tooru rolls his eyes, probably fondly, before pulling the tie free of Iwaizumi’s collar. Without asking, he helps him take off the jacket.

“I can’t help you, because I don’t think we could _pay_ any kind of sleep spirit to get near me. You don’t remember, but we tried that for a couple months after I came back. We thought there was something wrong.”

“Most people don’t sleep sixteen hours a day.”

“It was twenty, to start with, and I’ve _gotten better_. Anyway, I’m off the table, and I can guarantee no baku will go near Yahaba or Noya. Your best bet is going to be Tadashi. I’m sure he could use the money—and the sleep.”

Tooru has him down to his undershirt before Iwaizumi recalls that there is, in fact, another changing room free. He steps away and Tooru blinks at him like he’s surprised. Then, a moment later, eyes never leaving Iwaizumi’s, “I’ll probably have to ask him. Or could you, please? You seem to keep a tighter leash after the purge night, not that I blame you. Poor kid.”

“Yeah, yeah. I can handle my own apprentice.”

Tooru finally tears his gaze away with a snort. “Can you?”

“Speaking of, did I mention I saw Sakusa at the purge? And Kyoutani. He said Nametsu Mai called him.”

In an instant, the warmth in Tooru’s expression is gone, replaced by steel. “Is that so?”

“Who’s Sakusa? Nametsu?” Iwaizumi asks. He hesitates before shutting the door to the room, not liking the sudden change in demeanor.

“Mai is part of Foxglove, she’s pretty nice, I suppose,” Suga supplies. He doesn’t seem deterred. “Just figured I’d let you know that they were bothering one of your guys.”

“Sakusa?”

“Ah.” Suga makes a loud noise of realization, and throws open the changing door, eyes wide and pants unbuckled around his hips. “Do you remember Sakusa?”

“I remember him,” Tooru flatly replies.

“That’s not fair! We saw him _together_!”

“Excuse me,” Iwaizumi breaks in, “fill in the lost bodyguard. Not everyone knows everyone else in the city like you two.”

Tooru flashes him a tight smile, and Suga slinks back into his own changing room with a grumble. “Sorry, Iwa-chan. We’ll actually go see him soon, I think, if he’s friendly again.”

“And who _is_ he?” He doesn’t want another trip to someone like Suguru. He still has to see him again to figure out the name business, doesn’t he?

“My therapist, for what it was worth.”

 

\--

 

Kiyoko doesn’t flinch when Saeko leaps out of her chair and knocks it over in the process. “You did _what_?”

“I took her memories,” she repeats, calm and clear. “So I would appreciate your discretion. I plan on telling your brother and Yuu when they stop by later tonight. I’ve already informed Hinata and Tobio, and her mother.”

Saeko clenches her fists. Kiyoko stares straight ahead, just past her, just past Suga, still seated. She expected their anger. She just about welcomes it.

“That’s—” the other woman shakily begins, but she doesn’t finish, and grabs her chair with too much force.

“I still have the memories, and I plan to return them, after things have calmed down. But for the time being, I consider Hitoka to be out of any plans for the apocalypse. I won’t be calling on her except in cases of extreme professional emergency—”

“That was your girlfriend,” Suga cuts in. “You took your girlfriend’s memories, pushed her away, and you’re acting like this is some kind of business deal. Kiyoko, what the fuck?”

That hurts more deeply than she’d expected. She could handle the anger, the disappointment—but quiet disbelief is worse. “Don’t mistake my calm for any kind of detachment from my actions,” Kiyoko replies. She hates herself for the waver in her voice, but it has the desired effect, and Suga’s frown relaxes a notch. “I’m telling you, telling the others, as best as I can. It would do nobody _any_ good for me to what, lose my composure and break down in front of anyone? We don’t need more breakdowns.”

“Not your style, I guess,” Saeko grunts. She clenches and unclenches her fists in her pockets. “Did you even _ask_ her?”

“I don’t know if she recognized the potion or not—”

“ _Fuck_ , Kiyoko!”

“I might be with her on this one,” Suga says, and Saeko shoots him a betrayed look over her shoulder. “You didn’t see Hitoka after the fight with Ushijima. _Something_ had to happen. Not saying the something should’ve been memory erasure, but we might not have the luxury of time right now.”

“She’s not some kind of healing lap dog you can trot out at your leisure and shove back in a kennel when it suits you. She’s a kid—”

“She’s twenty-one, and she has always been aware of the reality of what she helps us with,” Kiyoko coldly tells her. “I know she’s young, and this is the first time she’s ever taken a life. There were too many stressors on her, and I’m taking responsibility. I _have_.”

“So you’re pushing the rest of us into a fight against Ushijima, his lot, and a minor deity, without a healer.” There’s dark humor in Suga’s tone. Kiyoko, while used to it, does not appreciate it.

“I will contain it. We _will_ stop him.”

“Like there’s much option,” Saeko mutters. “It’s something you can’t tell us?”

“Much of it hinges upon Ushijima acting exactly as I’ve predicted, and if he were to vary in any way from his normal behavior, then we’d be at a loss. It’s _delicate_.”

“A bullet in his brain would be a lot less delicate. Faster, too.”

“Without proof, you’d be taken in for murder,” Kiyoko sighs. She hadn’t expected an echo of her argument with Yui.

“Plus, he’s deathless. He’d just resurrect,” Suga dryly adds.

“I bet it’d still slow him down. Listen, we make it quiet, fly under the radar. I’ll go full assassin on his ass. Madoka doesn’t throw a bitchfit, there’s no blood on those spotless hands of yours, and the city doesn’t get leveled.”

“And what if he gets desperate and causes a fight in the middle of a city street again?”

“That wasn’t fun, and I’d like to remind you both that _I_ was the one dealing with the immediate repercussions of that one, not you,” Suga comments. “But how about you both dial back the anger right now? You both have good points, we’re all stressed about this, and we’re ignoring the cold truth of the fact that we’re down a healer, and likely Foxglove’s support if we keep this up.”

“Yeah, because Madoka has been _so_ fond of me up until this point,” Saeko scoffs, but with less aggression than before. She throws an arm over the back of her chair, rests her ankle on her knee, and cocks her head back so she can look down her nose at Kiyoko. Kiyoko has never truly thought of her as a small woman, but in moments like these, she takes up the entire room. “So. What’s the plan?”

“I took out all memories of our relationship, our fight with Ushijima, and a few other stressful moments, so any covering you two could help with—”

“ _No_. I mean, _fucking fine_ , because we’d probably just fuck her up worse if we bullied you into giving ‘em back at this point. We’ll lie to Hitoka’s face for you, happy?”

“Saeko,” Suga warns, and kicks the back of her chair.

“That’s literally what she’s asking.”

“It is,” Kiyoko wearily agrees. “But she’ll be happier this way, in the interim.”

“Just to remind you, Saeko was practically demanding memory erasure after the werewolf incident with Ryuu,” Suga sourly says, and Saeko twists in her seat to sneer at him.

He meets her gaze without much fear.

Under happier circumstances, Kiyoko would be touched he was so defensive on her behalf. Now, it tastes like ash. “I’m not telling either of you my full plans, but the gist of it is to overpower Northot and Ushijima both, in a worst case scenario.”

“And you have a way to gain that much raw power?”

“Yes, I believe I do. But if Ushijima were aware of this, then he would inevitably become more cautious, and I’m trying to pressure him as subtly as I can into more favorable conditions.”

“Mind games with Ushijima for the fate of everyone. _That_ sounds fun.”

“If we can get ahead of him, we must try.”

Suga laughs, tight and a little uncomfortable. Saeko grins, shark-like, but Kiyoko sees the sharpness in her eyes. She’s not off the hook yet.

“Alright, so all we have to do,” Suga says, “is make sure nothing disrupts Ushijima’s plans until we can crush him in one fell swoop. No big deal. I’m sure nothing catastrophic will happen until then.”

“Well, now that _you’ve_ said that, I know we’re fucked,” Saeko grumbles.

 

\--

 

Tadashi’s list of priorities: get a purification spell for Kei, re-ward his apartment, get Kei back to being a luck spirit, finish his winter break homework, and stop the apocalypse before anyone else gets fucked up.

He doesn’t know the exact order in which those are important to him, but he contemplates juggling them around as he pokes the gun clip laying on the table in front of him. It still has a couple 9mm bullets in it. Ushijima hadn’t tried to chase him down for it. There had been bigger fish to fry than one Yamaguchi Tadashi. There were always greater threats.

Now there is a sleep-deprived boy with an intangibility spell, knowledge of breaking and entering, finding magic, and a grudge, who is seriously contemplating fucking up Ushijima’s day. He still has the antler, too, so invisibility.

It’s such a stupid idea.

 _You’re still unlucky_ , he reminds himself, and pushes the clip away with a tired sigh.

Ushijima would still be unguarded and weak. Hinata had messed up Shirabu, too. They wouldn’t be expecting anything to happen too soon, and surely not on their own home territory, wherever that was.

Tadashi doesn’t want to kill him. He doesn’t want to kill anyone, and he’s kind of put off from monsters—whatever counts as a _monster_ these days. It would be best for him to sneak in, grab a bunch of spell ingredients, and sneak out.

And save whatever lower spirit they already have. Shirabu knows where the egg is, but Tadashi isn’t sure if Ushijima has it. The more spell ingredients, the better, but the spirit and the egg have to be his priority.

 _If_ he did such a stupid, rash, senseless thing.

 _Suga’s busy, and so is Morisuke. I can’t ask Kiyoko and Hitoka…_ Maybe Tobio and Hinata would be the perfect mixture of reckless and dumb to help him, but they’re literally the opposite of stealthy. He doesn’t really know them well enough to just call them up and ask them to risk their lives with him, either—even _if_ he had Tobio’s number and even _if_ he got a replacement phone.

Ah, who is he kidding? Tadashi may be a cautious sort of person, but he’s also reckless in his own way when it comes to stuff like this. His life has become a long list of increasing audacity ever since he ran into Suga that one foggy evening.

 _I could do this_ , he thinks miserably, scrubbing his hands over his face and back into his shaggy hair. He knows he’s going to. He’ll probably get cursed himself if he’s lucky—and he knows he’s not.

Tadashi gathers everything he thinks he’ll need: coat and hat and scarf, the clip, a small packet of sleep soot, and a smaller vial of dead man’s blood. He stares at the jar of swirling luck on the kitchen counter, debating. He _knows_ it’s for Kei. He still doesn’t understand how they got it, and from _Kiyoko_ of all people.

Of all the times to need a little extra luck, now would be it.

“Tsukki,” Tadashi calls, and he thinks he hears a grunt from the bedroom, “I’m g-going out to run a few errands!”

There’s nothing but silence from the bedroom, so Tadashi heads toward the jar of luck. A handful wouldn’t hurt anyone. His conscience—which sounds scarily like Morisuke—shrieks at him for the stupidity of this plan. The reckless part of himself—which, even more scarily, sounds like Suga—points out that this is an opportunity that’d be criminal to ignore. It’s not as if Ushijima is a man with his guard down often.

“What are you up to?” comes Kei’s voice, too close behind him.

Tadashi yelps and drops the open jar of luck. It bounces off the edge of the counter, and covers them both in a cloud of glittery gold.

Kei sighs.

Tadashi stares down at the gold dust, which rapidly disappears before his eyes can fixate on anything other than the shine of it.

“Well, we’re lucky again,” Kei deadpans, “because there’s no way that didn’t get us back into the positives. What has you so jumpy and reaching for that luck in the first place?”

“I-I know we were going to save it for when you’d gotten the demon stuff purged again.”

Kei puts a hand on his forearm, then draws away to rub the luck between his fingers. They look human, for now. “I have a feeling we can get more,” he licks off the near-invisible luck from his fingertips. “You still don’t remember how we got that, do you?”

“Uh, no.” He knows Kiyoko gave it to them, but he doesn’t understand why. She would have had to have gotten it from Morisuke, so either she’d been hoarding it for awhile, or he knew, too. But Morisuke never seemed to like when others dealt in luck. “You still won’t tell me?”

“No, but I have the feeling it’s repeatable if we play our cards right. Now, _why_ were you so jumpy?”

Tadashi can’t think of a lie fast enough, and Kei’s gaze hardens.

“What kind of _errands_ were you going to run?”

Tadashi guiltily holds up the clip. “This is Ushijima’s.”

Kei’s eyes go wide, then his mouth curls into a near-feral sneer. Tadashi braces himself for the dressing down he’s about to get.

“You need my help. You were going to leave without me?”

“Uh.” Okay, so not where he’d expected that to go. Tadashi gapes up at him, a little dumbly. “W-Well, yeah. You got the demon thing going on, and Ushijima kind of uses a lot of magic. Plus, that’s risking your life—!”

“I’ve already died once, someone has to make sure _you_ don’t die,” this he punctuates with a jab of his finger into Tadashi’s sternum, “ _and_ I’m the one who’s already fucked with him once. You’re not going alone.”

“We’re just grabbing his shit and running—”

“I’m not a fighter, Yamaguchi. I know.”

“Okay, but…” Tadashi pockets the gun clip again, and casts about for some way to phrase this that doesn’t make this situation worse. Does he want the backup? Definitely. Does he want it to be Kei? Maybe not, but he _does_ like how they work together. Is it dangerous? Absolutely. “What if he grabs you? I was planning on springing whatever spirit they already have locked up, so he’d need a new one.”

“Who knows what I am? They know as well as I do that I’d likely just make the entire thing blow up in their faces.” Kei spares him a look of disdain before he turns to grab his coat from the couch. “I thought we were facing down an apocalypse together. Last I checked, that definitely involves Ushijima.”

Tadashi smiles and grabs his things once more. “Suga is gonna be _so_ pissed at us.”

“I don’t think he’ll be too mad if we cart off another few ingredients successfully.”

 

\--

 

Hitoka massages her temples. This feels a lot like a hangover, but that’s utterly ridiculous since she’s only gotten one once before, and has perfected the manner of avoiding them since then. Plus, she’s a _healer_. She should be able to magic away this headache.

But it’s startlingly resistant to all her efforts. _Stupidly_ resistant.

 _Maybe it’s a tumor_ , she thinks without her usual alarm. She just feels tired. Her head pounds. _It could be some sort of late hemorrhaging. Cancer?_ She can’t even come up with a list of potential causes.

At least Tobio and Hinata have been very sweet about it. Quiet is not exactly their default mode, but they’ve been spending most of the afternoon whispering and handling her like she was made of glass. Delicate handling right now is nice. Even if what they’re suggesting is a little _less_ than nice.

“I don’t think my mother would like it if I just went off to the tengu realm,” Hitoka rubs at her head again. It’s a strangely located headache, too, not exactly a migraine and not anything that could’ve come from a blow to the head. She doesn’t remember getting into any fights, either. She _doesn’t_ fight. She’s the medic.

“It’s just for a few days! And she already said yes, didn’t she?” Hinata asks, head cocked at an alarmingly steep angle. “I mean, Kiyoko said it was okay!”

 _When did he get so casual with Shimizu?_ she thinks, only the slightest bit jealous. She’s technically known Shimizu Kiyoko for about ten years now, but she’s always felt so distant. Even working with her and patching up her hunters was a decidedly businesslike affair. “I’m needed at the coven.” It feels like they’ve had a discussion like this before…

“We need you, too,” Hinata replies, nonplussed.

“I can’t just _go_ to another realm. There’s things I have to—I have to cure another curse, and didn’t Tadashi need help with a cleansing spell?” She doesn’t remember this conversation, but she has the vague sense that she _had_ meant to help him with Tsukishima.

“But we were told we needed your help,” Tobio says.

“Told? By who?”

Both guys clam up. This isn’t really helping her headache, but Hitoka isn’t argumentative to begin with.

“I’m not going anywhere unless I know what’s going on.”

“We’re trying to find the missing egg! That invisible deer guy said he knew where it was, but it didn’t sound like Ushijima has it yet? But it’s gotta be soon, and we need to act fast,” Hinata replies with far too many gestures.

“Who’s the invisible deer guy?”

“Someone helping Ushijima,” Tobio replies. “At the very least, we know he has a matagot and some kind of fawn helping him openly. Who knows who else is pulling strings. Right now, they’re injured, and probably busy, so we have the best chance. We need to figure out how to keep that egg from them.”

“And that means back to the tengu realm,” Hinata finishes decisively.

At least they’re planned out, Hitoka will give them that. It doesn’t mean she thinks realm jumping will help her headache. “Let me just talk to my mother about this? I help out with coven things…” She needs to make sure there’s no pressing jobs. Emergencies always happen, but some things can be planned out, and she’s been strangely forgetful all day. Her luck would have her forgetting half a dozen appointments lined up tonight.

To her immense surprise, her mother picks up the phone and replies, “Hitoka, I thought you were already going? We already had this conversation. I think it would be an excellent learning opportunity, and you shouldn’t refuse when a tengu asks you for help.”

 _Already going?_ Her mother’s tone is familiar enough, nothing strange there, but Hitoka definitely doesn’t remember having a conversation like this. There’s already the matter of what to pack, what to _wear_ , how to address foreign higher spirits; she’d have been fretting about this for a month solid if she’d planned some trip to another realm.

“Are you okay?” Tobio asks with a hesitant hand on her shoulder.

His touch is nothing but uncharacteristic gentleness, but she jumps like he’d burned her. She clutches the strange phone, tries to remember what happened to her old one, and her brain _hurts_. It feels as if it’s leaking out her ears with every new, whirling thought.

“I’m not,” Hitoka realizes aloud. “You were—” _Why are you being nice to me? I almost let you bleed out_. But when? She _knows_ she’d saved Tobio, pressed her hands into the hot blood covering his chest while she worked magic into him, listened to his rattling, wet breaths while he stared up at her. “You were shot?”

When had that happened? Yesterday, a week ago? A month? She doesn’t remember—

Remember.

Her head hurts.

“Someone took away my memories,” Hitoka whispers, still staring up at Tobio.

Now he is the one who jerks away in fear. She hadn’t meant it accusingly, but that stings, and her brows come down low while Tobio looks back wildly for Hinata’s backup. “Th-That is—what do you mean?” he asks, unconvincingly.

It all makes sense—her confusion, her massive headache, the strange feeling she got with them. Oddly enough, however, she doesn’t feel the immediate swelling of betrayal in her gut.

_What did they take away?_

Hinata, at least, doesn’t lie to her face. “How’d you figure it out? I don’t think you were meant to figure it out so fast.”

“I’ve had to treat migraines and issues in the past with people messing around with it. It’s dangerous, and messy, and I don’t…” She doesn’t know who could’ve done this. While not strictly illegal, the covens frown upon it, and no one would do it to Yachi Madoka’s daughter lightly. Unless—she had asked for it? Or a member of Foxglove did it? _Does mom know? Did mom—_ she can’t even finish the thought. Her mother may not be the warmest woman around, but she would never erase her daughter’s memories… _would she?_

“It was for your own good,” Tobio says like he’s reciting it. Hitoka squints up at him. “That’s what we were told, but I think—I mean, I agree. For the reasons behind it.”

“It was kind of cool, but not so cool if it was you? It was really, _really_ messed up. But you saved us!” Hinata exclaims.

 _I_ was _in a fight_ , she realizes, not quite with horror, but certainly distaste and further concern. “You got hurt. You got… shot?” Her brain claws at memories no longer present, handing her half-formed impressions and broken images. Tobio’s blood on her hands lingers. “You’re okay, right?”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters, embarrassed.

“That’s where my phone is.”

“Both of ours got broken.”

“That’s why you know Ushijima is—oh my _god_ , I was in a fight against _Ushijima_?!”

“You’re okay!” Hinata grabs her hands in both of his. She hadn’t realized she was shaking. “You’re fine, we’re all fine, see! We swore we wouldn’t tell you what happened, and we won’t, so don’t make it any harder for us, okay? It was for a good reason. You were _really_ … I mean, it was bad.” He has the grace to look ashamed as he glances away.

Curiosity wars against trust. She _wants_ to trust, at least. But it’s hard to trust _someone_ for doing _something_ that she doesn’t know about but that definitely concerns her. “Am I allowed to ask who it was?” It was either someone her mother knows, so someone in the coven, or someone she has to protect from her mother.

“…No,” Hinata says with an uncomfortable fidget. “But I _promise_ , you’re safe and okay and it’ll be taken care of.”

Hitoka’s own safety hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Everyone else?”

“It’s over now,” Tobio replies with finality. She’s used to seeing him shut out Hinata with that stony exterior, and having it directed towards her isn’t pleasant. She still can’t shake off the not-memory of healing him. “But we still need your help.”

“I’ll help you both,” Hitoka tells them, and Hinata cheers.

 

\--

 

“Allow me to go with you,” Akaashi says and stands.

Kenma stares at them like they’ve grown a third wing.

Akaashi gives him a cool look as they incline their head. “It would give me a chance to help you work out further issues with the glamors you’re making us, and better acquaint myself with the city’s layout. Moreover, I know Oikawa. I can help you with what you need from him.”

Kenma averts his eyes at the mention of the glamors. Shouyou has one, and Kenma’s not about to ask for it back. It seemed stable for him, so Kenma, at the very least, has a working format for how to apply demonic settling to glamor enchantments—but it leaves him one glamor short. “I guess you can wear that one.” _But I don’t need you to escort me._

“You two going out on a date?” Bokuto asks, only half-joking. Kenma represses a shudder at the hope in his voice.

“No, it’s something I have to pick up.” Hopefully sans demonic interference this time.

“Running errands is about as close as Kenma gets to dates,” Kuro says with a snicker, and Bokuto joins in like they’ve shared a great joke. Kenma doesn’t like it.

“Wait, wait, then that means me ‘n you butchering that dragon counted as a date then, right?”

“Definitely not,” Kenma curtly replies as he grabs his coat and hat again. He’d only waited as long as it took for him to be sure Tora wasn’t staking out the place, and it’s not exactly a short trip to Tooru’s. But Akaashi’s presence probably _would_ earn him points. “Kuro, you’re staying here. Don’t leave the house.”

Kuro blows a raspberry, something Kenma certainly never taught him. The witch scowls.

“Keep Midna with you,” Kenma adds, and at least Kuro doesn’t look so miffed anymore. It’s instances like this that he wishes Kuro had his own phone—or either of the tengu, for that matter. “You can use my laptop if you get bored, but I need my phone.”

“We’ll be back later,” Akaashi adds, like Kenma had agreed to letting them come along.

It’s not worth the effort of arguing, though. He digs out the glamor charms from his haphazardly packed bag. He keeps a sharp eye on Akaashi as they put them on, but to both of their relief, it’s stable. Akaashi shifts from foot to foot with a thoughtful hum.

They throw on another layer of clothing, borrow Kuro’s coat, and Kenma once again gets to deal with a spirit in the metro. Joy of joys. At least Akaashi’s nails don’t hurt as much when they’re human and dulled. They don’t cling so much like a stubborn cat when Kenma offers his arm, but every jostle of the commuting crowd makes them stiffen against him.

Kenma graciously doesn’t point out how Akaashi volunteered for this. He places himself between them and the crowd, letting Akaashi claim the corner seat they had glared down a businessman for. Kenma keeps his head low to let the ears of his hat cover as much of his face as possible.

 

\--

 

“Let’s see this again,” Suga says with an imperious twirl of his finger.

Iwaizumi rubs at his itchy eyes, and dives back into the empty dreamspace. Tooru is still a beacon of vitality and heat, but even he seems exhausted by this repetition. They don’t speak as they twine hands, squeeze their eyes shut, and allow the rushing of the Dreamlands to wake them again.

Suga taps bandaged fingers against his chin, leaning forward so much his nose is almost touching Iwaizumi’s. “Well. You can repeat it. That’s the first step of any experiment.”

Tooru goes a little tenser at the word ‘experiment’. Iwaizumi stares levelly back into Suga’s narrowed eyes. They’re warmer, redder than Tooru’s. A little darker. “What good does that do us or our sleep schedules?”

“I know you’re tired right now—” Suga begins and Tooru lets out a wild laugh, “—but do you _realize_ what making a working realm door from the human side on command could _do_ for magical research? People have done some really stupid shit to do that.”

“Koushi,” Tooru says softly. “I know what this means, to you and in general. That’s why we need _your_ help. You know about the Dreamlands, but you know about other planes, too.”

“ _I_ know about _Doors_. This isn’t a Door.” With that, he reaches forward, and clasps at the edge of the portal again. He hisses and draws back immediately, and red blooms across the bandages.

“Stop doing that, soon you won’t have a hand left,” Iwaizumi snaps and tugs him away from it.

“Then you touch it. Without dragonskin. Or Tooru.”

“We can open it, and close it. That’s as far as I want to know about this—”

“Is it only from this side?” Suga butts in. Iwaizumi blinks, taken aback. “Could you open it this way from the other side? What about in other places? What about locations? We need to talk to a baku about the specifics of the dreamspaces and how it’s impacting your sleep, but even the one that went with you on that trip wouldn’t know about the other logistical—”

“Koushi, calm down,” Tooru jerks him away from Iwaizumi. Suga bristles until Tooru forcibly envelops him in his arms. “This is a big deal, yeah. But our priority is sleep, not more stress. You can’t even block out most of your thoughts. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack at this rate.”

“Sorry,” Suga murmurs in response and puts his arms back around Tooru. “But Ptar-Axtlan came from the Dreamlands, and we don’t know about this new one…”

“Ptar-Axtlan is dead,” Tooru firmly tells both of them.

Iwaizumi frowns as he looks away; his own mental walls must be getting bad again. Who knows what all this dream sharing shit has done to his head.

“There are other things that can get out of the Dreamlands, though, so I’m closing this.”

“What if it’s not visible from the other side? Nothing’s tried to get out so far.”

“Well, we’re not _testing_ that—”

“I can get out on my own, remember?”

“Koushi, my precious idiot friend, you last got out of the Dreamlands when you had a _lot_ more magic than you do now. We’re not stranding you there in the name of science.”

Their argument—again—gets nowhere fast, but this time, it’s interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door. Tooru and Suga fly apart guiltily, and Iwaizumi leans back to try to see out the curtained window. All he can see are a pair of silhouettes, one taller than the other.

“I don’t have any appointments today,” Tooru sighs and Iwaizumi slips on part of the dragonskin to close the portal. Whoever it is, they certainly don’t need to see _that_. He’s generally left Tooru alone with whatever psychic appointments he’s had, but Tooru makes it no secret he’s living with another man, so Iwaizumi feels no urgency in vacating the area. Suga certainly doesn’t start moving.

But Iwaizumi all but _dives_ for the hallway when the door opens to reveal Akaashi.

“Hello, Oikawa,” they say coolly just as Iwaizumi slams the bathroom door shut behind him.

“Akaashi! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, hello, Sugawara. I wasn’t expecting you, either.”

Definite eavesdropping potential. Iwaizumi peels off the dragonskin and starts the water running, hoping it doesn’t drown out any outside noises.

“Why does it _stink_ in here?” Akaashi asks, voice only partially muffled by the water. Iwaizumi will take what he can get.

He trusts Akaashi. Probably. He trusts them as far as not hurting Tooru or Suga in Tooru’s own home, at any rate, and he doesn’t want to exacerbate anything with his presence. They got out of the tengu realm by the skin of their teeth, and who knows how Akaashi views them now.

 _Well, Sugawara should still be tengu friend_. Iwaizumi’s worked miracles with less.

He can just barely make out the quieter voice of someone else, and he can’t help but press against the bathroom door to listen. “…thing from you.”

“And I’m here to ensure it happens,” Akaashi adds. “Sugawara, it would be better if you left now. Go join your skinwalker friend in the bath.”

“No, actually I want to talk to Kenma, and I’m _really_ curious what you’d need from Oikawa that you don’t want me here for.”

Kenma—Iwaizumi recognizes the name, at least. Kuroo had spoken of him, and Suga’s mentioned him a few times as well. The witch who summoned the demon. Now he’s curious too, damn it.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense!” Tooru exclaims. “You’ll both have to relax a little if you want me to read any minds, though. Do you want to know any deep, dark secrets? Or perhaps you need help trying to tell each other you love each other— _ow_!”

“Don’t be an ass,” Suga says flatly.

“I want your cursed mirror,” Kenma informs him, voice clear and confident.

“Like hell,” comes Tooru’s just as quick and easy response.

“ _Why_ do you need a cursed mirror?!”

“If you want my help stopping Northot, this is how I help. I won’t tell you any details. I can do it on my own, I just need the mirror.”

“How do you know I have one?”

“Please, like you haven’t posted pictures on half a dozen forums?” Suga asks.

“And what, our dear tengu friend is the threat to get me to hand it over?”

“ _Don’t_ be an ass! Can you excuse us for a moment?” Suga asks sweetly, and Iwaizumi reels away from the door just in time to avoid getting hit in the face. Tooru shoots a dirty look over his shoulder before Suga shuts it behind them. “Kenma’s a spellwriter,” Suga starts without preamble, “which means we could hypothetically ask him to help with this.”

“There’s a lot you could do with a favor from a witch spellwriter,” Iwaizumi agrees, reluctantly. “But _why_ do _you_ have a cursed mirror? Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It’s not dangerous anymore!” Tooru scoffs.

“Why do you think he picked up what he thought was a selkie pelt?” Suga asks. Tooru pretends to innocently smile, eyes on the far wall. “He’s a trouble magnet. But the mirror isn’t a problem by itself. It’s giving it to Kenma.”

“I thought you _liked_ Kenma,” Tooru replies.

Suga shrugs. He doesn’t quite meet their eyes. “I do. He’s done me a lot of favors. But there aren’t very many people I would give any cursed object to without knowing what they were doing with it. …Yui and I used a cursed object in our experiment, that’s all.”

“But he’s not a necromancer.”

“He’s a spellwriter,” Suga repeats.

“Well, what if he can help us with this Dreamlands thing. Would that be worth it? As long as he doesn’t sic Akaashi on us or summon an even worse old god, there isn’t much I wouldn’t allow in the name of some sleep.”

“I’d fight a tengu for some sleep,” Iwaizumi says, voice flat. Tooru snorts, but they’re both pretty sure it hadn’t been a joke.

“I don’t think Kenma would _hurt_ us, or anyone really,” Suga hedges, a touch defensive, “but I don’t like that he won’t share.”

“But we don’t want Akaashi to lash out at us,” Tooru points out. Suga sighs, resigned, and nods, and that’s it for Tooru, apparently. “Alright, we’re trading this for some kind of sleep spell. And hopefully this doesn’t come to bite us all in the ass.”

Tooru nearly prances out of the room, and Iwaizumi trudges out into the living room at Suga’s heels like a kicked dog. Suga’s a worrier by nature, sure, but he’s also the one who knows both Akaashi and Kenma better. This doesn’t sit well with Iwaizumi, but what choice does he have? He doesn’t have enough magic of his own to fix this. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

“We’ll give you the mirror in exchange for a spell, Kenma,” Suga smiles, but he’s all firmness.

“We?” Akaashi asks archly. They’re not looking at Iwaizumi, whereas Kenma stares _hard_ up at him—at least until Iwaizumi glances back down at him. The witch studies Tooru’s knickknacks with sudden interest.

He’s shorter, and slighter, than even Suga, which surprises Iwaizumi on some level. Kuroo is taller even than Tooru, and neither of the tengu Iwaizumi knows are keen on him are small, either. _But he’s the one who summoned Kuroo_. Witch spellwriter. The scent of demon hangs over him like a shroud, now that Iwaizumi’s close enough to notice, and something about it prickles at Iwaizumi’s more feral instincts.

Kenma’s eyes are too sharp, even if he doesn’t make eye contact with Iwaizumi.

“And you’re sure you won’t tell us what you’re planning on doing with this thing?” Iwaizumi asks, a little more harshly than he meant to. Kenma flinches at the growl in his voice, and Akaashi _certainly_ notices.

“A startling amount of parties seem to have a hand in owning a single small mirror,” they remark.

“Kenma would be writing a spell for the both of them,” Suga quickly intervenes, stepping in between Iwaizumi and Akaashi. He’s still smiling, the very picture of sweetness and trust. Iwaizumi has never trusted the man less.

“Very involved for a bodyguard,” Akaashi dryly comments.

“Like you’re one to talk?” Iwaizumi retorts, before he can rein himself back.

Akaashi bares their teeth at him. Suga shoves against him, but Kenma tilts his head to the side with a vaguely annoyed sigh. “Could you both cut it out?”

Akaashi and Iwaizumi both blink down at him. Most of the tension bleeds out of the room.

“I don’t really want to write a new spell right now. Isn’t there something else I could do?” Kenma asks.

“I’ve tried everything I know of,” Suga replies, “so unless you’re more creative than me in magic in a way that doesn’t involve writing new magic—which you’re not—they either need a specific baku or a strong sleep spell.”

Kenma squints up at Suga. “Ask Tadashi to find the baku for you, and I can do something else.”

“That’s Plan A. You’re Plan B, but you came to us, and I like to think I’m an opportunist.”

“Found it!” Tooru flounces back out like he hadn’t been eavesdropping the entire time. At least he doesn’t pretend to smile at Akaashi, but he waves the hand mirror in front of Kenma like one would wave a treat in front of a trained dog.

For a cursed mirror, Iwaizumi doesn’t really _get_ it. He recognizes it; he’s seen it once or twice in Tooru’s room, stashed deep in his closet, beneath boxes of old clothes and sex toys. It doesn’t smell like magic, dark or otherwise, and aside from a single, clean crack in the silvery surface, it’s very normal looking. Old, ornate, but normal.

Kenma’s eyes brighten like he suddenly _is_ a pet dog. “Let me see it.” It’s certainly not a request, and he snatches it out of Tooru’s hand before he can agree. Kenma turns it over reverently in his hands, and Iwaizumi belatedly wonders if they should be handling it with some kind of protection. But Tooru, human and comparatively fragile, had touched it just fine.

Kenma holds it up against the light of the window, eyes narrowed, and Akaashi leans down over his shoulder to inspect it. If Kenma notices the proximity, he doesn’t shy away, but most of his attention seems to be reserved for the mirror.

It glows briefly, in his hands, then fades away. Iwaizumi and Suga both wrinkle their noses at the smell of rotten magic.

“It will work,” Kenma says, mostly to himself. His expression doesn’t change much, but there’s something a little softer around the edges of his round features—Iwaizumi would guess he’s relieved. He doesn’t hand the mirror back, but looks up at Tooru with wide eyes and a relaxed part of his lips.

 _He’s trying to look cute_ , Iwaizumi realizes, bewildered, only able to recognize it because of the contrast to his vaguely irritated expressions up until that point.

“I can talk to Tadashi and ask him to help you—” Kenma begins, but Suga cuts in with a wickedly cute smile of his own.

“No thanks, I can handle my own protege! We’d like a spell from you, Kenma.”

Kenma’s expression instantly shutters again. “That would require a _lot_ of time invested into studying your sleep schedules.” He pauses, pointedly, and glances at Iwaizumi out of the corner of his eye. “And I would have to know about about your physiology.”

“Magic works fine on me, thanks,” Iwaizumi replies as politely as he can manage.

“But that’s time we don’t really have the luxury of right now. Certain things have priority,” Akaashi says. “We’ll help you as much as we can—”

“Tengu help?” Tooru asks, mouth falling open in shock. “You hate us.”

Akaashi’s mouth thins into a flat line. “Your _bodyguard_ stole Bokuto’s egg, caused a depressive episode, and nearly broke my leg in the escape attempt after his theft. You then broke into our realm a second time—”

“ _You_ ripped my skin off of me, _did_ break my arm, _and_ threw us in jail. And we’re still having sleep problems since then, thanks, so if it’s some kind of punishment you’re after—”

“Ooookay, that’s enough then!” Sugawara comes between them like a cheerful battering ram.

“If Kenma doesn’t want to write a spell for you, then we’ll help as best we can. But other things are prioritized,” Akaashi replies, and Kenma’s head snaps up to them like a whip.

“ _No_!” It’s the first time Iwaizumi has heard him raise his voice, much less sound so panicked. “I’m doing this on _my own_.”

Despite the lack of feathers, Akaashi looks distinctly ruffled. They glance away, accidentally meet Iwaizumi’s eyes, and quickly turn again, making for a long, awkward fidget. “I was just trying to help.” Iwaizumi has never heard Akaashi sound vulnerable. Perhaps this doesn’t count, but it comes damn close.

He kind of wishes he were back in the bathroom now.

“I just. I need to do this on my own,” Kenma’s fingers go white where he clenches at the mirror. “Sugawara, talk to Tadashi. I’ll help you out another way. You, um, still have my number, so…”

“Right.” Suga sounds disappointed. Tooru shoots him an annoyed frown, but he doesn’t push it, either. “Be careful with that, we don’t need anyone else cursed. Akaashi, you too.”

“We’ll be careful,” Kenma replies quietly. Akaashi follows him out with hardly a word. Iwaizumi can hear them speaking just outside, but feels awkward enough without trying to eavesdrop—and there’s still the matter that while they have an IOU from a spellwriter, they _still_ don’t have any access to sleep or Miyanoshita.

“I’ll talk to Tadashi,” Suga slumps down onto the couch like he wants to melt. Tooru joins him with a sigh of matching levels of melodrama. “We’ll track down the baku for you. Kenma can… I don’t know.”

“If you want to just give us the money for the mirror and take the spell yourself, you can,” Tooru slumps against Sugawara. “Not that _you_ need it, with your track record, but all I want is sleep.”

“Like I have the money for that.”

“You two are awfully relaxed considering how worried you were earlier,” Iwaizumi points out, not as gently as he intends, crossing his arms defensively. “You were freaking me out, and _now_ you act nonchalant.”

“Anyone who embarrasses Akaashi as much as I do gets a free pass in my book,” Tooru replies. Suga snorts into his fist. “We’re not any closer to figuring out what to do, but we’re not any further, are we, Iwa-chan? It wasn’t like I was using the mirror.”

“But why would he need a _cursed_ one?” Suga murmurs around his fingers.

“Go back to using that research-y brain of yours for _our_ problems,” Tooru whines and nuzzles into the crook of his neck. He almost topples them both. Sometimes, Iwaizumi wonders if Tooru forgets just how big he is. From the way he snickers, Iwaizumi supposes he’s doing it on purpose.

Tooru falls asleep with another sleepy laugh.

Suga sighs, fondly, and moves some of Tooru’s hair out of his face. Iwaizumi watches the tender gesture, upset only because this means _he_ won’t be able to try to nap anytime soon.

Suga carefully shifts in order to pull out his phone, and Iwaizumi wonders if it’s alright for them to focus only on themselves for a bit.

 

\--

 

It’s sheer dumb luck that Tadashi knows how to bypass the wards he finds around the building. That cheers him up more than it ought to.

 _Lucky again!_ Or lucky _enough_. Tadashi studies the magic briefly, but there doesn’t seem to be any kind of trick. Very straightforward wards. Protection, secrecy, and a gentle deterrent from anyone wanting to stumble accidentally into the area.

Kei hovers near his shoulder, glancing around but otherwise silent. For most of the trip there, they had held hands, maybe a bit too tightly. Now, they’re separated, though Tadashi misses the contact. Kei is still here beside him.

Maybe they could still turn around and leave.

Go in, grab shit, and head back out—sounds like a stealth game. Tadashi is decent at those, but every movement feels clumsy, slow, _loud_. There’s no radar or powers to show him where the enemies are. He just has a little knife, a few spells, a magic antler, and Kei. Luck, another pair of eyes, and perhaps corrosive blood. Maybe claws. So they’re not cut out for fighting—

But Kei can float, and they can both walk through walls, and no one can see Tadashi, and Tadashi knows muting and muffling spells. Maybe they are cut out for stealth. He’s definitely cut out for spite.

The gun clip digs painfully into his palm, but Tadashi doesn’t loosen his grip. The magic drags him onward.

He nearly jumps into Kei when he first hears a voice.

The building is probably some old office. It’s too tall for a strip mall, but full of many rooms and floors of varying shapes. They’ve just tiptoed through a huge, empty space that might have been some kind of dance studio, based on the tarnished mirrors and lack of walls. Most of the area isn’t exactly dusty, but there’s a general air of disuse. It wouldn’t be horribly out of place to imagine a horror game set here.

They’re halfway up the stairs when they hear a bark of laughter and, “But that would ruin the fun!”

They both freeze.

Tadashi swallows his heart back down.

The conversation continues upstairs.

“I don’t think there’s much fun in ending the world.”

“We _aren’t_ ending anything. I’m going to—”

“You’re becoming a true renegade for this, so you may as well enjoy being a bad boy!”

“I’m not bad.”

Tadashi wants to gag. It sounds like all three of them are together, and their voices sound distant enough. Hopefully their stuff isn’t with them right now. After one more moment to steel himself, Tadashi creeps further upward, with Kei practically on top of him.

They clutch hands. The tips of Kei’s claws dig into the thin skin on the back of his hand, but Tadashi doesn’t mind.

There’s light at the top of the stairs through the broken door. Another set of wards is on the door frame, _secret_ and _leave_ and _permission_ with a negative slash through it. Maybe he should follow their suggestion. They can leave this place and cut their losses.

The magic in the gun clip spurs him on. Tadashi writes over it and breathes out a sigh of relief as the pressure of the magic leaves him.

“You two will have to distract the god while I build up the banishing circle. I’ll do as much as I can beforehand, but—”

“You want us. To distract a _god_.”

“The god that already hates us?”

“It won’t harm you,” comes Ushijima’s ever-sure response.

 _He actually thinks he’s going to banish this thing himself_. Tadashi can’t _fathom_ having that much confidence. Maybe if he had Ushijima’s confidence, he could just stride into this place and everyone would be too shocked at his audacity to immediately kill him.

They forgo the door and manage to wiggle through one of the walls by the stairs, Kei boosting Tadashi up until he can get horizontal enough to make it through. Kei sticks a little, too, but he shakes his head when Tadashi makes a questioning little noise. Later.

Surely they’re lucky enough to avoid Kei’s intangibility giving out right now. _Surely_. Their palms are sweaty pressed together.

They weave through a few more walls, sticking to closets and small hallways when they can, and are far enough that they can no longer hear the conversation. Several rooms are lit despite being uninhabited, and the few windows are boarded up.

They don’t find any convenient bedroom full of spell ingredients. In fact, they haven’t found any place that looks like it’s close to living quarters. After they find another empty room, Tadashi worries that this is just where they happened to _be_ , not where they are staying. Maybe they were trying to find some other ingredient here. Maybe they needed a large empty space for something else.

He sent them on a wild goose chase. They were mere rooms from the most dangerous people they know, and they’re going to have nothing to show for it. Suga’s going to kick their asses to next Sunday.

He has a decent read on his remaining magic; he’s about done, if he wants enough to walk back the way they came.

When Kei’s thumb rubs over his knuckles, Tadashi jumps. The hallway they’re in is dim, but he thinks Kei’s blushing, maybe a little.

It’s cute. Despite the situation.

They step through their last chance of a wall, and strike gold.

It’s not a pile of neatly labeled spell ingredients with a large egg on top, but it _is_ a large circle of runes and a handful of items. There are a few cans of spray paint in the corner, and many of the runes are scribbled out—it’s a _sketch_. These are Ushijima’s plans.

Kei swears softly, and hesitantly lets go of Tadashi. He floats over the circle and draws his feet up, keeping as far away from it as possible.

“Phone,” Kei whispers after Tadashi pulls out his phone. Kei catches it when Tadashi tosses it over, and takes pictures at different angles. Tadashi walks along the outermost part of the summoning circle, reading what he can. It’s a _lot_ of magic he doesn’t recognize.

He’d known Ushijima was on another tier—he’s a witch, been around magic all his life, strong and smart and powerful—but Tadashi hadn’t thought there was _this_ much magic he couldn’t parse out. He thinks he recognizes maybe three or four marks. Suga is prone to talking magicky jargon, but never anything of this level.

“Morisuke says Lev is a summoner, right?” Tadashi murmurs. _And Kenma knows about summoning circles_. He’s not certain about Suga or Kiyoko, though for sure they’d like to see this.

Owl City suddenly starts blaring from his phone.

Kei fumbles the phone and _thumps_ to the ground in his shock, but he silences it quickly.

There’s a startled shout.

Not quickly enough.

Tadashi tugs Kei to his feet, and Kei blindly shoves the phone at Tadashi. He sees Suga on the caller ID. Apparently Kei had hit accept in an effort to shut up the noise. The cavalry would be nice around now.

Tadashi pulls Kei toward the nearest wall—not the one they came from, not even one in a direction they’d checked yet—and he wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder. “—dashi? Are you _running_?”

“Yeah!” They hear a _pop_ and a confused noise from Tendou right as they vanish through the wall. Did he spot them? There’s no time to think. They have to _move_ , no time to be quiet now. “Okay so—we— _I_ fucked up, Suga, but you can—chew us out when you get here!”

“Oh god, where are you? _What_ did you do?”

“I don’t—I don’t really know?” Kei jerks him to the side through another wall.

“ _Hey_! You— _qu’est-ce que fuck_?!” Tendou barks, distinctly close by.  [2]

“Shit.” Kei yanks them through yet another wall, squeaking through just before the spell timer runs out.

“Get Morisuke!” Tadashi yells into the slipping phone. “ _Please_ , Suga! We’re in the industrial district somewhere—some old abandoned something—”

Tendou pops in front of them just as they step into the room. Kei jolts to a stop, but Tadashi stumbles forward, dizzy from prolonged magic use.

Tendou grins down at him. “Why, if it isn’t my least favorite demon. Whatever do you think you’re doing here?”

His eyes rove suspiciously over where Tadashi is standing, but snag on Kei’s claws.

“Oh, god, it’s _them_.”

Both Tadashi and Kei jump at the unseen voice in the doorway. Shirabu.

At least, he’s _supposed_ to be unseen—but Tadashi blinks at him in the same manner he dazedly blinks back. He’s dry, Tadashi can see that from the pale ash coloration of his hair and the fluffy, nearly-black fur on his legs, but he doesn’t quite understand why he can _see_ him, until Shirabu’s eyes lock onto the antler hanging around his neck in horror.

 _Fuck_.

“How did you find this place?” Tendou demands. He keeps his glare on them, but inclines his head to address his cohort. “He didn’t mess with anything?”

“Not that I saw. Ushijima is checking things over. What kind of spirit do you think he is?”

Kei twitches, and Tadashi shuffles back a step until they’re in contact once more. The phone has long since gone silent.

“We can experiment,” Tendou says happily. His eyes slide over Tadashi once more. Too often for coincidence.

“You know there’s two of them, right?” Shirabu asks, voice utterly flat.

“Ah, I was wondering! I’m getting good at seeing you, so—oh _my_ , does that mean that’s _your_ antler?” Tendou doesn’t make any move to approach either of them, despite his apparent delight at the situation.

“Who was it?” And then the witch himself comes into the room. He falters, just the tiniest bit, at the sight of Kei. His eyes narrow to dangerous slits, mouth twisting down into a dark scowl. “You again.” His voice is even deep with poorly-suppressed contempt.

“The little freckled human, too. Guess who has Shirabu’s other antler!” Tendou exclaims, and Shirabu swats at him. “Ow, how cruel. If you ask me, I’d say it’s pretty lucky for them to have made it this far. Maybe your last ingredient just walked himself in here all nice and polite?” Tendou floats over to Ushijima like he’s moving through water, and curls around the witch with a wicked smile. “Of course, that still leaves a hanging thread to be taken care of.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Shirabu asks.

Ushijima reaches for his gun.

Kei pushes Tadashi out of the way, and Tadashi activates the spell again just before he hits the ground. They sink through the floor, and Kei catches Tadashi before he falls completely. They bolt for the next nearest room. They _have_ to put walls between them. Tendou can only follow them when he knows where they are. Shirabu is slower than either of them, but they’ve sunk into the open dance hall. It’s a sprint against time.

Tadashi hears boots and hooves stomping upstairs. Tendou reappears behind them.

And then, a second _pop_.

“Ah, _le chat_! Come to rescue your kittens once more?”  [3]

Morisuke stands between them and Tendou, haloed by fire. They catch each other’s eyes just as the boys make it to the wall. “Get outside!” Morisuke shouts before they rush through.

 _Suga can’t be here yet_. Morisuke has to stay ahead of Tendou, ahead of Ushijima, but he’s already managed that thus far, right? Apparently, they have some sort of plan. Tadashi has to trust them on this.

When they reach the stairs, they don’t see anyone else. Kei nudges Tadashi in the downward direction. “You head outside, find out what Suga and Yaku are planning.”

“What? _No_! The hell do you think you’re going?!”

“I’m going to grab what I can. Don’t argue— _I_ can walk through as many walls as I want, and I’ve already died once, so I’m really not as fragile as you. And you heard it yourself. Ushijima doesn’t want to use me anymore,” Kei concludes with a grim smile.

“Okay, but _I’m_ the invisible one,” Tadashi yanks off the antler, “so if you’re going to—”

“No, put that back on!”

“We can’t sit here arguing in a stairwell! If you’re going back, then you’re going back _unseen_!” Tadashi shoves the antler at him.

“Then you’re a sitting duck! A _mortal_ sitting duck!” Kei snaps right back. He pulls the leather cord free of Tadashi’s fingers, then pushes it back down over his head with too much force. “We’re going to make sure we didn’t risk our lives for nothing, but god, just—go. I can’t leave you with Ushijima again.”

“I can’t do that with you, either,” Tadashi knows that Kei can’t see the way he’s chewing on his lip or scrunching his nose to stop the stupid stinging in his eyes. “You’ve already had to—I mean, you’ve done this once before, Tsukki. Give me a chance to shine, would you?”

“Suga’s martyr complex is rubbing off on you,” Kei says into his hands. They’re blackened past his sleeves with claws in place of his fingers. They haven’t even encountered much proper magic yet.

They both head back upstairs.

He hears muffled shouting from downstairs, briefly, before silence falls. Morisuke and Tendou are probably playing hide and seek again. With relatively free rein, it doesn’t take long to find the room with the circle in it.

They can’t destroy much, but there are a few things in here: the spray paint cans, of course, but there are two bundles of dried purple flowers, a pair of long scales, and a jar of some suspicious liquid. Tadashi lights the flowers on fire while Kei grabs paint and begins scribbling.

The jar is glass so they can’t break it without making noise, but Tadashi tries to shove it in his coat pocket anyway. They can smash it on the way out. That’d be satisfying. It doesn’t quite fit, but he can shove the scales in one pocket. He stuffs the jar under his armpit and watches as Kei meticulously crosses out each major clumping of runes.

“You could’ve just like, drawn a dick or something.” He’s rewarded with a flat look from Kei. “Or maybe a giant middle finger.”

“You’re overestimating my artistic drive.”

“Toss me a can, I’ll help.”

Kei tosses him the one he’s holding, but he misjudges again, and Tadashi dives to catch it before it can clatter to the floor. “Shit, Tsukki, I almost—” he begins as he comes up, can safe in his hands, but the glass jar ends up slipping out from beneath his arm.

It doesn’t shatter, but it bounces with a loud pair of _thunks_.

Both freeze, terror overcoming the situation once more.

There are no immediate foes bursting through the door with weapons drawn.

“I-I guess Morisuke drew Tendou away,” Tadashi mutters under his breath. Kei’s shoulders slowly come down from around his ears. “But we should get going.”

Nothing about the spray paint seems magical, so it’s not worth taking along. Tadashi _carefully_ handles the glass jar this time.

They tiptoe out of the room, and now Tadashi can hear talking from downstairs. Nothing like mid-fight shouting or Tendou’s carrying voice, so he assumes it’s Ushijima and Shirabu. There’s only one set of stairs, and there’s no easy way of avoiding them.

“Yaku said to get outside,” Kei says right in his ear, his arm looped through Tadashi’s free one. “There must be a reason.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I _know_ that. But what about the roof?”

Tadashi isn’t certain how tall the building is. It isn’t a skyscraper, but he doesn’t think it is just one or two more floors above them.

“Do you smell something burning?” Ushijima’s voice is suddenly _much_ closer.

Kei drags him upstairs before they can second-guess anything further. There’s a brief glimpse of Shirabu before they duck around the corner.

 _I didn’t hear his hooves this time_. He doesn’t remember seeing anything on his feet, so it must be some kind of silencing charm. He refreshes their own as soon as they’re a flight up, but he’s is running out of magic. Kei hasn’t commented, but there’s no way he hasn’t noticed. “I think I have… two wall-walking spells left in me,” Tadashi whispers, optimistic. “No more muffling spells, maybe some ward breaking.”

“Time to leave, then,”

“Time to see what the plan is.”

There aren’t as many charms or wards as they go up. Ushijima probably hadn’t considered threats from above. The windows are still boarded up, and the place is in disrepair, but nothing they can’t navigate with the light from Tadashi’s phone.

Four floors up from the room with the circle, Tadashi risks another call to Suga. They’re far enough away that nobody should overhear them. No luck. It clicks over to voicemail immediately. He remembers how Shirabu shattered Hitoka and Tobio’s phones before, so he starts sending the pictures they took of the circle.

“How hard can it be to avoid an invisible fawn and omnicidal witch?” Kei mutters without much humor.

“I can see Shirabu,” Tadashi says, and Kei turns to him with an eyebrow arched. “It’s his antler, so I guess it’s the same principle.”

“So he can see you, too.”

“Well, yeah…”

“Let’s just get to the roof.”

Tadashi thumbs at the antler, pouting, and trails Kei up the stairs.

Good news: they find the door to the roof. Bad news: it’s boarded up, too.

Tadashi can’t feel any magic, so someone managed to drive industrial nails through the concrete with pure force. If Ushijima was responsible, Tadashi might be a little more scared of him now. “Well, shit.”

“We can walk through walls,” Kei deadpans.

“This is my last one. We’re committing to the roof.”

“They said outside; this will be outside. And it’s another thing the other two _can’t_ get through, not without a lot of forewarning for us.”

Tadashi rolls his eyes, writes the runes, and steps through the thick door.

This high up, the wind is cutting, and Tadashi nearly stumbles against Kei. They duck out around the door to get out of the wind. He doesn’t know how they’ll get down again—maybe they’ll get _really_ lucky and there’s a fire escape they hadn’t seen. Maybe Suga will bring Kiyoko and she’ll have enough brooms this time.

“Think they’ll fly in?” Tadashi asks, squinting up at the grey sky.

“With what, the archangel?”

“What? No. Brooms?” Tadashi turns to him, confused, and Kei looks stricken for a tiny moment.

Why would Kiyoko bring an _archangel_ , of all fucking things?

Something itches at the back of his brain, a pinprick of painful curiosity.

Their luck runs out as a cat and a fox appear on the scene with a flash of fire. Their snarls ring through the cold air, even above the wind. From the look of it, Tendou has Morisuke pinned.

Tadashi starts forward, but Kei puts out an arm. They haven’t been noticed yet.

The cat kicks at the fox, tail aflame but unheeded, and Tendou’s laugh cuts clear through the scene. Tadashi weighs the dredges of his magic, wonders if he can make a couple of arrows, but Kei pulls the jar from beneath his arm. He takes aim, and lobs it straight at the spirits.

It crashes solidly into Tendou’s head. He hardly makes a sound when he limply collapses off of Morisuke.

The bakeneko wriggles out from under him, ears pricked and tail still fiery, then turns to look at them. “Nice shot,” he declares with a sharp grin. He hops into the air and shifts back into a more human form, and like this, Tadashi can see the blood soaking his pant leg.

“Are you okay?” Tadashi asks in concern.

“I’ll be fine. I’m only here to play distraction for you two until Sugawara arrives.”

“Well, we’re winning,” Kei says flatly. He edges toward Tendou like the fox is a poisonous snake and nudges him with the tip of his boot. “What do we do with him? It’s a shame _we_ don’t need a higher spirit for anything.”

“You could always try eating him,” Morisuke suggests. Tadashi laughs nervously while Kei backs away with a sour look. He’s not sure how serious Morisuke had been. He’s scared to ask. “Actually, _have_ you been eating? Don’t think you can hide those claws from me now.”

Kei shoves his hands into his pockets anyway. “I’m fine.”

“It’s the usual. He’s not eating and I’m not sleeping. But we burned a bunch of Ushijima’s shi—stuff, and got this jar of whatever!” Tadashi retrieves the seemingly indestructible jar, holding it triumphantly aloft. (He doesn’t notice Tendou’s tail twitch by his foot.) “Tsukki, catch. I’m writing a circle to put this guy in.”

He kind of wishes he still had the spray paint, but he’ll settle for writing without seeing what he’s writing. He’s never written a circle like this, but in theory, it’s _possible_. At least, Suga told him it is. Tadashi makes the circle as small as possible around the fallen fox, and tries to keep it simple— _confine_ and _seal_ mostly—but his magic zings back against him when he accidentally overlaps a few runes.

Tadashi sticks his stinging fingers in his mouth and frowns around them. He’s starting to understand why Suga carries a huge bag around with him everywhere.

“Amateur,” Tendou says, slitting open an eye.

“Oh yeah? Then try and get out.”

Tendou sits up and his tail brushes up against the invisible wall of the circle. Answer enough for Tadashi. Kei grins, sharp and cruel. “I’m enjoying this sight,” he announces and floats cross-legged in front of the confined fox. Morisuke mirrors his pose with a matching smirk. (Tadashi _knows_ they’re not related, but the similarity is striking.)

“You don’t even know what to do with this sight,” Tendou says around a feigned yawn. “My cohorts will be up here soon. Then what?”

“Surely you know what a hostage situation is,” Morisuke replies, frowning.

“Aren’t you overestimating a partnership born of convenience?”

“I saw the way he reacted when you got shot,” Tadashi says quietly, and Tendou’s unaffected air falls away in a blink.

“Sounds like a bit more than a partnership born of convenience,” Kei smugly says, “and that means you’re our ticket out of here.”

“Sugawara said he was bringing friends to come, and I quote him, ‘bail your dumb asses out of the fire so he can chew you out properly’. I don’t know what form that will take, but having him with us shouldn’t hurt our chances,” Morisuke says. Tendou flicks an ear in irritation. “But speaking of—what the _hell_ do you think you two were doing, sneaking in here on your _own_?!”

“Sabotage,” the boys reply in unison. Tadashi also holds the unbreakable jar up to punctuate.

Before phase one of the Reprimand Yamaguchi And Tsukishima plan can truly begin, there’s an ominous _crash_ from somewhere beneath them. Tadashi swears he felt the concrete beneath them quake. Tendou covers his snout with his paw, undeniably _grinning_.

The boarded-up door to the roof dents with a metallic screech, before it shatters outward. They’re far enough to the side that none of the pieces hit them, but it makes them jump, and Morisuke puffs up again.

Shirabu shakes out his fingers as he delicately picks through the wreckage. “Ah, Tendou. Ushijima was worried, as usual.”

“Then where is he? You’re not the fighter he is,” Tendou replies, as if the freak fawn hadn’t just blown out a steel door.

“We have company.” Shirabu’s eyes linger over the antler hanging from Tadashi’s neck; he can see something disturbingly like _longing_ in his gaze. His expression hardens as soon as he notices Tadashi’s attention, however. “Also as usual, I’m sent on a fetch quest. Sorry, I’m going to need the annoying fox back.”

 _So Suga’s here_ , Tadashi thinks, both excited and worried.

“Wait, wait—we have the spirit we need _right here_!” Tendou gestures with both front paws toward Morisuke. Morisuke spares him a look like he’d just stepped in something unpleasant. “Don’t tell me we’re ditching this place! We were fine kicking their asses when the witch and zombie came last time, _and_ there was the tengu! Why’re we leaving?”

“I think you’re ignoring the fact that _we_ have your friend,” Kei points out. “And your jar of… whatever.”

“If you’re willing to hand over the jar, that’d be nice, but I’m really just here for the fox. I’m not a fighter,” says the one who just casually _blew out a steel door_ , “and I don’t think Ushijima is in a particularly good mood since you’ve gone and fucked everything up for us. _Again_. But we’re willing to not kill you right now. We’ll even let the bakeneko go.”

“ _What_ did Suga do to scare Ushijima so badly?” Tadashi hisses out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t trust Shirabu as far as he could throw him, but even when he’d been talking out his ass in the confinement circle with Hinata, he had been direct and cocky. Even Kei looks spooked now.

The answer comes in the form of a _dragon_ flapping up alongside the roof.

 

\--

 

Suga, with his arms folded tight over his chest, does his best to stare down the monster of a man gaping up at Iwaizumi. Tooru radiates thinly veiled disgust behind him. “Iwa-chan says your kids and the cat are up on the roof,” Tooru whispers in his ear, “along with the fox.”

The main issue is ensuring that same stupid fox doesn’t take them on any more joy rides. The other main issue: the blood dribbling down Ushijima’s hand as his grip on his blade falters. Human blood doesn’t fizzle on the concrete.

“We’re leaving with my charges and the bakeneko,” Suga says, and Ushijima’s attention drops back to him. He’s glad he doesn’t have to raise his voice further; he’s gratified it isn’t shaking. “And if you try to fight us, we’re going to drop a dragon on you.”

Ushijima tilts his head back; Iwaizumi cuts an impressive figure against the roof when he lands on the edge and spreads his wings. There’s enough fear in Ushijima’s expression for Suga to feel comfortable, but he doesn’t like what _else_ he sees there.

“Of course, if you want to come quietly and turn yourself in and admit to all the bullshit you’ve been pulling, that’d be great, too.”

Ushijima doesn’t even seem like he’d heard him that time.

“Koushi,” Tooru whispers, urgent now. His weight leans against him, and his breath smells like copper and iron, “This isn’t good. Ushijima is… becoming unstable, or something. There’s something else bleeding through.”

“Time to go! Have Iwaizumi bring them down here. We’re not engaging,” Suga hisses back.

“I’m not a walkie-talkie!”

They had already discussed it beforehand, anyway. Suga begins backing away from Ushijima, keeping himself between Ushijima and Tooru. Ushijima shows no outward signs of possession right now, but who knows how long that will last?

Iwaizumi flaps back down with rattled teenagers in tow. The gusts from his wings buffet them, but Suga and Ushijima stand strong. Ushijima glares around the dragon’s tail at the pair of them while Tadashi fails to step out of Iwaizumi’s claws with dignity.

“We’ll be going, then,” Suga coldly calls.

“Suga!” Tadashi rushes to him, trailed closely by Tsukishima, and to Suga’s surprise, he throws his arms around him. Suga hadn’t thought he’d be this upset, or scared—but when Tadashi pulls back, there’s determination in his eyes. “We took pictures of his circle—we grabbed his shit! We have _proof_ of what he’s doing!”

Tsukishima holds up a glass jar in demonic hands.

“You two are grounded,” Tooru says thickly, “or whatever Koushi does for punishment. Iwa-chan, back to human, we’re fine now.”

Iwaizumi grumbles.

“We can’t take a train with a _dragon_.”

Morisuke appears above them as a cat and lands lightly on Tsukishima’s shoulder, his collar _dinging_ gently. Morisuke doesn’t comment, likely saving it for later—oh, he’s going to have words for all of them.

The fox is back over by Ushijima now, and both watch with great interest when Iwaizumi slips off his dragonskin. The glare Iwaizumi gives them could peel paint, but neither are shaken. Suga wonders where the other one is. Surely they aren’t hostile enough to still start a fight?

 _We have proof now_. Hope and happiness bubbles up, unheeded, inside him. They can bring this to Kiyoko and Madoka, and there’s no way other covens could continue to turn a blind eye.

“We left Shirabu on the roof,” Tadashi explains as he catches Suga’s gaze, “and apparently that antler is his. So it doesn’t work on him, but you can see him if you wear it.”

“Put it back on, and tell me where he is?”

Suga isn’t sure _what_ causes Ushijima to draw his gun again. Iwaizumi tenses, skin pulled tight over his shoulders as scales creep up his arms, and Suga grabs blindly at Tadashi to drag him behind him.

“So, as it turns out, we really can’t afford to get caught so soon. And it’s a _real fucking pain_ to have to keep replacing ingredients you steal, blondie!” Tendou calls over.

Tsukishima goes rigid and Morisuke’s fur slowly rises.

“Oh, don’t be like that! We won’t even ask for the cat right now.”

“What exactly do you think you’re negotiating, then?” Suga asks.

“Shirabu is with them, near the door,” Tadashi whispers in his ear. At least it means all of the players are accounted for now, barring an early surprise god.

“We just ask for three things, and we’ll let you safely leave with all of your thieving and rude ways,” Tendou’s tail is wagging. Suga has the sneaking suspicion that it doesn’t mean precisely the same thing in foxes as it does in dogs. “One: we need that jar back. Two: you give us that antler back. And three: hand over the dragonskin.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Iwaizumi clutches at his pelt.

“You weren’t meant to have it in the first place,” Ushijima says. He extends his free hand, palm up, like he fully expects Iwaizumi to walk over and hand it off. “ _Ptar-Axtlan-wgah’n, shaggoth-grah’n—hlirgh ftaghuor._ ”

Suga and Tsukishima both clap their hands over their ears, and Tooru stumbles back. He hears Tadashi softly swear. “A little warning, next time?” Tendou whines as he floats away, tail curled between his legs and paws pressing his ears flat.

“ _Mnahn’ n’ghanyth_!” Iwaizumi roars. His grip is so tight on his pelt that he’s shaking. “ _Ylloig—shuggoth—nnnshug. Nafllw’nafh, naflhafh’drn._ ”

“Not you too,” Suga groans. He tries to drag the others further from Ushijima and Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi steps forward in front of them like he’s protecting them. Probably not far off, but Suga’s R’lyehian is rusty at best. He only ever got as far as _yhri_ and _shagg_.

“ _Shaggoth-grah’n_ ,” Ushijima coldly repeats. He continues holding out his hand for the skin. “ _Nafls’uhn-r’luh, nasll’ha Ptar-Axtlan._ ”

“ _Northotnythog, ph’ngluiog Ptar-Axtlan_ ,” Iwaizumi gestures back at Tooru, pelt snapping with the movement—then does a double-take full of fear.

Suga realizes, a little too late, that their canary has stopped singing.

“Shit, _shit_!” Suga grabs Tsukishima and Morisuke and pushes. They bump into Tadashi, and they all rush toward Ushijima.

Tooru has blood and ichor dripping down his face, running over his bared teeth. His eyes are black as pitch with hardly a glimmer. His voice is thick, garbled, _choked_ , but he rasps, “ _Ya ah shuggothh_.”

“Exorcise him!” Iwaizumi shouts as he leaps for Tooru. The psychic goes down easily beneath him, limp like a puppet with its strings cut, but his horrid grin and dark eyes remain.

“It shouldn’t even have enough of a foothold here to possess him!”

“The last time that damned cat got him, it came through _me_.” Iwaizumi jerks his head back toward Ushijima, who looks frighteningly impassive about this situation. “That bastard is enough of a foothold. _Exorcise him_!”

“Tadashi!” Suga calls and Tadashi by his side in an instant, with the antler hanging off his wrist. Suga rolls up his sleeves, while Tadashi shoves the makeshift necklace at Tsukishima. “You two need to go, before they decide that they need a higher spirit after all.”

“Not until you’re out of the woods,” Morisuke replies.

“Tadashi, pin Oikawa down. Don’t touch him if you can avoid it.” He doesn’t know if he’s about to get cursed, but he’s not taking that chance. Tadashi writes the runes while Suga digs out his salt, rowan ash, and holy water.

Iwaizumi eases off of Tooru to give them space, and hovers for a single worried moment. After throwing his pelt on Tadashi, he’s off like a shot. If Suga didn’t know better, he’d say he jumped between spaces to get on Ushijima so quickly.

They had wanted to avoid a fight, goddamn it all, but Suga hadn’t thought possession had been a risk. He _never_ would have taken Tooru anywhere where this was a possibility again. It feels just like Halloween all over again, watching some _thing_ wear Tooru’s skin and enjoy it.

When Suga’s hand brushes Tooru’s bruise-colored jaw to feel his pulse at his neck, black magic burns against him. He keeps his fingers steady, counting out the erratic beats, and Tooru’s expression tips into confusion. “There’s a lot you don’t know about the human realm,” Suga tells the old god, “and the fact that I’m not scared of black magic is pretty low on the fucking list. You have three seconds to leave Tooru, _unharmed_ , before I take this little piece of you and _erase_ you from our plane.”

“ _Ep ee_ ,” Tooru sighs. His voice is still largely his own, but there’s something else beneath it, thrumming and insistent. “ _Ya fhtagn, shuggothh._ ”

That sounds like a no. Suga makes sure Tooru’s body is immobile beneath him before drawing his wards. He swallows nervously. Dragonskin won’t work here, and Tooru has already had a hell of a day. Suga has two choices: try to drag enough of Northot into this realm—into _Tooru_ —to properly exorcise it, or try to see if he could purge a possession. This is hardly a shade of the deity, just enough to piggyback off of Ushijima.

“ _You risk burning through the weak psychic_ ,” Tooru purrs.

“Oh, so you _can_ speak normally,” Suga shoots back. “I _really_ hope this hurts you.”

He digs his silver knife into the meat of his palm and smears dead man’s blood over Tooru’s face. When Tooru sputters and jerks against the magic holding him, Tadashi jumps, but Suga doesn’t bat an eye. He rips open Tooru’s coat, pops several buttons of his shirt, and swipes his bloody hand down his sternum. He writes purging marks down his chest, and Tooru thrashes and curses at him in the language that makes his ears burn.

Suga is ripped away from Tooru by an iron grip on the back of his coat before he can see whether or not it worked. He hits the ground heavily, stunned, and finds Ushijima standing over him. He clutches his head with one hand, blood blade dripping and losing form in his other, eyes unfocused and exposed skin shiny with sweat. “What are you… doing…”

Ushijima stumbles forward, raising his blade, but he collapses to his knees after hardly a step.

Suga scuttles away and searches desperately for Iwaizumi. He’s locked in a one-sided grappling match, which means he’s with Shirabu. That only leaves the fox.

Tadashi is leaning over Tooru, writing magic with a mask of determination.

Suga feels a burst of pride for the kid. _He’s seen purging magic before_. At the very least, he won’t mess it up badly enough to kill Tooru. Which gives Suga time to get the higher spirits and dragonskin out of here. He doesn’t care about that jar, and he’ll give up the antler if it means Ushijima backs off.

He already has the blood for writing, so Suga backs away from Ushijima—dry-heaving on the ground and momentarily harmless—and makes it toward Iwaizumi. He writes down his pants, hardly glancing downward. By the time he races over, Suga has a stagger in his step and a shade bursting forth just in time to ram into Shirabu.

Thank _fuck_ he guessed correctly; one of the shade’s dripping limbs flails through Iwaizumi as Shirabu backs up with a shriek. Suga still doesn’t know what Shirabu is, but he’s good at educated guesses, even when it comes to intangibility.

“We’re leaving,” Suga pants, tugging at Iwaizumi’s arm, then sagging against him a moment later for support.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Not _now_ , we have to—”

Ushijima standing over Tadashi and Tooru, his gun pointed between Tadashi’s eyes. The man is livid, but he’s still shaking. His face is ashen, and there’s blood dripping from his nose. Both arms are raised to support the gun, and while there’s nothing but steel in his gaze, his aim wavers. “Stop,” he commands.

Tooru’s body jerks, and he laughs, weakly and wetly.

Tadashi puts his palm down on his chest to still him, and Ushijima’s finger comes off the guard to rest on the trigger.

Suga does not like guns, but he wishes he had one right now. Magic is not fast enough. “Ushijima, stop this. Put the gun _down_.”

“Step away from them,” Iwaizumi adds, “or else.”

“You need to stop whatever this is,” Ushijima replies without looking at them. His head droops, then snaps back up to attention, and his mouth falls open to try to breathe. He doesn’t look good, they could wait him out. No, it’s too risky, not with the gun trained on Tadashi.

“It’s my magic. I need to go over there and stop it myself.”

Ushijima’s eyes narrow, and he sways on his feet. “Northot, leave. This is…”

 _Where are Morisuke and Tendou?_ Suga searches the scene, but he sees no sight of either spirit—or Tsukishima. _He can survive jumps, he’ll be fine._ He better be fine. He doesn’t see the antler, either, and he can hear Shirabu scuffling with the shade behind them.

“On the count of three,” Iwaizumi whispers.

“He has a gun to his head!” Suga hisses back. Shit, _shit_. He doesn’t have an easy, quick way out of this, but he _has_ to come up with something.

“Stop. The spell,” Ushijima says again, both frigid and desperate.

Tadashi glances toward them, but doesn’t move. Finally, he nods, and reaches down to carefully and slowly write marks against Tooru’s chest.

Suga recognizes them immediately as _not his_.

Ushijima, out of it as he is, takes a few more precious moments to realize it’s not the right kind of magic. Suga shoves Iwaizumi forward, and they both dash toward him.

Ushijima fires the gun pointed at Tadashi’s head.

Iwaizumi rams into him a split second before Suga throws himself at both Tadashi and Tooru. He yanks the boy down, pushing his hair out of his eyes, trying to find the blood, seeing what he can _do_ —he won’t lose another person like this—

Tadashi grins up at him, eyes wet, shoulders shaking, but utterly unharmed. “Intangibility spell.”

“You lucky little shit.” Relief washes over him, and he spares a moment to pull Tadashi in a tight hug.

But the moment passes, and Suga twists around to look at Tooru. His eyes are closed, his breathing is erratic, and Suga has no idea if he’s still possessed or not. Suga reaches to check his pulse, eyes on the fading curse bruises, just as Ushijima throws Iwaizumi down onto them both.

“ _Push_!” Tadashi shouts as they scramble to right themselves.

Suga pulls at the dredges of his magic for another spell, anything to put more distance between them, but Iwaizumi beats him to the punch. He grabs Tooru’s wrist, draws a mark in the air Suga doesn’t recognize, and a portal rips open behind Ushijima.

Ushijima turns, jerky and slow, his eyes wide and reflecting the sickly pink light from the Dreamlands.

“ _Push_!” Suga and Iwaizumi both yell and Ushijima skids backward. He catches himself on the edge and his hand sizzles loudly enough for them to hear it.

Ushijima is yanked forward by an invisible force, and stumbles out of the mouth of the portal. Suga and Iwaizumi collapse against Tooru at the same time, both of them gulping down air.

Suga struggling to stay conscious. The lack of magic burns deep in his belly, but he thinks he can feel something _else_ beneath it. _If I can just get to the angelic magic_ , he thinks, and pushes himself up just in time to see Ushijima vanish from sight.

“Shirabu must have him,” Tadashi whispers, and grabs the jar and dragonskin.

“He can turn _other_ things invisible now?” Suga groans, and flops onto Tooru.

Iwaizumi stares up at the portal as Suga catches his breath. Possessions can’t last this long in unconscious parties, so they have to be out of the woods. They _have_ to be. Guilt pools within him, at bringing Tooru here, at dragging both he and Iwaizumi here, at nearly getting everyone hurt worse.

With another pained sound, Suga sits back up, and turns to Tadashi. “Let me see your head.”

“I’m fine,” Tadashi replies, frowning, and pulls away before Suga can drag him closer. “We still have everything, right? Tsukki took the antler, and you still have the pelt—why did he want it, anyway?”

“Ushijima originally wanted to prevent Tooru—so Iwaizumi—from getting the dragon pelt.”

“Because he thinks I’m still working for Ptar-Axtlan,” Iwaizumi flatly explains. “But it’s dead, and I’m not, and I’m not giving up another skin because of that damned cat. _Ph’nglui Ptar-Axtlan, y’hahog_.”

Suga and Tadashi hiss at the sound. “Could you not?” Tadashi wipes blood from his ear. “I think even I’m testing my luck with that sh—stuff.”

“You can swear, Tadashi,” Suga mutters. “Iwaizumi, you just opened a portal while conscious.”

“Yeah, I _noticed_. How’s Oikawa?”

“He’ll live if he hasn’t keeled over yet. We should wake him as soon as we get back someplace safer, though.” Suga gingerly stands, but the resulting head rush makes him stagger. He narrowly avoids stepping on Tooru before collapsing entirely.

 

\--

 

“Here’s my plan,” Kenma announces. Akaashi looks up from the book they’ve borrowed, Kuro has stopped pretending to nap on Bokuto’s lap, and Bokuto grudgingly looks away from the game on Kenma’s phone Kuro had given him as a distraction.

Kenma moves the pile of things—the actual neglected pillow, a duffel bag full of dirty clothes, the knapsack Akaashi had brought with them, several jingly cat toys—out of the way so he can spread his own haphazard collection on the carpet. He handles the cursed mirror carefully, but he uses magic to put the jar with the angel blood as far away as possible.

“I couldn’t tell you earlier because Oikawa could have read it from your mind,” Kenma says.

Akaashi frowns, genuinely displeased. “I can handle a human clairvoyant.”

“Originally, you weren’t supposed to be the one going with me.”

They don’t argue the point, but shut the borrowed book with an undeserved _snap_. “Then please, fill us in.”

“Don’t be like that,” Bokuto scolds, “Kenma’s makin’ this spell himself. Who knows what kind of privacy he needs.”

 _Very little, actually_. “As I said earlier, I’ll need your help. One of you, I don’t care which, but I need tengu magic for this.” He traces the tarnished silver of the mirror’s handle. “I’m a pretty talented spellwriter, I guess, but we’re aiming to help stop a god.”

“I thought Suga is planning on stopping this,” Kuro says with his own quiet sort of frown. He’s settled, for the moment, but it still isn’t as stable as Kenma wants.

“Do _any_ of you think Sugawara is capable of stopping this?”

“That’s mean,” Bokuto mutters, but he doesn’t disagree.

“I don’t want to deal with this, either,” Kenma says, to soften it. He usually doesn’t feel guilty for these kinds of statements. “But I _can_ do something, so may as well. Anyway, I’m a witch and a spellwriter, but I don’t stand a chance at stopping anything on my own, and I’m not too good with banishment spells. I haven’t studied that kind of black magic, anyway, so… Sugawara can handle that.”

“That doesn’t sound very helpful,” Kuro says as Bokuto exclaims, “Then what _are_ you doing?”

Kenma wholeheartedly believes he’s owed an eye roll for putting up with this. He nobly resists, and replies as levelly as he can manage, “Making it harmless until someone else takes care of it. You know the intangibility spell I wrote for Tadashi?”

Silence reigns. Kuro slowly raises himself from Bokuto’s lap, mouth hanging open.

“It’s actually not that difficult to do, in theory, even something of that scale,” Kenma continues, almost nervously. He kind of expected them to say _something_. _He_ thinks it’s an okay plan, at least. Maybe keeping it secret inadvertently hyped it too much. “But it would be able to break through just my magic, and it would need to be a targeted but total intangibility spell, and, um, I know how to write that. I just need help.”

No one speaks. Bokuto’s stare is piercing. Kenma averts his own eyes.

He laces his fingers together. “The plan is to braid together different kinds of magic. Layering different types would make it a lot more difficult to break, plus the additional magic is good… I’m also going to be adding the angel’s grace, which will be held in the mirror, away from me, but in a way I can manipulate it. S-So, um, that’s three kinds, and with me and one of you continuously feeding the spell magic, we should be able to… stall for awhile, I guess…”

He doesn’t _like_ talking this much. Kenma isn’t a nervous talker, but rarely does he stand in front of others and explain himself like this. Even at the law firm, he had avoided conferences and getting cornered into presentations.

Akaashi stands, sets their book down, and announces, “That is genius.”

“That is so—!” Bokuto leaps to his feet and accidentally upends Kuro entirely. “That’s so—I mean, that’s really—”

“He’s appreciative, too,” Akaashi calmly translates.

“It’s cool, and it’s really smart, and it’s _really_ creative—but _Keiji_!”

While Kenma is relieved that the silence isn’t pressing down anymore, he’s a little nonplussed that Bokuto is aiming his excitement toward his mate.

“I think it’d be best for you to practice manipulating my magic, since _someone_ is behaving like a dangerously powerful but overexcited child right now,” Akaashi says, to Bokuto’s immediate dismay. They don’t allow a whine to build, and spare him a chilly look, “You can have second shift, if it’s needed.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Neither is it fair to subject Kenma to one of your moods. I don’t want you two coming to blows again.”

Bokuto sulks, a nasty frown on his face, and Kenma feels his face go hot in shame. He hadn’t even been the recipient of the dressing down, but he still wants to slink away and ignore both of them.

“You have everything you need?” Akaashi asks Kenma.

There’s no use putting this off. “I guess. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

“I have a job for you,” Kiyoko says. She slides over a plate of assorted cookies and a cup of tea.

Saeko cocks an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re buttering me up, and it’s working because I like ya too much. Doesn’t mean you have to draw this out—what’s so bad that you couldn’t have just texted me?”

Kiyoko stares at a point over Saeko’s shoulder. Her glasses cast shadows down onto her cheeks, deepening the bags beneath her eyes. She looks half-dead.

Saeko may still be pissed at her, but she still worries. She just has to hide it, otherwise Kiyoko would get away with… she doesn’t know. Kiyoko’s already gotten away with so much in the name of her Peace or whatever, and who knows what else she’s planning.

Saeko may not like her methods, but damn if they’re not going to work out. She’ll bitch and moan the entire time, but Kiyoko is going to carry them through this, especially if she’s already sacrificed Hitoka to carry on.

Of course, she doesn’t want to be one of the pawns lost along the way, either. She’s definitely at least a bishop. She’d have thought that the healer and Kiyoko’s fucking girlfriend would’ve been more a priority. Unless Kiyoko thinks of her as the king, but then what makes the city? Saeko needs to drop the chess metaphor before she confuses herself.

“Hey. Kiyoko?”

Kiyoko looks up at her; she has every ounce of her usual composure, but somehow, she appears dazed. “Sorry,” she murmurs, hardly a breath.

“Alright, tell me what you’re bribing me for,” Saeko says as she shoves a cookie into her mouth, “‘n fen ‘oo ta’e a fuh’in’ nap.”

The dazed look vanishes in favor of disappointment with the crumbs sprayed in her direction.

“I’m serious. I’m still not too happy with you, and I’m suspicious as all hell about this job of yours now, but one of my conditions is that you get some sleep while I’m out doin’ this for ya. Deal?”

Kiyoko pushes her glasses up onto her hair, and rubs her eyes. “Fine. I just haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Nightmares, or visions?”

“I don’t even know anymore. They’re violent, and they come with migraines and nosebleeds. Saeko, I need your help with something very important, but you’re not going to like it.” Kiyoko pulls her glasses off entirely. She presses her fingertips against her eyelids, corners of her mouth quirked downward, “I need you to kidnap someone for me. Something.”

Saeko waits for the punchline.

It doesn’t come.

“…Kidnap? Like, _kidnap_?”

“It’s a higher spirit. And you can’t kill it. It’s not an extermination job, just an extraction—”

“Hold the fuck up for a moment. Is this a rescue mission? Or a _kidnapping_? There’s a huge fucking difference between the two, Kiyoko!”

Kiyoko continues rubbing at her eyes and temples. Saeko thinks she can see blood beading at the bottom of her nose, not quite dripping yet. “I don’t know… it’s so…” Her voice is so soft that Saeko isn’t sure she’s meant to hear at all.

“Are you _guessing_? Are you going off of a hunch of a vision again?” Saeko trusts Kiyoko, in a general sense, in the sense that she trusts a precognitive psychic witch.

“It’s more of a guess than I’ve ever sent you out on before,” Kiyoko lowly admits. She wipes at her nose, leaving a streak of scarlet across her finger. “Excuse me—”

Saeko is already holding out her handkerchief.

Kiyoko looks chagrined—as much as she ever does. She dabs at her nose, stares down at the blood, then says, “I’m taking a lot of liberties, and this is admittedly a worst case scenario. But I’ve given it a lot of thought to make it to the point where I’m asking you to do this.”

Saeko sighs; she knows. She knows, and she hates it. “Just give me the damn details.”

“It’s a qilin,” Kiyoko hardly gets out before Saeko groans. “I told you it was a spirit. It’s going to be attending the Old Moon Ball, as a guest of one of the covens.”

“Please, _do_ tell how you think I’m gonna kidnap a fucking _qilin_ by myself from a coven.”

“It’s from Foxglove. You won’t be alone—I’ll be helping you. Just in a less visible capacity.”

“… _Merda_. Kiyoko, you’re helping Foxglove with this, aren’t you? You’re betraying your own coven!”  [4]

“They’re not _my_ coven anymore,” Kiyoko coldly replies.

“You’re still friendly enough!”

Both attempt to stare down the other. Kiyoko is quite shy beneath her aloof demeanor, but when she digs her heels in, she can give either Tanaka a run for their money. Saeko both admires and loathes that about her.

But this is kind of the end of the world on the line, and hell, Saeko trusts Kiyoko.

Through gritted teeth, she says, “Give me the time and the place.”

Kiyoko doesn’t smile when she thanks her.

 

\--

 

“Remind me again how you two are just _so good_ at magic?” Bokuto purrs. “You were going to solve this _so fast_ , huh, Keiji?”

“We never said that,” Akaashi stiffly replies.

Kenma continues trying to rub the soot and oozy film off his face. Frankly, he’ll be shocked if this works at all, since the first time they’d tried to mix magics, it had literally blown up in their faces.

There had been merit to it, since he could _feel_ Akaashi’s magic briefly as it’d interacted with his own. That’s something he can work with going forward. It’d also felt really, _really_ weird.

“You got some in your hair,” Akaashi says, utterly ignoring Bokuto’s continued teasing. They reach over at the same time that Kenma reaches up, and their fingers brush.

They both jerk their hands away from each other, exchanging somehow guilty, wide-eyed looks.

Bokuto looks between them puzzled for just a moment, then _knowing_.

Kenma’s not dealing with this, not right now, and maybe not for awhile. There’s always plenty of work to do, as much as he hates it all—but stopping a rogue god is ridiculously high on the priority list. There’s little he hates more than having to do work he doesn’t want to.

“I’m going to go wash this off,” he ducks away from both tengu before they can respond.

Kenma locks himself in the upstairs bathroom and wishes the sink were big enough to dunk his head under. He needs to get over himself, but this stupid dancing around each other is going to be the end of them. Kuro’s fine with them both, Kenma’s fine with Kuro, everyone’s happy. It’s all fine. He could cut his losses and pull away now, and Shouyou would be just as good a candidate as either Akaashi or Bokuto for this.

But he doesn’t know where Shouyou is or how to contact him, and that also brings him half a step closer to Kiyoko’s little circle, too.

Kenma tries to shove his head under the sink, anyway. The faucet hits the back of his head and his nose is scrunched against the cold basin, but the pain shoves away the anxiety thrumming beneath his skin. He _knows_ this is going to result in something bad, but the waiting period until it snaps is just as awful. If only he could cry or have an attack or blow up something just to get it all over with.

There’s a knock on the door. Kenma jerks in surprise and knocks the faucet back into the same bruise.

The door opens as he’s curled up and swearing at himself on the floor, clutching his head, and Kenma scowls when he sees bird legs walk into his field of vision.

“Are you okay?” Akaashi asks.

Kenma’s skin crawls. “Just fine. What do you want?”

“To wash off. Koutarou insisted I come up and apologize, though for _what_ , I have no idea. His default seems to be bending over backward in an effort not to offend you. Or even risk offending you.” Akaashi shifts their weight to their other foot, and Kenma continues staring at their talons for an excuse not to raise his aching head. “Sorry. For something.”

 _How sincere_ , Kenma thinks, but does not voice it. He doesn’t want to get into an argument with Akaashi right now.

“You’re a talented witch and a fairly decent human. You’re cute and small, and Koutarou is utterly terrified of breaking you, and who knows what Tetsurou ever thinks of you. But I would like to be clear about the fact that I will not coddle you like the other two.” Their words are harsh, but their voice isn’t; they actually sound rather bored.

Kenma tilts his head up to finally look at Akaashi. “I thought you were over the petty jealousy.”

“You’re not made of glass, nor do I intend to treat you as such.”

“That’s funny, considering how you treat Bokuto. Sorry, _Koutarou_.”

“Who’s the petty one? I can assure you, you’re aiming in the wrong direction if you’re intending to insult me.”

“It’s not my fault you have a giant Koutarou-sized weakness available for anyone to see. You make him an easy target,” Kenma still must look up at Akaashi, but that’s nothing new.

“If you’re fine enough to be angry, you’re fine enough to try again. Wash off and get back downstairs.”

Kenma blinks, aggravation sloughing away. “You came up here… to check on me? Did Bokuto ask you to do that, too?”

“No, you’re the one who stormed off.” Akaashi seems to want to hold onto this argument just as much as Kenma Their frame relaxes too, and they just seem vaguely annoyed with the world instead of the witch before them. “I understand sometimes people want to be alone when they’re upset, but I also know that sometimes it’s not best for them to be alone.”

“You don’t have to pretend to care to get me to work again. I just needed a break.”

“We just started,” Akaashi thinly replies, then catches themselves, and backtracks. “And it’s not… pretending. Not really. You’re just as annoying as you are valuable, and someone has to counteract the other two, as I said.”

“And you nobly volunteer to remain cold and distant.”

“No, I just won’t—” Akaashi sighs deeply. It’s half insulting, half… reassuring. He doesn’t like it. “Get in the bath, I’m washing this mess out of your hair.”

“ _What_?”

“You want affection, fine, but I’m putting you back in working condition.” Akaashi strips off their sweater in an easy motion, and they’re blocking the door; Kenma has little choice but to back up into the shower curtain.

“Who says I want affection?” There is a _long_ list of things Kenma wants in life before affection.

“Then _what_ do you want? You were just saying you want me to treat you with a gentler hand,” Akaashi replies with a severe, but gently confused, frown.

“I don’t! I mean, don’t corner me and piss me off, but…”

This is happening too fast—Kenma’s words can’t keep up.

Akaashi tilts their head at an angle a bit too steep for human movement. “Tell me what you want from me, Kenma, and I’ll do my best to accommodate you. Within reason.”

“What about _you_?”

“What about me?”

“You’re being uncharacteristically helpful. And nice.”

“I can be helpful,” Akaashi sourly retorts. Kenma almost smiles, because then they add, sounding even more frustrated, “And nice. I can be both of those things, to people who have earned it.”

“All I want from you is magic.”

Akaashi still looks like a brick wall, somehow, Kenma thinks they’re disappointed.

“Kuro and Bokuto… I don’t know what they have, but I know I can’t give that to you or Bokuto. I can’t think about everything right now, so I just want to work on this spell.”

“Alright.” Akaashi glances away, then rubs their hand over the gunk still smeared over their cheek. “We’re still both a mess, however. Would I be overstepping anything to ask to use this bath as well?”

“There’s a downstairs bathroom.”

“Tetsurou is attempting to wash that familiar of yours.” They’d rather navigate the Kenma Minefield than deal with a wet cat. Kenma can respect that.

But it doesn’t mean he likes this. “You can have this first.”

“I know it’s not large, but there’s enough room—”

“I don’t feel comfortable undressing in front of you,” Kenma bites out. “No offense, I guess. I don’t know if Kuro told you, or if you can smell it or something, or I don’t… I don’t know, don’t care.”

Akaashi cocks their head even steeper this time. “I don’t understand.”

Up till now, Kenma has been in the blessed position of having never really come out to anyone before. Anyone who knows found out themselves, which actually in hindsight isn’t the best position, but it works well for an anxious witch. “I’m, um… trans, or something. I just don’t… I don’t want to deal with this right now, so I don’t want to undress in front of you.”

Akaashi tilts their head at a terrifyingly impossible angle, but Kenma remembers they _are_ an owl tengu, after all. It kind of makes this feel like a horror game scenario. “Alright, but I still don’t understand.”

Of course. A tengu who hadn’t even known what kissing meant a few months ago would have little idea of human gender issues.

“You’re a mess, too, but I can wash that off and you can keep your clothes on.”

“I’m not getting my clothes wet—”

“Get in,” Akaashi all but pushes Kenma into the shower curtain.

He doesn’t manage to tear it off its rings completely, but he does end up with Akaashi and himself in a narrow shower stall. Kenma’s still dressed, Akaashi is not, and there is no part of this he is enjoying.

“I don’t know how to work the bath controls,” Akaashi says expectantly, and sits down at the far end of the tub.

“I’m not taking a bath with you,” Kenma repeats.

“Then don’t. But I’d appreciate it if you washed this out of my hair, since this was largely your fault.”

“I’ve been able to work with my own magic fine, it was _your_ magic that threw everything off.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn.”

“Maybe if you didn’t try shoving your way into _my_ spell.”

“You’re too cautious and you won’t get any progress that way.”

“ _You’re_ too aggressive and you’re going to do a lot more than make a mess next time!”

“This is going to have to be trial and error, and that means you can’t be afraid of messing up. I know you’re human and fragile—”

Kenma feels absolutely no remorse whatsoever for grabbing the shower hose and turning it on Akaashi.

Akaashi _squawks_ and their knee-jerk kick narrowly avoids taking out Kenma’s leg. Only then does Kenma turn up the temperature on the water. “Here’s the bath you wanted,” he says flatly.

Even through the stream of water, Akaashi’s glare is lethal. They settle, trying very unsubtly to smooth ruffled feathers while keeping their wings in the tub. It takes him a few moments to steel his nerves, but soon, he reaches down and runs his fingers through Akaashi’s curls. Their hair is softer than he expects; he’d kind of expected cleverly hidden feathers.

He catches little gestures, curls of Akaashi’s fingers, and watches as the water bends away from himself every time he adjusts the angle of the showerhead. Curious, he points it at his legs, and in an effort to keep the water away, Akaashi ends up spraying themselves in the face. Again.

“…Thanks,” Kenma says. “You can be nice. I’m corrected.”

“The offer to wash your hair out still stands.”

“It’s your turn first. It’s time to introduce you to human shampoo, so close your eyes.” At least Kenma’s that nice, too.

 

\--

 

“Everything’s so… tall,” Hitoka says faintly. She stumbles a bit in her attempt to look up at the buildings, but Hinata catches her with a laugh.

“So you keep saying! It’s not so bad when you can fly, but I guess you can’t, huh.” He gives Tobio a pitying look. “And you didn’t bring a broom…”

“You told me I didn’t need one!”

Hitoka almost thinks that Hinata _enjoys_ picking fights with Tobio. She hopes it doesn’t become an issue on this trip, but she doesn’t have particularly high hopes. Everything seems kind of dismal after finding out about the memory thing.

Every time she thinks about it, her head hurts, and that only makes her worry _more_. What if it had been done improperly? She could be hemorrhaging. She might _need_ those memories to protect others. Maybe it had been some horrific traumatic injury involving a top government official so the men in black had to take her memories to protect their identity?

She still thinks she can see blood on her hands. That’s nothing new, and she’s not squeamish, but this seems different.

Hitoka glances up toward Tobio, yet again. _He’s fine_ , she reminds herself. Kasa is perched on his shoulder, hunkered down and pressed against his ear, but the witch himself doesn’t seem bothered by all of the tengu around them. Hitoka certainly is. Hinata is one thing, and she’s even met the younger Ukai once or twice, but there’s so _many_. They all have fiercely dark feathers, and they’re all incredibly curious about the two humans Hinata is escorting. Not many directly approach them, instead treating them to stares and whispering behind clawed hands and feathers.

Hitoka catches Hinata glaring down a few unlucky starers. It doesn’t seem to do much good, but she appreciates the intent.

“This is our market, coming up. The songbird and owl ones are bigger, but ours is plenty good! We have one of the edge territories, too, so it’s a lot easier for us to hunt, and we get the freshest meat!” Hinata explains as he tugs them excitedly through the streets.

The buildings are densely packed and incredibly high, befitting the downtown business district rather than what she expected of the tengu realm. It’s dimmer, despite the fake sun overhead. The clouds look more like smog, and the air is thick with magic. Pretty lanterns line the streets and hang from buildings, lit even during the day. There are crowded buildings and plenty of people about, but there’s little greenery, and none of the mess she associates with city life. There are no cars, or trains, or any of the noises that come with them. No police sirens, or crosswalk beeps, or dogs barking, or hecklers in the streets. It’s not silent: plenty of chatter and _whoosh_ ing of flight, but it’s quiet enough to make it seem eerie.

“This place looks like a literal ghost town,” Tobio grunts. She’s glad she’s not the only one, though she can’t believe he’d _voice_ it. “It’s so… quiet, and everything’s looming. How do you live here?”

“Hey, I didn’t insult your busy city!”

“Actually, you have.”

“Well, that’s because yours is messy and loud and doesn’t make sense.”

“Please, don’t fight,” Hitoka says, and both of them quiet at once, chagrined. Fortunate, but not exactly her intention. “U-Um, what are we going to see first? The tour is nice, though! But maybe if we could head to where we’re staying, and we could put our stuff down, and, um, we could…”

She casts about for a low-stress option, so she’s infinitely thankful when Tobio suggests, “We could discuss what we’re going to do over dinner. I’m curious about tengu food.”

“Yeah! Let’s try tengu food!” Hitoka exclaims.

“Alright!” Hinata tugs her abruptly down another, smaller street, and tells them, “I live in this direction, and we’re a couple stories up, so I’ll have to fly you both! But don’t worry, I can definitely handle it!”

She hadn’t been worried until he’d said _that_. But more importantly— “We can’t stay with you!”

Hinata pauses, mid-step. “Huh? Why not?”

“I mean… that would be rude. We’re not here to impose, we’re just going to help you…? I brought money for a hotel! Or, um, inn, or something?”

“We kind of don’t really have those here?” Hinata says with an uncomfortable scrunch of his nose. “I mean, we have places where other types of tengu can stay, but we don’t get a lot of visitors, and you’re kind of my responsibility while you’re here. Don’t worry, we have plenty of space! You can have my bed, it’s super great!”

“I couldn’t put you out of your bed!”

“You have to stay with me! You’re my responsibility, like I said!”

Hitoka digs her heels in, intending to _rationally_ explain herself and why she couldn’t take advantage of his hospitality so suddenly, but Hinata doesn’t even seem to notice her resistance. He accidentally tugs her off her feet entirely, and ends up scooping her up in an effort to right her again.

Nose to nose, both of them redden, and Hitoka suddenly remembers kissing him.

 _Why did I kiss him?_ No, he kissed her, she thinks—but why? She remembers being upset, but she also remembers a lot of hugging and tears, and she doesn’t remember much else.

“Are you that upset about staying with my family?” Hinata asks, quiet and sad but mostly desperate. Hitoka blinks, and realizes there are tears in her eyes.

“No! No, that’s not it at all! Just put me down—”

He drops her.

Tobio helps her back to her feet with a nasty glare and a hissed, “Dumbass.”

Hitoka doesn’t know how to broach the subject of kissing, especially while she has to explain why she doesn’t want to impose. The two topics seem like a bad idea to mix, but now that it’s in her brain, the memory won’t leave her.

It’s less the kiss itself—though that creates an ugly, confusing mess in her chest—and more how she remembers feeling about it. Betrayed? Upset for sure. She had… betrayed someone else?

“Are you okay?” Hinata asks with a cautious tap on her shoulder. “I could probably find somewhere else for you to stay, maybe with a friend or something.”

“I’m not staying with a stranger,” Tobio says quickly.

“We couldn’t impose,” Hitoka weakly maintains, but she’s fighting a losing battle. They can’t wind up in the streets, or what if Hinata suggests they sleep in a tree or nest somewhere? It’s chilly here, and she didn’t pack a sleeping bag, and with her luck, she’d end up getting mugged and murdered and eaten. Hopefully in that order.

The silver lining comes to them in the form of a very tiny, fluffy tengu _chick_ who accosts them down the street from where Hinata says he lives. She has the same flaming ginger hair as Hinata, even in a similar wild style, as a contrast to her soft but jet black down. The little girl first throws herself at her brother, then greets both Hitoka and Tobio with the same wide-eyed excitement.

This is nothing compared to the screech she lets out when she sees Kasa, however.

“You have a _crow familiar_!” the little girl shrieks and claws her way down from Hinata’s embrace. A single jump takes her as high as Tobio, so she’s eye level with the crow, who seems to be the only one _not_ unnerved by her sudden enthusiasm. “She’s so pretty! I’ve never seen one before! Can I hold her?!”

“Her name’s Kasa,” Hinata says, as proud as if the bird were his. He’s even a little puffed up himself. “And I’m her favorite. I’m teaching her wind magic!”

The little girl’s eyes grow impossibly larger.

“Oh, and this is Yachi and Kageyama, they’re some humans I like. They’re going to help me track down the other egg!” Hinata adds.

Hitoka wishes she could find it hard to believe that she’s an afterthought to a crow, but this _is_ a crow tengu. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says, then falters. She refers to Hinata by family name, and she’s certain that’s how she ought to refer to any tengu she’s not close to. But she’s never dealt with more than one related tengu before, and now she’s going to mess up with addressing her no matter what she does.

Tobio, if he’s suffering from a similar conundrum, doesn’t show it. Instead, he watches, stony-faced, as Kasa hops off his shoulder and into the little Hinata’s waiting hands. “You’re all nice, but Kasa’s my favorite,” the little girl informs them.

“Be nice!” Hinata scolds.

“I’m going to be the favorite chick soon if you keep befriending humans. Favorites don’t have to be nice.”

“W-We’re really just here to help find that egg! We want to avoid trouble, and we know it’s best if we came here. Y-You don’t have to worry about, um, Hinata running away or anything…”

“Again,” Tobio says, adding exactly what Hitoka had tried to sidestep.

She sighs.

The tiny Hinata leads them toward their home strutting like a peacock. Kasa remains nestled in her cupped hands, held aloft like the world’s greatest treasure. Tobio‘s eyes have never strayed from them, and he seems tenser than usual. Kind of a feat.

“Here we are!” the little girl jerks her head upward. It looks like an apartment system of birdhouses, in the most charming and sophisticated way possible; there are landing ledges and recessed doors all the way up, and they even see an old tengu pair sitting on the railing of their home, staring down at them curiously.

“We’re on the fifth level,” Hinata says and hops into the air. He hovers awkwardly, bobbing, giving both of them expectant looks.

“It’s a bad time to mention I hate flying, isn’t it?” Hitoka says weakly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you this time!” That isn’t reassuring. At Hitoka’s whimpering, Hinata hastily adds, “I’ve been giving Natsu rides since she was a baby.”

“I can fly now, though.”

“Ehh, not really.”

The little girl gives him a solid enough _whack_ to send him out of the air with a wheeze. “Don’t listen to him! I’m really, really good at flying! I can even give you a ride if you want,” she declares with her nose in the air.

Hitoka grabs onto Hinata before the sentence is finished and refuses to release him until she is deposited safely onto the front porch-like area of their home. She doesn’t appreciate his laughter in her ear, but at least he doesn’t wobble. Or, heaven forbid, drop her again.

 

\--

 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Tendou reclines in the air on his belly, chin cupped in his hands. Wakatoshi had assumed he’d been napping until he’d spoken. “You’re awfully quiet. You’re not shaken by almost getting tossed into another realm, are you?”

“Lay off him,” Shirabu mutters from the bed.

Apparently no one is napping. They really should, considering they’ll be up all night. “It’s quiet,” Wakatoshi says. He turns from them both, and stares down at his hands. They’re still trembling, but he’s never felt calmer. “Northot is silent. I believe it’s gone from my mind.”

Tendou cocks his head. “I know it was fucking with the psychic, but it got _pulled_ from you?”

“It got banished from him, so maybe that severed what kind of half-possession it had…” The quiet feels eerie; he’d almost gotten used to the dark little murmurs in his ear.

“It’s gone?” Shirabu asks with painfully apparent hope.

“For now.”

“Until, y’know, we summon it back,” Tendou points out.

“Yes. That,” Wakatoshi flatly replies.

“You don’t sound excited, Toshi,” Tendou says, the nickname leaving his mouth with unbridled glee. He finds strange things precious, but Wakatoshi doesn’t mind in this case. “We’re almost done! I thought you’d be excited to approach the finish line.”

“I’m rethinking a plan of attack,” Wakatoshi confesses. This doesn’t come on the heels of self-doubt, but rather a tantalizing opportunity. He knows he’ll have the power to seal Northot away again, but Wakatoshi is not a reckless man. “That shapeshifting man…”

“What about him?” Shirabu asks.

“The whole other realm thing? Because that was kind of a surprise. I thought humans couldn’t do that,” Tendou says lightly, but pointedly.

“He’s not human.”

“Close enough. Smelled enough like one, got angry like one.” Tendou shrugs and flops over onto his back. His legs and tail dangle over the bed, probably nudging Shirabu. Probably not accidentally. “Okay, so you have an angry dragon man who wants to shove you into another realm. That’s an issue, sure, but it’s not like you to get so shaken.”

“I’m not shaken,” Wakatoshi says, a touch defensively. If he’s shaken by anything, it’s the quiet ringing in his ears. “I only think we could use him. For some reason, if I’m unable to banish Northot myself, then we could seal it away in another realm. And if that man can make a portal for us, then all we have to do is ensure it’s sealed afterward.”

“Somehow, I don't think he’ll want to help you after you got his friend possessed. Or shot the boy. Or tried to sacrifice that blond asshole again. There’s a long list of reasons, actually,” Shirabu says with a dark, defeatist type of humor Wakatoshi doesn’t find particularly funny.

“Well, if it comes down to it, just point the big scary god in his direction. Humans will do an awful lot to survive,” Tendou suggests.

“No, it would only break through into our realm again given some time. We’d need to seal it afterward, which means we must lock down the entire realm border. I know the magics behind that, but it means we have to push it through a portal within a circle,” Wakatoshi tells them both, mind already working through the theory behind it. He had to break down realm borders in order to summon Northot in the first place, and the deity had successfully talked him through it. It’s just a matter of reverse engineering it, in a way. He’s no spellwriter, but he has more than enough magic to simply force his way through.

But Shirabu does raise the good point.

It’s possible that Wakatoshi could convince him to do it for the good of the city, of the human realm itself, but there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t try to eat him on sight. He’d need a neutral place to speak to him, and work up enough of a logical argument to overpower whatever negative feelings the man could have.

“He was with Oikawa Tooru,” Ushijima murmurs, largely to himself. This seems tied into why the god had been so insistent on preventing him from getting a dragonskin, though apparently a moot point now.

But dragons can be planned for, just like protective shapeshifters. Perhaps, if Wakatoshi pointed out how Northot is more of a threat to the psychic than the average human, he’d be more inclined to help them.

“What does that have to do with anything? You know him?” Shirabu asks, unimpressed.

“Most witches know the name, at least. He’s never been friendly with my coven, however, and I don’t think he’s fond of me personally. I may have shot some of his hunters in the past.” They hadn’t died, though how someone could survive a dragon tranquilizer is anyone’s guess—

Well, they had that little healer, didn’t they.

Wakatoshi knows Tooru and Kiyoko are close friends, so it stands to reason there is overlap between the people they work with, too. Of course, Sugawara has stuck his nose into their business time and time again, with any number of unlikely allies, so perhaps they’re working even more closely than in the past.

“I know when I can speak with him, but it’ll be by myself. Oikawa will be at the Old Moon Ball as well. It stands to reason he’d have his bodyguard accompany him.”

“You’re going to cause a public scene,” Shirabu says with an irritated flicker.

“Not particularly. The music will be loud, there will be a crowd of people and spirits, and if they cause any sort of fight, they’ll take the blame. It will be the best opportunity to talk to them both.”

“Cutting it a little bit close, aren’t you?” Tendou asks, though the way he's grinning implies he’s proud. “What if they say no?”

“Why would they?”

“You’ve only tried to kill them a few times.”

“ _Northot_ did it,” Wakatoshi stiffly replies. He hadn’t done much to Tooru himself. Honestly, aside from the pain in the ass teenagers, Wakatoshi doesn’t think much of that little group. Sugawara is becoming more of an issue, but he’s skittish and paranoid, and content to keep his distance. If it weren’t for the two boys…

“Ooh, that’s a dark look!” Tendou chirps.

“It is not.”

“Is too! Are you planning something _else_ you won’t tell us? Or is this something related to how you’re going to talk to an angry man who can turn into a dragon?”

“Neither. I just don’t like kids.”

 

\--

 

Tadashi sneezes loudly enough to make the cat jump. Sunshine gives him a dirty look, which translates into Suga giving him a look, too.

Kiyoko holds out a tissue. It’s the nicest she’s been since they slunk in here like abused dogs.

“I’m telling you, we have the proof now,” Suga says as he continues to hold his phone in Kiyoko’s face. “Not to mention the fact that he _shot_ Tadashi!”

“He wasn’t hurt, thank god,” Kiyoko pushes Suga’s hand down to the table, and gives him a tired, pained look. “How do you propose we accuse him of all these things when we have an unharmed teenage boy and no proof that these circles are his?”

“I used my wall walking spell! I can show it to them!” Tadashi interrupts.

Kiyoko spares him a cool look, more a result of her apparent exhaustion than her actual mood toward him, so he hopes. “Then it would come down to your word against his. I can also assure you, Tadashi, that any coven you come to with this would be _far_ more interested in where you got that spell.”

“Kenma wrote it for me,” he replies, confused.

Suga picks up his cat and begins petting him like the answer to all of life’s stresses are contained within that long, black fur. “The covens are unaware of Kenma’s existence, Tadashi. You would either get accused of commissioning an illegal spell, or you would have to explain why there’s a spellwriting witch in the city that they’re unaware of. Which means we all go down on _that_ sinking ship.”

“Also, if they begin to investigate you too closely, they’ll likely have opinions about Tsukishima,” Kiyoko adds with a sigh.

Kei’s shoulders go tense beside him.

“The covens like to have opinions,” Suga says, soothingly, but it does little to soothe them. Kei still looks like he’ll bite the next person to get close, so Suga keeps his distance, and continues fervently petting Sunshine. “Eyebright is still sticking up for Ushijima, and Vervain is screaming neutrality, but I’m telling you, we _have_ proof now. You can make out enough of this to know it’s meant to be a disgustingly huge summoning circle!”

“There’s nothing to connect Ushijima to it—”

“He _wrote_ the damn thing!”

“Ushijima Wakatoshi is _not_ a spellwriter!” Kiyoko bursts out.

Tadashi isn't certain he's ever really heard her raise her voice outside of fights before. She hangs her head and massages her temples like the shout has drained the dredges of her energy.

“I’m sorry. We’ve tried this before. There’s no proof to connect Ushijima himself to anything we can find. Eyebright doesn’t have any spellwriters right now, Ushijima isn’t one, and we have no injuries to report that we can accuse him of without jeopardizing anyone else.”

Sunshine slinks away from the petting and Suga looks lost, hands hovering uselessly over his lap.

“What if we had proof of an injury he caused?” Kei asks during the heavy silence.

“Koushi has been attempting to bait him into shooting him for ages,” Kiyoko tiredly replies, and Suga bristles. “He’s a dangerous man, and I’m not certain he wouldn’t shoot to kill at this point. We may be able to pin it on him, but that’s not worth a dead body.”

“Unless you don’t die,” Kei says. Tadashi whips his head around to gape at him. Suga realizes after a beat.

“No.”

“He already hates us,” Kei points out, “and I’ve already died once.”

“I hate to break it to you, but demons and luck spirits can both die. You’re not deathless,” Suga replies.

“I’m more likely to survive something than a living person.”

“ _None_ of you are to engage with Ushijima again!” Kiyoko orders in a hard, frigid voice. “This isn’t something you can tackle head-on and hope for the best. Tadashi was lucky he didn’t die today. I forbid any of you from engaging with Ushijima again—”

“You’re not my mom,” Tadashi butts in. She falls silent, out of surprise, both brows raised. “You’re not even our employer.”

“I am,” Suga quietly replies.

Betrayal lances through Tadashi, sharp and sudden. The subtle downward twist of Kei’s mouth shows his own hurt.

“Kiyoko’s right,” Suga sighs, running both hands back through his pale hair to avoid looking at either of them, “and we’re not using either of you as bait. Luck is a bad idea to mess with, too. We’ll handle this. More carefully from now on.”

“You’re seriously pulling the Adult card on us?” Tadashi demands.

“I’m pulling the I’m Worried card on you, which is going to be worse, because I won’t hesitate to guilt you both to hell and back. This is _twice_ in the past _week_ that I’ve had to—I’m not saying I wouldn’t come bail you out. I would, and will, but you two aren’t cut out for trying to hunt down Ushijima, definitely not by yourselves.”

“We’re lucky,” Kei spits like venom.

“You need to think about how your luck affects everything else.”

“We have! We’ve agreed that we’re committed to this, and I know it’s going to be rough—” Tadashi begins, but it’s Kiyoko this time who harshly interrupts him.

“Your luck only affects you two, and luck does not mean _good_. It was lucky that Koushi was with Tooru and Iwaizumi, and that meant Tooru was nearby for that god to possess him. It was lucky that Hitoka was able to…”

“Kiyoko, that’s not their fault,” Suga gently points out with a hand on her knee.

Tadashi gulps past the burning in his throat.

“I’ll take you both home. Come on,” he says, and stands. Tadashi’s legs shake as he follows, but Kei seems as composed as ever, face a mask. Suga scoops up his cat and puts him back in the carrier, and goodbyes are stilted between them all.

Kei waits until they’re outside before mumbling, “We didn’t mean for that.”

“I know. Like I said, it’s not your fault. We don’t even know if luck had anything to do with it. She’s just stressed, so please don’t hold it against her.”

“We’re sitting on our hands about the end of the world,” Tadashi mutters.

“I know, trust me. But it’s not as if we’re doing _nothing_ —there are things in motion.” Suga glances back over his shoulder, like Kiyoko may pop out at a moment’s notice, and throws an arm over each of their shoulders. He tugs them down to his level, brings them in conspiratorially close, and whispers, “There are some things Kiyoko isn’t privy to, either. We’re doing more than sitting on our hands, so don’t worry so much that you run off and try to get killed again, okay?”

“Things like what?” Kei asks.

To his credit, Suga doesn’t deflect. “Kiyoko’s right in the fact that Eyebright doesn’t have a spellwriter right now, but they did, once. Even if he isn’t the one who helped Ushijima—even if it is that god, he may have asked for help.”

“When do you have time to do all this? Don’t you sleep twenty hours a day?”

“Hey now, I’ve been down to twelve for awhile now.”

Tadashi isn’t certain if that’s meant to be a joke or not.

Suga releases them both with a laugh. “I’m not the one talking to him, though. But you’d be surprised what graduating can do to your schedule. Since this is my day job, I’m allowed to go fuck around all I want with witches and spirits. You two can’t, and if I catch you snooping around Ushijima’s plans again, I’ll…” He pauses, either for effect or to think up a suitable punishment. “Well, you won’t like it. Don’t test me!”

“No, I want to know,” Kei deadpans. “Tell us how you’ll ground us, or take away our internet privileges.”

“I’ll just sneak a kelpie into your apartment and make you deal with _that_ ,” Suga brightly informs them. “You two should be worried more about school and paychecks, not the apocalypse. Keep Tsukishima lucky, work on your sleep schedule and diet, and for once, _don’t_ stick your noses into this further.”

Both boys huff, but Suga doesn’t seem daunted by the reaction.

 

\--

 

“It’s been awhile,” Sakusa Kiyoomi says in the most perfectly neutral voice Iwaizumi has ever heard. “I’ve heard you had a bout of amnesia from a possession. Was I one of the casualties?”

“You know, I can’t even remember,” Tooru replies with a tinkling little laugh. “You look well. Or as well as you ever do.”

“You look like shit.” The man’s eyes linger on Iwaizumi in a way that rankles him. He doesn’t know why. Kiyoomi is messy-haired yet smartly dressed, and his home office is impeccably neat. Kiyoomi offers a limp handshake, and immediately washes his hands with fruity anti-bacterial soap a moment later. “I can’t believe you came here when you can’t put up a decent mental block. Either of you.”

“Iwa-chan’s always been bad at those, but I had the misfortune to have a run in with something nasty earlier.” Tooru’s laugh is even more forced this time. He’s still suffering from a migraine, and he’d barely been able to stand by himself on the train here. “Maybe if I didn’t have to book appointments so far in advance—”

“This wasn’t far in advance,” Kiyoomi cuts in. “And you’re lucky I’m seeing you at all. I know this is a social visit.”

“I need to get a few more things sorted out myself before I return to regularly scheduled visits,” Tooru primly replies.

He knows the man is a psychic—clairvoyant, like Tooru—but he doesn’t know if that means they’re both content to do their little song and dance without them. Mind games, or whatever. “We’re here to ask you a few questions,” he tells Kiyoomi.

“I’ve gathered,” Kiyoomi dryly replies.

Tooru clears his throat, and Iwaizumi grumpily falls silent. He doesn’t like this place. He doesn’t particularly like Kiyoomi. Even discounting a potential connection to Ushijima—after meeting the man, Iwaizumi now understands why everyone is so up in arms over him—his attitude is dismissive, and something about his pristine house smells off. Not from cleaning supplies, either.

He wants to leave.

He doesn’t particularly care if he’s broadcasting the thought to either of them. He doesn’t like _two_ psychics rooting around in his brain, either. Tooru can be bad enough, and likely reading that from him even now, Tooru reaches over and puts a hand on Iwaizumi’s knee.

“You’re wasting your time,” Kiyoomi tells them.

“It’s never a waste of time to visit a friend, is it?” Tooru doesn’t give Kiyoomi a chance to snark back, and continues, “I think you’re still friendly with your coven.”

“Ex-coven, unless you’ve forgotten that I was harshly excommunicated. But that’s no crime. Maybe I’m forgiving. Shimizu is certainly friendly enough with Foxglove despite all her heartbreak.”

 _Why are we talking to someone who’s so dangerous they got kicked out of the coven that won’t kick out Ushijima?_ Iwaizumi sighs out his nose and doesn’t look in Kiyoomi’s direction.

“I’m not a spellwriter anymore,” Kiyoomi says flatly, “so you really are wasting your time. Even if I wanted to help Wakatoshi out, I couldn’t.”

“You still know the theory behind it, and you’re still a witch. Maybe you got Motoya to help you,” Tooru shoots back.

“You’re also ignoring the fact that, even though there is _no_ evidence of this, the general rumor is that Wakatoshi is trying to do something very bad. Why would anyone want to help him with that?”

“People do a lot for their friends,” Tooru replies, voice dropping lower, nearing a growl. He maintains a tight smile. “People do even more to get accidents fixed.”

Whatever that means, it causes Kiyoomi’s expression to shutter completely. “I think you both should leave.”

“If you’re helping Ushijima, you’re going down on the same sinking ship.”

“You’re making baseless accusations and I’m not sure Eyebright will appreciate you saying that of their star.”

“Some things aren’t worth it.”

“You don’t understand it!” Kiyoomi is standing now, and he’s larger than Iwaizumi had pegged him for; with his fists clenched, teeth bared, and that strange _off_ stink of magic crackles around him. Iwaizumi doesn’t identify it until he hears a tinkling little chime and a very small collared deer trots into the room.

Kiyoomi deflates at once, and the deer freezes upon seeing Iwaizumi.

It explains the smell, but he hadn’t thought the man had a familiar. It doesn’t smell like one—a magical animal, to be sure, but not quite right, either.

“Fusa, come here.” The deer, giving Iwaizumi a wide berth, skitters over to Kiyoomi. He picks it up like one would pick up a dog, and the little deer seems happy with the contact. From here, Iwaizumi can see the fangs poking out of its mouth. “No, Tooru, I’m not making deals with ancient gods to fix my mistakes. Nor is Motoya. Pick your fights with Wakatoshi on your own time, and if you try to speak to me about this again, I’m blacklisting you. Are we clear?”

“Yes, yes.” Tooru stands, so Iwaizumi follows, though he still thinks he’s missing most of this. He can’t help but stare at the deer with a strange feeling of hollowness between his ribs. It’s not _his_ , but it’s the first time he’s seen a live deer since he lost his, so it still stings.

If he broadcasts it, neither man comments, but Tooru takes his hand as they leave. He doesn’t speak, but carefully helps Iwaizumi tuck his scarf into his coat. Tooru tucks their clasped hands into his coat pocket as soon as they’re outside.

They wait at the nearest bus stop while Tooru orders a cab on some phone app. When he’s done, he shoves his phone into his free pocket, and the melancholy silence is broken. “Augh, he was telling the truth! I really thought we might’ve had a lead. This sucks.”

“Are you gonna explain _anything_ about that to me?”

“You were just there to be muscle,” Tooru replies with a squeeze of his hand. “And to look sad and confused. Thanks.”

“I’d like to cut out the confused bit now.”

“Well, Koushi thought Kiyoomi might’ve been helping Ushijima, but it doesn’t look like it. I may have the mental defenses of swiss cheese right now, but I have still been a psychic far longer than him, and he’s not as great as I am.”

“You can’t be _that_ much older than he is.”

Tooru glances away, and the way he feigns a casual air makes Iwaizumi brace himself. “Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn’t a natural born psychic, of any kind. He used to be a spellwriter, and now he’s not.”

“He said as much,” Iwaizumi mutters.

“Five or six years ago, Kiyoomi and a friend of his experimented with magic, and ended up writing a very dangerous spell. You’ve heard about the red string of fate, right?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, that’s because you lived under a rock until recently,” Tooru pouts. Iwaizumi gives his hand a warning squeeze. “It’s not widely respected in magic circles, either. Koushi always scoffs whenever it’s brought up—he and Kiyoomi used to bicker about it _all_ the time. …Yui used to argue about it, too. I think.” He trails off, gaining a wistful twist to his mouth, and again Iwaizumi squeezes his hand.

“You’re going somewhere with this magical experimentation, and I don’t like where it’s leading.”

“Sorry, but unfortunately, most spellwriters have sad endings! What else would you expect when people have access to that much power?” Tooru chirps with false brightness. “Witches are still human, after all. Kiyoomi swapped fates with his friend, and ended up losing his coven and his familiar, and gained a hell of a lot of migraines. He got out better than others have.”

“You resent him, don’t you?” Iwaizumi realizes. He understands their dynamic even less now, even if it had been a professional relationship.

“I resent him for not being the easy lead we wanted,” Tooru replies with no small amount of snootiness. He gives Iwaizumi’s hand another squeeze, and this time, Iwaizumi lets the subject drop. “Now Koushi owes us a favor, and his favors are best when they’re not guilt-laden for getting someone possessed. We’ll figure out a way to find that baku in no time!”

“If you say so.”

They keep their fingers twined until their ride gets there, and Tooru hardly gets in the backseat before he passes out. Iwaizumi sighs, arranges him as best he can, and reassures the driver. The drive back is silent, Tooru’s head pillowed on his shoulder.

 _Another dead end, huh_ , Iwaizumi thinks as he stares out the window at the dreary city.

 

\--

 

Daichi, for all his enthusiasm when kissing Suga, knows when he’s lost the battle. “I cannot believe,” he murmurs against his mouth, “that you’re falling asleep on me. While kissing.”

“Sorry.” Suga’s eyelids flutter back open. He presses himself against Daichi again, in apology.

“You’re fine. I don’t need maintenance kisses—or sex, for that matter. What’s got you so tired?”

“I stayed up too late.” Suga’s head _thunks_ against the wood as he misjudges and ends up with his face pressed into Daichi’s neck. Stubbornly, he mouths at the skin there. “There was also a fight and I fought a baby god. Tooru got possessed. I argued with Tadashi.”

The worst thing about Daichi’s day had been an old man who had thrown a tantrum about not being allowed to use a coupon for Target at their bookstore. “You and I live in completely different worlds,” Daichi groans, and not in the way Suga wants. His boyfriend pulls back with a sour squint. “Everyone’s alright, right?”

Suga may dance around telling Daichi the dirty specifics of his life, but Daichi also has Kiyoko and Tadashi on speed dial. If there was too much going on, he’d get a call. Maybe, he should worry about their collective definition of _too much_.

“We’re fine. Just tired. If you ever see a man with dark hair and built like a brick, who’s named Ushijima, run like hell, okay?” Suga pushes his face back into the crook of Daichi’s neck and peppers tiny, tired kisses there. “‘m tired, so you’ll have to do the work.”

“Do you _actually_ want to have sex? You seem like you’re about to pass out, Koushi,” Daichi points out with ruthless efficiency; he can feel the little shiver that goes through Suga at his given name. Maybe Daichi had pitched his voice a little lower on purpose, too. Two can play this game, after all.

“You do the work.”

“Or you could sleep.”

“Sleep is better after an orgasm.”

“Or you could just _sleep_ like a normal person.”

“What’s a normal person.”

Daichi groans again and pulls Suga away from his neck. The man handles like a dead fish, even if he’s the cutest dead fish. “Nap time, _then_ we can fuck if you’re horny. Better yet, you tell me why you keep picking fights with this Ushijima guy, and you _tell me_ right away next time you get into trouble.”

“I don’t want to worry you,” sighs Suga, now looking more awake, and more remorseful. “And it was all very spur of the moment. You’re not a hunter—”

“I can fight and I have a magic-eating sword. Next time, call me.”

“I’ll _tell_ you about it. I’m not putting you at risk,” Suga yawns, wide and in Daichi’s face, then bursts out into weak laughter afterward at the expression Daichi makes. “S-Sorry! Fine, fine, nap first, I’ll be good, promise. Just didn’t want our date time to be spent always sleeping.”

“You’re a narcoleptic and I love you anyway.”

“I’m a zombie and you’re a necrophiliac.”

With a groan that traitorously turns into a laugh at the end, Daichi shoves Suga’s face down into the pillows. “Okay, you’re tired enough to be making bad jokes with no filter. I’m going to learn sleep spells so _you_ can get put to sleep whenever. Give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“ _Or_ , we could fuck and then we’d sleep _really_ well.”

“Do you really want an orgasm that badly?”

“I want to give you one, but do the work for me. You can sit on my face, ‘kay.”

“ _God_ , Suga.” Daichi shoves more pillows onto him to muffle him—and so he can’t see exactly how red Daichi has gone. He has no defenses against Suga’s mouth on a good day, but _that_ had been utterly uncalled for. “Sleep. _Now_.”

“We’re revisiting this later.” Somehow, and Daichi would suspect magic if the man beside him weren’t so exhausted. Suga wiggles free of the pillow pile and winds his arms around Daichi’s waist. He tangles their legs together, adopting his usual octopus demeanor, and with a long sigh, apparently drifts off to sleep.

Daichi tries to banish sexual thoughts from his mind, lest he blueball himself and let Suga win. Suga doesn’t deserve to win. He reaches over and grabs his book from the nightstand, since he’s trapped in a sitting position as his boyfriend’s pillow-slash-cuddle-object, and holds it on his knees before fetching his glasses, too.

Suga had said possession and fighting and gods all so easily. Daichi isn’t prepared for this kind of lifestyle, but he’s not letting Suga deal with this alone, either. _Though he’s not alone_. It’s _Daichi_ who’s so tragically out of the loop.

At least he has him, right now, right beside him.

Even if the little shit had gifted him mental images of Daichi riding his face before fucking off to slumberland.

Daichi uses his book to muffle his frustrated huff. He’s supposed to be reading about how the main character’s dog has suddenly and mysteriously turned into a human, but the amount of narrative thirst in the book is doing little to divert his own thoughts.

Suga wins, after all.

 

\--

 

“Alright, so cat magic is fundamentally different from human or witch magic,” Kai kindly explains. The large nekomata is seated at the front of the room like this is a classroom, though he certainly has eager enough students. Or, well, Lev is eager.

“What about summoner magic!” Lev asks with his arm in the air.

Kai glances up at the outstretched hand like he’s puzzled by it.

“You probably won’t be able to do this,” Kenma sighs. “Like I told you.” His hat is nearly covering the tip of his nose at this point, before he shoves it back.

“But I get cat magic lessons, too, that was part of the agreement.”

“No, the agreement was that you get a summoning contract with one of them,” Morisuke jumps onto Lev’s lap to make himself comfortable. Yuuki joins a moment later, but despite the flattened ears and aggravated tail, Morisuke does not chase him off.

Lev’s quite happy with both cats in his lap, but he’d be way happier with magic he could actually use.

Shouhei curls around Lev like an apology, and Yuuki sniffs at him, little whiskers twitching. Neither speak, and Lev doesn’t bother whining to either of them. He _knows_ this is a favor he’s getting.

Tadashi had a head start, so he’s already fine drawing little circles with fire in the air above them, but surprisingly, Kenma is having difficulty. Magic sparks at his fingertips with enough power to be visible, but it’s like an empty lighter clicking.

Morisuke watches the witch with just as much attention as Lev. Lev thinks that’s unfair, too, since he’s also struggling.

“Fire is what comes most naturally to most cat spirits, so that’s why we’re practicing with that first,” Morisuke says as he slinks out from beneath Yuuki. He peers down at Kenma, who immediately shies and tries to use his bunny-eared hat to hide his face. “I thought you were good with fire magic, but if you’d like, we can switch to something else. Tadashi already seems to have the hang of it.”

“I’ve been using this stuff for ages now,” Tadashi happily agrees.

Kenma mutters, “I can handle other kinds of magic.”

“I need more help!” Lev volunteers and raises his arm again.

Morisuke spares him a rather unimpressed look over his shoulder. “You can’t do this, I told you.”

“You and Kenma said I couldn’t do _any_ kind of magic, but I proved you wrong with that, didn’t I? I bet I can do this, too!”

“That’s not how human magics work,” Yuuki pipes up.

“And you know a lot about human magic now?” Kai says, amused, and comes over to sit beside them. The big cat spirit curls both his tails around his paws, and makes another will-o-wisp in front of Lev’s face. “It’s easiest to have a grasp of the elements before you try drawing from other sources of power. But there are no human marks or runes associated, so push those from your mind. They could be distracting you.”

It’s a little annoying to ignore all the marks he’d tried so hard to memorize, but at least he doesn’t have to try to come up with his own definitions for what he’s doing on the fly.

But the magic still doesn’t come to him.

“Would you like to discuss the summoning agreements instead?” Kai suggests as politely as possible.

“No, I want to learn cat magic like Yaku and Tadashi!” Lev stares hard at his index finger. He wishes it’d catch on fire.

“If it’s any consolation, Kenma isn’t getting it, either,” Tadashi says, despite the dirty look Kenma shoots him. “You guys can talk summoning stuff while I practice, or something.”

“Getting a contract to summon a nekomata is nothing to scoff at.” To Lev’s delight, Morisuke pads back over, floating in the air over him. “If you play your cards right, you could get contracts to other types of spirits, too. Maybe a certain demon?”

“That’s on Kuro,” Kenma mutters.

“What about the tengu?” Tadashi asks. Kenma’s scrunched nose quickly turns into a muffled snort of laughter. “Okay, maybe not. But it’s not as if there’s any lack of spirits we know.”

“What about Tsukki?” Lev asks.

“He’s not a cat spirit.”

“But demons are summonable, too.”

Tadashi scowls, and Kenma hides another snort with the ears of his hat. “We’re going to try purging him again. He’s _not_ a demon.”

“But, by all rights, he _should_ be summonable,” Morisuke unhelpfully informs them.

“Then why not you?” Kenma suggests, and Morisuke’s fur puffs up like he’s been gravely insulted. “That’s what I thought. You know, I’d be more help building the summoning contract.”

“You at least stand a chance at learning the magic,” Lev grumbles. He crosses his arms when Kenma sits on his other side, away from the two nekomata.

“I don’t think I’m very good with other kinds of magic right now,” Kenma tells him, in sort of a sad way. “I’ll take a rain check on this. I don’t… I can’t really do this right now.”

Lev is used to when Kenma runs low on effort or energy, but Morisuke is less sympathetic. Not that Lev’s not curious about what Kenma’s been up to, but he jumps in nevertheless. “Okay, then summoning circles! I’ve never written a contract for one. Actually, all I’ve really summoned are wisps, and an angry little thing that tried to bite me.”

Kenma almost smiles, but the cat spirits around them look _decidedly_ apprehensive.

“One of the nekomata can teach Tadashi, and the other can contract with Lev,” Morisuke says. Shouhei gets up, and Yuuki follows him over to Tadashi’s side of the room. Morisuke resumes his position in Lev’s lap. “Alright, no summoning demons now.”

“I _could_ —”

“No,” both Kenma and Morisuke order.

“If only I could summon cat magic,” Lev grumbles, and Kai smiles sympathetically. Kenma’s eyes light up.

“Well, if you summon a cat spirit, I’m sure they would be happy to perform magic for you.”

Morisuke guides them both through what to expect for this kind of thing, while Kenma shuffles off after a few minutes. This is supposed to be for emergencies only, Morisuke stresses, and Kai likewise stresses the magical weight that this kind of contract requires. Kiyoko had told him that he’s below average for magical talent, but considering the ease that Tadashi takes to this kind of stuff, then he should be fine.

So he’s not a witch like Kenma or Kiyoko. He’ll still get a badass cat spirit at his beck and call. (For emergencies only, he assures them. Repeatedly.)

Kenma talks quietly with Tadashi for a moment, before coming back with an empty glass jar Tadashi had had in his bag. It’s wet on the inside and Kenma cleans it while the cat spirits try to maintain Lev’s attention.

“What are you doing?” Morisuke finally asks, defeated.

Kenma looks up, finds all their eyes on him, and ducks his head once more. “Lev could summon magic. Technically speaking.”

“What do you mean by that?” Kai asks with a polite tilt of his head.

“If we make a contract, kind of, attached to a container with stasis and dimensional spells put on it, and there was magic in that container—”

“He doesn’t need to play with fire,” Morisuke sighs, but now he sounds charmed, if not amused, by the idea. Lev brightens and reaches for the glass jar, but Kenma yanks it away from him, and they soon devolve into squabbling.

If Morisuke has further opinions on how they approach their magic lessons, he keeps them to himself in the face of Lev’s unbridled excitement.

 

\--

 

“I’ll be escorting the qilin from Foxglove territory to—”

The knock on the door interrupts at the same exact time that Kiyoko snaps shut the notebook she’d had open. Saeko sometimes wonders just how her precognition works.

“Oi, Kiyoko! It’s Yuu! My hands are full, so I need ya to get the door please!” comes Yuu’s muffled shout from outside.

Kiyoko relaxes, just a moment, before murmuring, “Excuse me,” and standing to go let him in. Saeko allows herself to let go of her own tension, but not all of it. Shit still isn’t right between her and Kiyoko, but she’ll put on a happy face for Yuu.

Yuu toddles in, arms full of that shaggy dog of his, the other one trotting at his heels. Both are absolutely covered in mud. Kiyoko looks delicately horror-stricken by the mess, but she’s still the one who let them in. “Oh, hey Saeko!” Yuu says, happy but surprised. Susie squirms in his arms. “We need to plan our next dog date! I think it’s good for them to have some role models. I read online that helps with training.”

Saeko grins. “Sure it does. You know you can have ‘em anytime you want, right?”

Yuu grins back, impossibly wider. “My dogs now.”

“You couldn’t _handle_ them.”

Kiyoko sighs at all the dog-related bravado and leaves in the direction of the kitchen. Yuu awkwardly hefts Susie in his arms until she comes back with a bucket full of water and a washcloth. “I’ll go grab some towels for them, but I’d appreciate it if you could keep the mess to a minimum.”

“No problem!” Yuu glances back at Heinrich like he’s debating trying to pick that dog up, too. Heinrich answers by wiggling his stump of a tail. Kiyoko pats him on her way upstairs.

Saeko kneels beside them as soon as she’s gone and helps him carefully set the fluffy, muddy dog down.

“How has she been?” Yuu asks in a near whisper.

“I have no fuckin’ clue. She’s closin’ off more than ever, and she contracted me for a job that’s kinda sketchy, even by my standards. I’ll tell you how it goes, but don’t stray too far from your phone for the next few days.”

“Roger that. She seems to be in a better mood than the other day, but I dunno. I have the feeling she’s… I dunno, I really don’t. I just have a bad feeling.” Susie licks at his face like she’s trying to reassure him, then at Saeko’s cheek when she pets her.

There’s a _thump_ from overhead, and both dogs and humans perk up.

That’s not where the bathroom is.

Listening hard, Saeko can hear Kiyoko’s footsteps head in the direction of the noise, but that’s about all she can make out. Soon, they can hear her coming back downstairs, two towels folded over her arms. “Is someone else here?” Yuu asks, completely throwing caution out the window.

Kiyoko’s only show of surprise is a blink. “Who else would be here? Here, let’s make sure they don’t catch cold. …Can dogs catch a cold?”

“Absolutely,” Saeko deadpans, and Yuu winces. He rubs Susie down with vigor.

They fall into a silence only punctuated by soft dog noises—thumping of tails and snuffling at faces—and full of the subtlest sense of unease. While most of Yuu’s attention is on his dogs, he keeps glancing over at Kiyoko, who either doesn’t notice or politely ignores it.

Saeko’s kind of glad it’s not only her.

But they’re both the ones keeping secrets right now; Saeko won’t exactly spill her guts over a bad feeling, and Kiyoko asked for her discretion. Until otherwise proven, Saeko will trust her. Hitoka had been a bad spot, but Saeko had _kind of_ understood. Just not agreed.

 _Kidnapping, though_. She wonders how the hell the two of them are supposed to handle a qilin by themselves. Kiyoko’s a planner and Saeko has enough skills and confidence to handle anything thrown her way, but she also knows to pick her battles. Kiyoko usually does, too. She wouldn’t mind the backup. She also wouldn’t mind a second opinion, and if not Suga, then Yuu would be a good bet.

When Saeko catches Kiyoko’s eye, however, she gives her the smallest shake of her head.

Oh well. Just a girls’ night out, then.

 

\--

 

Despite all their bluster and reputation, tengu are quite hospitable hosts.

Hitoka still doesn’t know how to refer to any of them—especially now that she’s been introduced to Hinata’s mother ( _Hinata senior? Does that work with women? Does that work with nonhumans?_ )—but she’s surviving. The food is strange, and the architecture is even stranger, but it’s undeniably homey. The two siblings squabble like any family she’s met. Magic is commonplace and casual in a way that reminds her of the coven, too.

Tobio hasn’t seem fazed by anything outside of the frequent touching of Kasa. The crow herself hasn’t gouged out any eyes, but she seems more bewildered than anything else. Tobio is more disconcerted than she appears. He gets twitchy, something that at first had _Hitoka_ twitchy, but it seems to be true that if you expose someone to something long enough, they’ll get used to it.

 _I guess exposure therapy doesn’t work when it’s_ your _familiar, huh_ , Hitoka thinks, watching as Tobio makes _another_ abortive little twitch when the tiniest Hinata grabs Kasa out of the air. She knows how her mother acts with her familiar, but Hitoka’s never had one herself. Half witches don’t exist; she lost out on that aspect of the genetic lottery, but at least she ended up talented with other kinds of magic.

Smallest Hinata (she’s going to have to figure out a way around this) is an adorable little girl, and Hitoka wants to bundle her up in her arms and take her home with her. Her talons are also as long as Hitoka’s palm, and while she can’t fly too well on her own yet, she’s already accidentally lifted Tobio in an effort to reach the crow. Tiny and so cute it hurts, but also superpowered and very unaware of her own comparative strength.

 _At least Hinata has a little more experience with humans_. Considering her blurry memories of certain things, that’s not saying much, however.

“Maybe our guests would like to rest a bit,” their mother suggests after another of Tobio’s twitches. “Natsu, show them to your brother’s room, and Shouyou, you stay out here for a moment. I’d like to speak to you.”

Hitoka knows the names are not for her benefit, but she feels relief all the same—except what if tengu can read minds, too? What if they can sense her disrespect if she doesn’t follow their cultural norms? She knows too many psychics to discount that kind of paranoia. _Although I guess Shimizu isn’t clairvoyant_. Tooru more than makes up for that. She could power the city on her paranoia of Oikawa Tooru.

The bedroom is just as alien and organic as the rest of the house. It’s vaguely akin to being inside a tree; all of the dark wood is strangely curved, instead of straight edges and sharp corners. The lights work by magic, and the little girl shows them how to light them, though she’s unusually subdued as she does.

She’s near a whisper by the time she points out the bed, curved and piled high with soft things, and the bath, just next door. Tobio, only setting his things down when Hitoka tugs on his sleeve, bluntly asks, “Why are you being so bashful _now_?”

“I’m not bashful!” she retorts at once. Just as fast, she becomes quiet again. “I’m trying to listen to mom and my brother. I wanna know why he brought you two here, too!”

“She’s interrogating him out there?” Tobio asks. What else he thought a mother could want from her son under these kinds of circumstances, who knows.

“Yeah! Well, probably. So why _did_ you two come here?” She bounces up on the tips of her talons, buoyant through magic, eyes fixed on Kasa. “Three! It’s not often we get guests, much less such nice familiars.”

Tobio looks unsubtly at Hitoka for answers. Hitoka hadn’t thought she’d have to give up some kind of cover story on the fly, and as such, she stares back at him in mounting terror.

“Are you his harem?” the little girl asks with huge eyes.

“ _What_?!”

“Wh-Where would you get that kind of idea?!”

Kasa begins cawing, adding to the noise, but Hitoka thinks the crow is laughing at them both. Thankfully, before Tobio combusts or Hitoka commits suicide, the Hinata they know and care for in strictly platonic, non-harem ways bursts into the room.

“ _Natsu_!” His face is nearly as red as his hair, though from embarrassment or anger, Hitoka isn’t exactly sure. “Don’t say such weird things to our guests!”

“Why’d you bring them here then!”

“To do adult stuff! Chicks like you wouldn’t understand!”

“Hinata, that’s not really helping our case,” Hitoka weakly points out. She sinks down onto the edge of the bed, forgets about the curve of it, and ends up sprawled in an undignified heap at the bottom of it.

Inadvertent as it was, it seems to distract the tengu chick well enough. With a titter, she hops onto the bed with Hitoka, somehow managing to snag Kasa again along the way. “Father Takeda told me once that human beds are different. Are they? How are they?”

“They’re flat, for starters,” Hitoka replies. The bed’s pretty nice overall, even with an overexcited higher spirit sharing the small space with her. “And maybe not as soft? This is _really_ soft, wow…”

“This was mom’s down, back when she was a chick! And we had to refill some of it with my brother’s, when he was a chick, which wasn’t that long ago.”

“Hey! We could still pluck _you_ and use you to make a pillow.”

“H-How about no one gets plucked. That sounds like a good idea!” Hitoka interrupts. The Hinata siblings nod without breaking their glaring match. She wishes she could politely ask the little one to leave, but Hitoka seriously doubts her abilities.

“Natsu, go help mom with dinner, I gotta make sure they’re settled in. We’ll be right out,” Hinata says quietly, hand cupped around his mouth like it’s a secret. His sister eyes him, a tiny ball of fluffy feathers and skepticism. “You can take Kasa with you!”

“ _No_ , she can’t,” Tobio snatches back his familiar with a _pull_ spell. The little girl looks absolutely offended, and Hitoka briefly fears there may be an actual fight on their hands.

“Natsu! Come here!” comes their mother’s shout.

Hitoka begins to fear the prospect of mind reading tengu again.

The little girl marches out with surly _clacks_ of her feet, arms crossed tight over her chest. Hinata lets out a breath of relief as soon as she’s gone, and with a flick of his wrist, shuts the door behind her. He flops down onto the bed beside Hitoka, but ends up halfway on top of her. “She’s so nosy.” Then, like it pains him, “…Sorry.”

“What are we supposed to tell people we’re visiting here for?” Tobio demands.

“Will people believe we’re just students?” Hitoka asks, calmer, though she wriggles beneath him in an effort to get somewhere halfway comfortable. “I mean, um, we want to help, and we’re the right age, but people don’t exactly go to another realm for a field trip…”

“You can just be visiting. We have visitors, sometimes,” Hinata grumpily replies. “And Kageyama is tengu friend, so they can’t be too mean to him. And you’re a healer! Tengu respect healers, too, and if you stick with us, you’ll be fine!”

“This doesn’t help us with a stronger cover, idiot,” Tobio points out.

“Just don’t get into conversations with everyone! Not that hard, you hardly talk as it is.”

“Hinata, we’re staying with your family. We can’t avoid _them_ ,” Hitoka breaks in while both witch and familiar puff up at the jab.

“…You can just be friends. Everyone thinks I’m getting too friendly with humans, anyway,” Hinata mumbles into the pillows. He shuffles around—just as Hitoka had gotten comfortable—and peers at her over the edge of one. “They’re more keen on Kasa! You two can just play nice and quiet and let me handle things. Tengu are nosy, but they respect privacy. Usually.”

“About that,” Hitoka says delicately, with a sidelong glance up at Tobio. “Don’t you think it would be… I mean, how about people don’t handle Kasa so easily? They should ask permission, at least! She’s Tobio’s familiar, after all, and I don’t want any hard feelings, or for anyone to get hurt.”

He blinks down at her, surprise written clear across his face, but it eases into an embarrassed sort of gratitude a moment later. Kasa bobs her head, like she’s also thankful. “But she’s a crow. _We’re_ crows.”

“She’s not yours,” Tobio growls.

“Please, just ask permission. Familiars are really important to witches! Think of them, um—oh, you know how your eggs are important to tengu? It’s like that!”

“I know that. Sorry,” Hinata forces out, cheeks red. “I just… Sorry. I’ll keep Natsu away from her, too.”

“…Thanks,” Tobio replies with just as much awkwardness.

Hitoka, as usual, flounders for some way to get them both past this. “Good! Great! Well, um, also, if I can make a small request…?”

“Yeah, of course?”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “I know I don’t have the status, but could I privately call you by your given name? It’s _really_ confusing having three Hinatas around.”

To her immense relief, he doesn’t try to eat her or something, though being laughed at isn’t the greatest, either. “Yeah, of course! I can’t make any new tengu friends, but it doesn’t mean we’re not _friends_! It’ll just be super improper.”

Great, exactly what she _hadn’t_ wanted.

“But you two being here is already toeing that line, so it’s not a real issue,” Hinata adds.

She wishes she had his confidence sometimes. “Oh, good. Th-Thank you, I mean!”

“Not a problem! The least I could do for all the help you’ve given me. Us. But mostly me.”

Hitoka waits, expectant, but he doesn’t say anything else. With heat in her face, she asks, “So, um, what _is_ your name?”

“Ah—Shouyou!” Shouyou chirps with a grin. Hitoka smiles back. “More humans are going to be calling me that than not, at this rate. It’s kinda fun. Who knew humans were this good of friends?”

“You tried to kill me the first time you met me,” Tobio deadpans.

“And now we’ve bonded. Shed blood together and are going to track down a thief. Think of all the quality friendship we’ll have when this is over,” Shouyou shoots back, leering, and Tobio’s frown deepens. But it’s a fond kind of frown, Hitoka thinks.

 

\--

 

“Somehow, I’m more nervous this time.” Kei watches Kenma draw on his skin with too-dark blood. It’s gotten to the point where Tadashi can’t touch him anymore, but he hovers nearby, wringing his hands.

“At least we know what to do this time,” Kenma quietly replies. “Streamlines things.”

“Last time, we didn’t have an audience.” Kei pointedly inclines his head toward the two tengu seated by one of the walls. Both are glamored and poorly dressed considering the dreary weather, and are paying him _rapt_ attention.

“Cat magic hasn’t really affected you in the same way, so tengu magic is probably safe, too,” Tadashi offers. Things may be going a little easier this time around, but Kei knows what everyone is expecting this to go wrong. _Again_.

This time, they’ve met up in an abandoned mall toward the edge of town. Neutral, non-angelic territory. They’re holed up in an old shoe store, empty and gutted; half the stores in the mall have been boarded over, and shabbily at that. It absolutely looks just as horror game as the place Ushijima had used, and that doesn’t sit well with either of them.

Kenma seems at ease, or as calm as he ever is. Kei has trouble reading him at times, and now is no exception. The best he can get is that he looks kind of tired, and still ducks his head too much to try to hide behind hair he doesn’t have anymore. He’s sans his silly hat, though it’s not far; Bokuto has it in his lap, and he idly plays with its floppy ears while he watches.

Kei can see the resemblance to owls now more than ever. They need to stop the one-sided staring contest, _now_ , before someone explodes.

“Alright,” Kenma says in the quiet and Tadashi jumps at the noise. Kei twitches, just a little. “Glasses off. Think lucky thoughts.”

Tadashi laughs, a little squeaky. “It’ll be fine! It helped some last time, right Tsukki?”

“Temporarily,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“That may be the best to hope for,” Kenma sighs, “unless you have something stronger than a collar to drag you toward other spiritual properties. In which case, you’re an idiot for not using it sooner.”

“So we go through an unpleasant ritual every few weeks, to try to kill off the unwanted shit inside me, and hope I don’t succumb in the meantime?” Kei bitterly asks. Kenma doesn’t appear pleased by it, but Kenma can also go choke for all Kei cares right now. “Oh, and I can’t eat normal food. Again. It’s chemo all over again, lovely.”

Kei isn’t certain if Tadashi had drawn the same parallel as before—Kei is admittedly new to it himself, though the thought now plagues him—but he’s fast to throw himself at him. Kei nearly stumbles out of the circle and Kenma swears as Tadashi hugs Kei, _fiercely_ , tight and solid and more understanding than Kei can hope for with anyone else.

“What’s chemo?” Bokuto whispers, off to the side.

“…Later,” Kenma looks dismayed at Tadashi’s arms smudging the marks he’d written. “You know, you don’t actually have to do this. Demons aren’t really that bad…”

“Oh, and you’re an unbiased opinion, are you.”

“If this isn’t what you want—”

“I don’t _want_ to be a demon. I don’t really want to be a ghost, either. I _want_ to be a luck spirit, because it’s the best shot at something resembling normalcy, and people don’t try to banish them on sight,” Kei replies.

Tadashi’s arms around him tighten, and his breath hitches against Kei’s bare shoulder. He’s going to guess that Tadashi hadn’t made the connection.

“And if that’s not possible? What if it’s something you have to maintain like this?”

Kei doesn’t want to think about it.

Kenma tugs at Tadashi, looking uncomfortable, and Kei gives his hand a squeeze before prying him off. Only a few runes must be rewritten, and Kei obediently holds still, pushing everything from his mind. Maybe this will work, this time. At least it’s not as if he’ll die if this fails, just slowly turn into a demon.

Unpleasant, but knowing Tetsurou, at least it’s not a _terrible_ fate. Demons kind of do have an undeserved reputation, or maybe Tetsurou is just a really shitty one.

Kei closes his eyes when Kenma starts casting. The magic slips across his skin with the softest touch, warming against the luck spirit blood smeared over him.

It’s a smoother process than last time, but the spell itself feels different. Kei quashes his initial alarm; Kenma is always fiddling with things, so it’s possible he’s tried to fix this spell, too. Surely he doesn’t want to nearly kill himself again. Maybe he’s even learned something new about luck spirits with that little one hanging around, too.

 _It will be okay_ , Kei tells himself, fists clenched at his sides. _It’ll be okay._

The magic becomes sharp, knives against his skin. Kei flinches, but there’s nowhere to go. While there’s no confinement circle this time, he doesn’t know what will happen if he steps out completely. Before he can try to break the spell himself, other magic encases him, keeping him immobile and upright within Kenma’s circle.

“What’s going on?” Tadashi demands, panicked.

Just as swiftly as it’d come, the sharpness of the spell fades away, and Kei is left, held up with someone else’s magic. Kenma shakes out his hands like they’ve been burned.

Kei drops to the ground, then to his hands and knees, his stomach roiling and his head pounding. “What the hell was _that_?”

“The spell rebounded,” Kenma sullenly replies. He looks over his hands, though they’re unmarked; he gives Tadashi space as he comes into the circle. “It didn’t work.”

“Why not?”

“What _did_ it do?” Kei asks.

“It still purged some of the excess demonic magic from you. I didn’t mess it up completely.” There’s a defensive note in Kenma’s voice now, and when he steps away from them, it’s toward the tengu. Kei glares at him, but he’s not looking to actually start a fight. He still feels like he’ll vomit.

“Excess, what does that mean? _All_ of it is excess!” Tadashi exclaims.

“Not anymore.”

Akaashi steps up beside Kenma. Kei isn’t sure when they stood, but he has the feeling that they were the one who held him still for Kenma, and he resents that. He feels like a guinea pig. “I’m thinking you’ve become, or are about to become, a chimera.”

“You’re shitting me. I’m becoming something _else_?” Kei has mental images of lion heads and snake tails and giant, ugly wings, but he knows that that’s not true. Suga had told him that chimera were just unnatural combinations of existing creatures.

“Probably,” Kenma mumbles.

Kei sits back on his heels and closes his eyes to clear his dizziness. Tadashi keeps a hand on his back all the while. As always, he’s a solid presence beside him, but Kei isn’t sure he wants a living human pressed so tight right now.

“So, if I’m becoming a chimera, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, I don’t have much experience with living ones,” Akaashi replies.

“They’re illegal in this city,” Kenma supplies, “if they’re made with sentient creatures. I’ve never heard of a natural one coming from a human ghost before.”

“Of course.” Kei takes another deep, grounding breath. “Does this mean purging spells won’t work anymore?”

“It would be similar to today. It could work for short-term maintenance, until you settle into whatever percentages of everything you’ll become—”

“So I could be looking at twenty percent demon instead of half?” This isn’t Kenma’s fault. It’s not really anyone’s fault. Kei is upset, and Kenma is an easy target. “That spell _hurt_  this time. What’s the benefit of trying it again?”

“Are you okay?” Tadashi quietly asks. Much of the tension flows out of Kei, but the frustration remains, simmering.

Kei can still feel the phantom press of the magic against him. He’s nauseated, tired, and dizzy. He’s _still_ hungry. When they’d believed they had some light at the end of the tunnel, the rug’s been pulled out from beneath their feet.

His feet. He isn’t sure why he keeps including Tadashi in this.

“I want to go home,” Kei forces out.

Tadashi softly thanks Kenma while Kei gets dressed again. The collar, returned to its rightful place, is a familiar comfort and heavy reminder. Morisuke has done much to help him. Tadashi has remained by his side, because of this foolish infatuation. Kei probably doesn’t deserve either of them.

On the train ride back, Kei enjoys the feeling of proper fingers again while he can, and twines them with Tadashi’s.

 

\--

 

Suga wakes to the chain of his phone blaring. From the gruffness of Daichi waking him, he’s guessing Daichi has been trying for a while. Suga drags himself from sleep like a lead weight; he buries his face into Daichi’s shoulder for a long, glorious moment, before his offensively bright phone is shoved into his face.

“H’lo?” he grumbles at it. When it still rings, he reaches up to accept the call, and catches Tadashi’s name on the ID. “Hi,” he says, mostly muffled by Daichi still.

There’s static on the other side. He’s going to kill this kid if he pocket dialed him at… what time is it? Suga pulls the phone away just enough to double-check that yes, it is Tadashi calling him, and yes, it’s almost midnight. That means he’s slept through the afternoon—Daichi _let_ him—and who knows what the world has gotten up to in the past few hours without him.

“Tadashi, what’s wrong,” Suga tries again. He even pulls away from Daichi’s warmth to ensure he’s mostly coherent. “If you pocket dialed me, I’m hexing you.”

There’s a soft sound on the other line, then the sound of something rustling, like movement. Then, a subdued, “Hold on.”

More movement, but not the sprinting away from omnicidal maniacs kind. Suga yawns and sits up. Daichi helps prop him, half-asleep himself. His night vision is shot thanks to his phone, and there’s a black cat in a dark room _somewhere_ to dodge.

Shuffling slowly, Suga makes his way out into Daichi’s living room. By the time he flops down onto the couch, the rustling sounds on the other line have stopped, and Suga braces himself accordingly. _It can’t be any worse than the last call, right?_

“What’s wrong, Tadashi?”

“…It’s Tsukishima, actually,” comes the reply, and that gives Suga more pause than the phone call itself.

“Is everything alright?”

“Tadashi’s just sleeping. He’s fine.”

“And you?”

There’s a long silence.

“Is something the matter? Did something happen?”

“…Could we talk? Somewhere? Tadashi’s finally asleep, and we have to leave in a couple hours to help Oikawa with the baku.”

Huh, he hadn’t gotten that memo. Probably because Tooru expects him to sleep through the night—alright, fair assumption to make—but still, he _could_ help. “Fine. You hungry?”

“Not really,” uga knows it’s a lie, but he won’t press him if he’s already gone so far as to call him like this. “There’s a park near White Lake.”

“Yeah, I know that one. I’ll meet you there in twenty.”

Thankfully, the laundry never got done due to Suga’s hibernation today, so he can grab a pair of pants and a sweater from the basket on his way out. He borrows Daichi’s coat too, since it’s warmer, and maybe only a little because it smells like him. Suga is out the door in five minutes, and the cold night air wakes him up.

He’s halfway down the block before he remembers to text Daichi to tell him he stepped out. Hopefully it doesn’t wake him again.

He makes it to the park with plenty of time to spare thanks to the quiet of mass transit this time of night. Tsukishima is already there, a literal bright spot against the darkness, kicking at the wood chips as he dangles on a swing. It’s not totally meant for children, so he doesn’t seem _overly_ gangly, but he still looks pretty gangly.

Suga sits down on the swing next to him. He’s glad he found gloves in the coat pocket, but he wishes he’d brought a scarf, or maybe even another jacket entirely. “So, you went with another round of purification? Is everyone alright this time?” His breath puffs out in a mist before him.

Tsukishima does not raise his head. “At what point is it easy to admit you’re not human anymore?”

Fucking ouch. Suga chuckles to hide his discomfort. “Have I got a shitty answer for you.”

Tsukishima slumps further. Soon, his knees will be around his ears. “What do you know about chimeras?”

 _Fucking_ ouch. “Oh, Tsukishima…” He’d had the sneaking suspicion for a while, but everything about Tsukishima has been a grand question mark. He’d kind of hoped the kid would beat the odds and come out the other side as a luck spirit. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with _being_ anything. You know that, right?”

“Tadashi told me that they targeted chimeras on the purge night. Kenma says they’re illegal here.”

“Demons are illegal, too, but Kuroo’s pretty nice,” Suga tries, but it certainly doesn’t work.“Look, there’s a lot of stuff that’s illegal in this city, and it doesn’t mean that it’s all bad. Things are messy, okay? But I’ll tell you right now that you’re nothing like those things we put down on the purge night.”

“You called them things.”

“They weren’t sentient, they weren’t made from people. They _weren’t_ people.”

“You tried to banish me just when you thought I was a ghost haunting Tadashi.” Tsukishima pushes his glasses up onto his hair, then rubs roughly at his eyes. His voice is thick when he says, “I was a _human spirit_ and you were ready to banish me. You tried to banish Kuroo. No one’s ever going to see me as just me anymore.”

“You know we’ll keep the covens away from you. You won’t have people hunting you,” Suga replies, soft as he can. “It’s my job to bail your ass out of the fire, remember? You and Tadashi.”

“So if monsters are your friends, they’re okay?”

“One—you’re not a monster. Two—yes. Feelings come into play in life, fair or not. Perspectives and opinions can change. Life can change.” Suga kicks his legs, swinging just a little, but Tsukishima remains motionless and pathetic beside him.

“How did you come to terms with not being human anymore?”

Suga’s smile becomes strained. “If I’m being honest, I still haven’t, even though I’ve had a few years on the zombie front. First, I thought I was deathless, then I found out I’m technically a lich, and there’s an angel inside of me. I don’t know what to think of myself. But I know, factually, that this means I won’t ever become a ghost, or pass on, and who knows what it’s done to my lifespan. Life is, unfortunately, messy and confusing.”

Tsukishima _finally_ raises his head, just a little, just enough to spare him a sidelong glance. His eyes are glowing again, soft gold. He’s made a small pile of luck beneath him, and Suga wonders when he’ll get that back under control. “I never wanted this.”

“I know.”

“I’m… scared,” Tsukishima again admits, but this time with disgust dripping from each word. “I thought I had an end goal, even if it was foolish. But now I’ve failed. And I don’t know where I’m going, or what I’ll become.”

“Well, when I was a kid, I didn’t think I’d become an exorcist.”

Tsukishima snorts. “I didn’t think I was going to die at seventeen and become an unholy abomination after death.”

“I didn’t think that, either,” Suga agrees. “But, I know I have learned a few things about dealing with this kind of stuff. The biggest silver lining is that there are a lot of perks to being nonhuman!”

“Like passing out after every other spell? I still can’t do magic, anyway.”

“Okay, snooty, I _meant_ the fact that you’ve managed to maintain some pretty key aspects yourself,” Suga retorts, and swings a bit higher. Tsukishima is facing him now, uncharacteristically fragile, but no longer hiding or rubbing at his eyes. “You clearly don’t need glasses anymore.”

He sourly pulls his glasses off his hair and sets them back on his nose.

“Demons are pretty hardy, and I’ve seen you use those claws in a pinch. That’s not terrible. Not to mention the fact that you can still make and manipulate luck. You can survive jumps between realms, and more in general. And you can still walk through walls, _and_ float a bit. You may be a walking identity crisis, but none of that is anything to scoff at.”

To his delight and amusement, Tsukishima _blushes_ , and quickly turns away in order to hide it. Suga laughs again, tipping back on the swing, though he nearly falls off in the process.

“You make a good nightlight, too, even when you turn red.” Tsukishima reaches over and snags the chain as Suga swings by, halting him and throwing him off onto the damp wood chips below. “Okay, if you’re going to be an ass, then I’m not going to comfort you anymore, sheesh. And here I was going to offer you a hug to make it all better.”

“I don’t know why anyone ever calls you sweet,” Tsukishima tells him. Suga has to admit, neither does he. “I came to you in my hour of need, and you just told me you don’t know anything and that this is going to remain a nightmare.”

“A good scientist admits he doesn’t know anything.”

“Do good scientists also cheat death?”

“Maybe good scientists want to dissect chimeras.”

“I bet good chimeras eat people,” Tsukishima shoots back, “and maybe even angels.”

Suga pops back up to his feet and brushes off his borrowed sweats. At least they’d already been dirty. “First, concentrate on what you _can_ eat. You look like you’ve lost weight, and you were a stick to begin with.”

Tsukishima’s expression shutters in an instant. “I’m not actually eating anyone else.”

“It doesn’t have to be people. Please don’t let it be people, in fact, the last thing we need is some spirit thinking it can go around eating people. Talk to Kuroo, see what he likes. I’m sure he’ll have ideas.”

“…I don’t want to talk to him,” Tsukishima mutters.

“You’re going to have to acknowledge the demonic part of you eventually. But it’s _part_ , so that’s good. I’ll look into chimeras, and let you know if I find anything. Otherwise, I’m going to send Tadashi on critter hunts, and force feed you whatever he digs up. Trust me, you don’t want to try choking down kelpie eggs.”

“I’d rather that than whatever Tadashi has _already_ been shoving at me. So far, it’s been a bogle, something that tried to reenact _Psycho_ with him, and a salamander.”

“Did you actually _try_ any of it?” Suga asks, eyebrow raised, fists on his hips. Tsukishima looks away, answer enough. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Death is supposed to be the last great one, or something. It’s not like you’ll die from food poisoning.”

“Is flippancy the answer to my existential crisis?”

“As one of the resident experts, my professional opinion is an emphatic _yes_.”

That earns him an eye roll. A fond one.

“…And in the times when that doesn’t work, you can call me at any horrible hour, okay? And in a couple years, we can go out drinking to celebrate shitty lives after death.”

“Is that how you’ve handled this thus far?” Tsukishima deadpans.

Suga thinks, and yeah, _whoops_. “Don’t become an alcoholic. That’s why you’re waiting.”

“Fine then. Let’s see if we’re all standing in a few years, or if that asshole is going to screw us all over.” Tsukishima stands, and sends luck spiraling down from him. It swirls as he steps forward. “But… thanks. Even if you’re not that sweet, this did help, I think.”

Suga opens his arms, eyebrows raised expectantly. Tsukishima stares down his nose at him with _very_ thinly veiled suspicion. “I said you were getting a hug to make it all better.”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Humor me,” Suga says with a step forward that makes Tsukishima balk like a scared rabbit. The swing gets in the way, preventing total escape, so Suga manages to get his arms around him in the tightest hug he can manage.

He was right; Tsukishima has lost weight.

“This isn’t making it all better. Or any better. At all.”

Suga keeps on hugging him.

“This is really awkward, in fact, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re still somehow unlucky enough to get a passing cop to chase us off soon.”

The hug continues.

“Maybe even a monster will attack us. Maybe Ushijima will start the end of the world.”

Suga still does not let him go.

“Are you _leeching warmth_ from me?!” Tsukishima finally demands, and at Suga’s snicker, he begins trying to pry him off. “Write your own warmth spell. I know you can handle that much, at least.”

“Homeostasis is for nerds! Now c’mon, time for the goodbye hug.”

“Let _go_ of me!”

Tsukishima tries to hide it, but Suga can hear the grin in his voice, and he allows himself to get pushed away. “I’m telling Tadashi you need more hugs in your life. I’m sure he’ll be happy to volunteer as well.”

“Are you kidding? He’s hardly let me go since the spell.”

“Don’t fault him for that. Kid’s a hugger.”

“Clearly, he got it from you,” Tsukishima flatly replies. “We have to be up in an hour to help Oikawa with his baku problem, but… thanks. I guess.” His voice lowers further, nearly inaudible, and he glares down at his shoes when he adds, “Thank you, Sugawara.”

An idea hits Suga, and he chirps, “Koushi!”

Tsukishima raises his head. “What?”

“Us monsters have to stick together, and since we’re bonding—”

“No, we’re _not_.”

“—it means a given name basis. Suga is cute and all, but I don’t mind being called by my actual name from time to time. And since you won’t let me call you Tsukki, fair’s fair.”

He frowns down at him, but not sour, not in disdain. After a long pause, he finally says, “…Kei. You can call me Kei, then. Only as thanks, though, not because we’re going through your idea of a bonding routine.”

“Yes, of course,” Suga replies with a solemn nod. The corner of Kei’s mouth twitches upward in response.

When he gets back home, Daichi is still asleep, message unread on his phone, and Sunshine is curled up between his feet. Suga pulls off the borrowed clothes and mentally apologizes as he leaves them on the bedroom floor. He slides into bed and nestles into Daichi’s side; he falls back asleep listening to the steady, human sound of his heart beating.

 

\--

 

Keiji does not like the way Koutarou leers at them. He might have earned it in a technical sense; he has made more headway with Kenma’s spell than Keiji did, but that doesn’t mean he has to develop an ego about it. “Stop looking like that.”

Koutarou waggles his eyebrows.

“The spell still isn’t done.”

“Closer to being done,” he replies, smug as sin.

Kenma sighs at both of them. “Koutarou works better because he’s not trying to steamroll my magic the entire time.”

“No, he works better with you because he’s just existing beside you and you’re doing what you please to him,” Keiji replies before they can stop themselves.

Kenma, for the first time, looks up from his work. The magic in his hands wavers but does not break from the lapse in attention. His fingers are still trembling from the earlier rebound. “That’s what I need. Don’t be petty because you lost.”

Koutarou’s grin becomes sharper, and impossibly more smug. Keiji wants to strangle them both. “You _lost_ , Keiji!”

“And someone’s a sore winner.” Tetsurou plops down beside them, hair a mess, marks from his pillow still pressed upon his cheek. Midna is curled up in the crook of his arm, snoozing away. “Am I the only one bothering with a normal sleep schedule between the five of us? Midna gets a pass because she’s a baby and those need to sleep for twenty-two hours a day.”

“Where did you read that,” Kenma sighs. “She needs regular socialization and exercise more than anything—”

“Eyes on your spell,” Keiji commands as the magic wavers again.

It fails anyway, in a flash of green and orange and far too much smoke. It’s wet and thick, making them all cough, and Keiji hears distressed mewing beneath their noise. Kenma, covered in soot, appears as if summoned.

“At least it’s not goop this time,” Tetsurou groans. “Don’t get any on her fur! She just let me start touching her again.”

“Whose familiar is she?” Koutarou snickers as he flaps a wing to clear some of the smog. Both he and Kenma are a mess.

Midna gets her fur messy when Kenma scoops her up, and Tetsurou flops dramatically against Keiji. “I’m not washing her again!”

“She can’t lick magical waste,” Kenma murmurs. He continues petting her to soothe her, despite the mess he’s spreading along her ash-colored fur. “She’ll need another bath. You can get cats used to water if you train them early enough.”

“Then _you_ bathe her.”

“I will. You’re not invited.” Kenma’s eyes dart over the two tengu, but he certainly doesn’t extend an invitation to either of them. His frown deepens, however imperceptibly; he turns from them all and pads upstairs, Midna in tow, leaving the mess to them.

They still have soot stains in the kitchen from the _last_ spell gone awry.

“He doesn’t care much for this place, huh?” Koutarou says as he rubs as the smudges on his cheeks. He only smears it, but at least that kind of mess is endearingly familiar. “We almost had that, though! He’s not so bad to work with.”

“I never said he was,” Keiji replies, defensive. Koutarou scoots closer to them and takes a lower approach, hoping to look smaller and charming. Keiji is pained to admit how well it works. “What do you want, Koutarou?”

“Clean my wings for me?”

Why is Keiji ending up bathing _everyone_? Just to be sure, they give Tetsurou a dark look to warn him off a similar idea. “Why do you think I should?”

“Because there’s only one bathroom left and you and I can share.”

“Hey!”

“You’re the least messy of us,” Koutarou primly informs Tetsurou, and largely ignores the fact that Keiji lost out because _someone_ decided to try to crawl all over them in an attempt to woo them. “And your baths are so small here! Sorry, but you’ll have to wait.”

“So there will be fur in the drain upstairs, and feathers downstairs. Great.”

“You can join us if you can fit,” Keiji offers. They doubt even two of them will be able to fit, but he knows Koutarou and Tetsurou both, and they’re nothing if not creative.

Tetsurou glances over the second mess they’ve made. He opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a quiet, annoyed, “ _Kuro_ ,” from upstairs. The way he brightens is telling.

“Sounds like it’ll just be us two,” Koutarou says, leering at Keiji once more.

“Kenma probably just wants me to wash Midna,” Tetsurou hesitantly say, but he stares in the direction of the stairs with clear longing. “But I probably should…”

“You’ll just have to visit us again and help us clean our feathers in a _proper_ bath! I’ll add it to the list of things you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you _anything_ , Bo. If anything, you owe me!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

Keiji pulls them apart with a fondly exasperated huff. Some progress they’re making.

 

\--

 

Miyanoshita yawns as she slips into the small, dark apartment. Immediately, she’s assaulted by the smell of magic, _other_ magics. Cats, and… she can’t quite put a finger on it.

The last thing she needs is _more_ bullshit in her life, but curiosity spurs her forward. That, and a rumbling stomach. Ever since she returned from that _horrible_ place, she’s been twice as hungry and half as tired. What kind of baku doesn’t need _sleep_ anymore?

She finally understands what the other odd smell is when she sees the gold dusting over the dark blankets of the boy’s bed. Miyanoshita draws her finger through it and sticks it in her mouth. “Got a bakeneko keen on you, huh?” she whispers, fond, and tempted. She doesn’t want to step on any toes, but luck _and_ young dreams? She may have to pop in from time to time.

The boy in bed has starfished across what space he can; he’s coming out of some gangly phase, but his face is still round, and there’s a cute smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Miyanoshita gently tucks some of his hair back to make sure he’s really asleep. She doesn’t trust these magic types, but the boy doesn’t stir, and his dreams remain even.

She idly picks at his dreams while she surveys all of the luck scattered around the room. He isn’t quite into nightmare territory yet, but it’s certainly unsettled. While she could’ve waited it out until they got nice and dark, she’s too hungry to care much about taste. Whoever this luck spirit haunting the kid is, they’re certainly prolific, or have been here a _long_ time.

Miyanoshita does not delve into his dream, on the off chance he’s a lucid dreamer, but reclines in the air above him. She picks out bits and pieces of his dream with one hand and rests her chin on her other. She’s unfamiliar with this part of town, but Masaki had allowed her in on the edge of his territory. She’s grateful, but wary of relying too much on others’. She’s going to have to carve out some home for herself, which sucks, because she’d had some prime real estate before.

 _Stupid dreamwalkers_ , she thinks, still bitter. Understandably bitter.

No more Dreamlands, no more dreamwalkers, only safe and sane dreamers. Easy dreams. Doing her part to eat nightmares and keep people happy.

Relaxed as she is, Miyanoshita doesn’t react quick enough when a tall figure walks through the nearest wall.

It takes her a few precious seconds to detangle herself from the human’s dream. “I-I mean no harm!” she squeaks, hands up in surrender. Pink mist swirls around them both from the interrupted snacking.

What floats petulantly before her is decidedly _not_ a bakeneko.

Miyanoshita lowers her arms and gives him a suspicious squint. He’s hardly older than the kid, and while he’s slowly shedding luck over the bedspread, he doesn’t look catlike in the least. “You’re… a luck spirit?”

“Yes and no,” he replies and folds his arms.

“I’m just a baku, I was eating his dreams. Nothing untoward.”

“I know.”

Miyanoshita _slowly_ relaxes, just a hair. Her tail swishes behind her but she tries to maintain a friendly air. “I was wondering where all the luck in here had come from. You’re… friends with him? A guardian? I’m not sure I can eat luck spirit dreams, but if you’d like to try, I’m game.”

“Maybe another time,” he replies, then reaches down to nudge the sleeping kid with his foot.

“Wait, don’t wake him.”

“That’s my job here,” the luck spirit flatly says and all but kicks the kid awake. He jolts up with a start, blinking blearily, and slowly fixates on Miyanoshita.

She waves, but also begins backing away from them both. She deals with sleeping people, and this kid is magic. Hopefully these aren’t two dumb humans who want baku hair or blood or something disgusting.

“Wait!” the freckled kid says. He still sounds groggy, “You’re a baku, right?”

“Yep. And you’re both awake, so I’ll just be on my way now.”

She has one leg through the wall before he yanks her forward with a, “ _Pull_!”

 _Hell_ no. She knew this seemed off, and she should never have fell for the luck bait. Miyanoshita goes with the forward movement, claws out, and the kid ducks when she leaps at him. She dives for the next wall, but the luck spirit catches her around the middle.

“ _Sleep_!” she shouts and shoves magic at him, but when he drops, the other one is there to pin her to the bed with a knee in her back. “ _Sl_ —”

“We’re not going to hurt you! We just need to talk to you.”

She angrily chews on the hand clapped over her mouth, but the little shit is wearing gloves. They’d _planned_ this. She really should just give the city up and head to somewhere less magicky, or at _least_ less witchy.

A pair of teenagers shoving her in a confinement circle is not rock bottom. Rock bottom would be the clairvoyant and the skinwalker who meet up with them after a phone call.

“Miyanoshita,” Iwaizumi greets with a nod. His tone is inappropriately icy considering the circumstances. _She_ wasn’t the one who stranded them in another realm.

“You’re not an easy spirit to track down, you know that?” Tooru sits down on the floor next to her. He’s all smiles and cheer, though Miyanoshita is not sure if he’s aware of the dream stench he carries with him. “And you didn’t _make_ it easy for us, either. We thought you’d come back.”

“I’m sorry if I didn’t want another vacation from hell.”

“We need your help,” Iwaizumi says.

“With _what_?” They made it back in one piece, back from both the Dreamlands and the tengu. She’ll take that as a win and cut whatever losses they think there are.

“We’ve been unable to sleep at the same time, and insomnia keeps us up the rest of the time.”

“So down a sleep draught.”

“ _That’s_ not the issue, though if you can help with that, we’d be very grateful,” Tooru continues, ignoring her lack of enthusiasm. “The issue is that we’ve been able to create portals to the Dreamlands whenever we _do_ end up together. And now, Iwa-chan can do it while conscious, too.”

Miyanoshita pales. She presses against the edge of the confinement circle, fighting the magic, “I’m not going back there.”

“We don’t want to either! We want it to _stop_. But it’s tied somehow to our sleep, so we need your help,” Iwaizumi replies.

“Please,” Tooru adds, softer. “We’ve exhausted our own routes. We’ve asked everyone for help. We need _your_ help. You know about dreams, and sleep, and were there with us for… that.”

“Humans shouldn’t be able to open realm doors,” Miyanoshita licks her lips, avoiding eye contact, and scans the room for anything else to help her. It’s just some human bedroom, in some human apartment, in a too-human city. “But you’ve done this for sure? You _know_ that’s what’s happening?”

“We don’t know anything that’s happening, but we know that when we sleep, we wake up soon after with the Dreamlands staring us in the face. We can reliably replicate it, so we know it’s something to do with sleeping. We’re not dreaming, except in this weird place where we can talk—like how you hooked our dreams together that one time,” Iwaizumi explains.

 _Oh my god, they don’t know_ , Miyanoshita realizes, both with cold horror and elation that this is such an easy fix.

“And then, we were in a fight, and Tooru was unconscious and I panicked,” Iwaizumi continues, sounding pained. “Somehow, I managed to pull another portal out of thin air. We’ve tried it again since, and I can still do it, but I don’t know what changed, or what’s going on, and I’m still sca—not sure about sleeping. Which really sucks.”

The freckled kid nods in solemn agreement. His friend continues snoozing away on the corner of the bed where he fell.

“Well,” Miyanoshita breaks in with a shaky, apologetic smile, “you don’t _have_ a dreamspace, Iwaizumi. Not like humans. And Oikawa is a dreamwalker.”

“Okay, and?” Tooru impatiently prompts.

“What happens when a dreamwalker goes outside of a dream?”

“I don’t think they tear open the fabric of space,” Iwaizumi replies.

“Your dreamspace _isn’t_ a dreamspace,” she repeats, annoyed, and lashes her tail against the wall of the circle. “If I had to guess, living in the Dreamlands kind of overrode that. That means you have a little piece of it inside you.”

Iwaizumi looks like someone shot him. Based on what she knows of the man, she thinks he may have preferred that.

 

\--

 

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Kiyoko greets warmly. She does not offer her hand.

The qilin inclines their head and keeps respectable distance. They’re meant to be glamored already, and are roughly humanoid, but they also still have antlers branching out like a crown, and a tail swishing from beneath their dress.

“Quong Lai, this is Shimizu,” Madoka introduces. Kiyoko bows again. “She will be your escort to your lodgings, and one of the people you may turn to at the Old Moon Ball.”

“But she is not one of yours?” the qilin asks. Their voice is deep, and even, but with the faintest musical lilt. If she weren’t so tense, Kiyoko would gladly lean into the sound. It’s beautiful.

“She was. She is still our trusted friend.”

That stings, as if Madoka is a mind reader. Kiyoko does not wince.

It takes some delicate discussion, but Madoka reminds the qilin that a full glamor must be maintained, and soon Kiyoko is leading them out of the coven house. Neither Madoka nor Kiyoko spoke of anything but business today, but Hitoka hung heavily over their heads.

Kiyoko pushes her from her thoughts. Most foreign spirits don’t appreciate cars or anything too crowded, which is why the escort is necessary at all; at least it’s not a far walk, and with the sun barely lightening the sky, there aren’t many people about on the sidewalks. The morning is chilly, though the qilin takes in the city’s architecture with an overtly critical eye.

She does not make smalltalk. Frankly, she doesn’t want to get to know the qilin anymore than strictly necessary. It’s painful enough to know what’s in store.

Kiyoko’s presence is meant to be more of a guide than a bodyguard. There is precious little that Kiyoko could do in a fight that a qilin couldn’t, so careful planning and the element of surprise are vital. She’s mapped out the route, pointed out the best, most secluded places for an ambush, and outfitted Saeko with everything she needed. Kiyoko herself has several packets of her sleep soot in her coat pockets.

She doesn’t know when Saeko is coming. Kiyoko doesn’t have that much faith in her acting skills.

The qilin soon turns to her, and remarks, “You seem tense. Is everything alright?”

Kiyoko turns to them with a painfully fake smile on her face. “I’ve never met a qilin before.”

The qilin smiles, faintly, and inclines their head in a vague acknowledgement. They don’t speak again, and return to staring up at the increasingly taller buildings.

Kiyoko does not hear the shot, but she sees the way the qilin jerks and the sudden dart in their shoulder. They twist, confused and then outraged, and pull it out of them. “What is the—”

Another dart hits them, fast as they’d yanked out the first, and Kiyoko steps forward with open arms to catch the collapsing higher spirit. They have nearly a foot on her and weigh twice as much, but she doesn’t stagger thanks to the strength potion she’d choked down before meeting with Madoka.

The qilin, with the last of their strength, digs their nails into her upper arms. She can feel the dark magics seeping into her skin through the layers of fabric, and doesn’t let it faze her.

Kiyoko drags the unconscious qilin into the nearest alley out of immediate sight, and sets them gently down onto the concrete. Their glamor wavers and crackles like tv static.

It isn’t long before Saeko jogs up. She’s in full hunter gear, a mishmash of old military gear and sleeker, black clothing, a rifle case held in one hand. A knitted hat is pulled low over her bright hair, and she has sunglasses low on her nose as she gives Kiyoko a _look_. “Well, you got yourself a qilin. I better hear the best damn explanation in the world after this.”

“Just help me move them before the glamor breaks further.”

Saeko, without further sass or suspicion, stoops to help her.

The sirens go off.

 

\--

 

“So noisy,” Tendou _tsk_ s in a moment of uncharacteristic, genuine aggravation. Wakatoshi doesn’t pay the sirens much mind. He’d spent a couple years in a small town where they would go off every night at curfew, so it’s so much white noise to him.

“I’m still confused on the whole _warning people ahead of time_ deal,” Shirabu says. “That sounds like three big steps in the wrong direction.”

“It’s a weather advisory,” Wakatoshi calmly repeats. He snaps the shotgun back into place and sets it onto the bed. “They’re advising a voluntary evacuation for the time being. I hope they’ll make it mandatory, but there’s only so much we could do.”

“And you care… _why_?”

“He likes to have his bases covered,” Tendou dryly replies. “Toshi’s worried now. The dragon man and the lack of brain bug have got him spooked.”

Wakatoshi frowns at him over his handgun.

“Am I wrong?”

“I’ve been planning this for over a year,” Wakatoshi checks the 9mm over. “I know what I’m doing, and how I’m doing it. It won’t be difficult.”

“Buuuuut…?”

“I don’t want to harm civilians.” He plans on summoning Northot in a quiet time of day, in a quiet part of the city. Northot will likely go for magic first, but it doesn’t mean Wakatoshi wants to see it bulldoze through residential neighborhoods, or drop a building on someone. “But it won’t come to that. Northot already made enough mistakes that we will take care of this easily.”

“So you’re evacuating a city for shits and giggles?” Shirabu deadpans.

“More room to party with the angry witches that’ll swarm us,” Tendou stares back out the rain-streaked window, and his ears press back once again at another wail of the siren. “Those things better shut up soon, though.”

Wakatoshi ignores his complaints, as it’s out of his hands. They’ve left anonymous tips for several of the smaller covens, and with all of the rampant paranoia lately, it’s no surprise at least one took the bait. He hadn’t expected such an early evacuation, but it suits him. Wakatoshi continues arranging the weapons on the bed, cataloging what he has left and what he has saved.

He glances at his compatriots out of the corner of his eye.

Kageyama had come with his own supply of weaponry, however amateurish, so Wakatoshi has never had to outfit anyone else before. Both have proven themselves decent in a fight, but those have been close-range things, and with mortal beings.

Shirabu is going to be leaving. Tendou will likely leave, too, though it makes his heart clench in unwelcome ways. Shirabu will be gone after they rescue his friend, Tendou will stick around to collect what he can from Northot, and who knows what will happen afterward.

France?

Tendou catches his eye, and smiles back at him. It’s not exactly soft, but it’s not full of mischief—some gentle mixture of the two. Wakatoshi almost smiles back. “Do either of you want to borrow any weaponry? Do you know how to use handguns or rifles?”

“Point and shoot, right?” Shirabu asks.

Right, not giving him a gun.

“I have a spare silver knife you could use. I’m not sure how effective it will be, however,” Wakatoshi offers after a sigh.

“I know you can’t really see me most of the time, but I have claws. They’re sharper than anything you’ve got. …Uh, thanks, though? I guess.”

“It’s not going to be about sharpness,” Wakatoshi turns back to the array before him. He has three jars of hydra blood left, and two of dead man’s blood. He’d like demon or angel blood, but he doesn’t know how to get them.

Who knows what panicked witches will do when they’re trying to defend themselves?

“I’m not certain what will work most effectively, but stronger materials like adamantine would be good. Silver is all-purpose, but I don’t know how well it will work. Magic-eating items such as vorpium or orichalcum will likely become invaluable.” Wakatoshi reaches down to touch the bone dagger, safe in its sheath. He’s been saving this as his last resort for a long time. “Maybe blessed items, I’m not sure.”

There’s so much no one knows about actual gods, after all, but Wakatoshi knows his dagger will work. Likely blood magics, too. Not that he’ll need them; he’ll banish Northot right away, but just in case it gets out…

The city’s paranoia is catching. He shakes his head to clear it.

They’re fine. Shirabu will leave, and that’s fine, and Tendou will do… whatever suits him. That’s what he’s done thus far, and Wakatoshi can’t pretend he’ll change his plans otherwise. Wakatoshi will summon, then banish a god, and then they’ll all leave this city behind, one way or another.

 _Soon_ , he thinks, and continues going over his stock.

 

\--

 

“So you’re telling me _now_ why we had to kidnap someone,” Saeko says while Kiyoko kneels to check the bindings on the unconscious qilin. They’ve twitched and moved a couple of times, which someone with one and a half dragon tranqs and a faceful of sleep soot should _not_ be doing. It makes Saeko nervous, and she doesn’t like being nervous.

“You’re not going to like the answer,” Kiyoko hums, like it’s a comment on the fucking weather.

“This isn’t some game. This is something you’re sharing, _now_ , Kiyoko.”

Overhead, something _thumps_ , and Kiyoko jumps like it’d been a gunshot in her ear.

Saeko’s hand hovers over her rifle case. She doesn’t have a handgun with her, but she does have a knife. “Is someone else here?”

“I need this qilin to give to Ushijima,” Kiyoko says with a manic kind of desperation that makes Saeko’s blood run cold.

Saeko, slowly turns from the ceiling to look down at the woman at her feet.

“What?” she asks, blankly.

“I don’t know what justification could work for you. I’m controlling variables. I’m making sure he can’t take anyone else—”

“How about we _fucking stop him_ instead of handing him the last piece of his shitty apocalypse puzzle?” Saeko snarls. She clenches and unclenches her fists, and it’s the only thing stopping her from reaching down and doing something stupid. Kiyoko’s smart, and Kiyoko has Plans, but Kiyoko would never do anything like _this_.

“What if he takes Hinata?” Kiyoko asks with her head bowed low. Her dark hair is still long enough to conceal her face. “What about Yaku? One of the tengu, Koushi’s friends? I’m doing math with people’s lives, and I hate it, yes. But I hate the idea of losing someone we love even more.”

“Then stop him.”

“I want to,” Kiyoko’s shoulders shake. “There’s so many ways for this to go wrong, Saeko. Please believe that. I’m trying to guide us down the one path that—”

“You don’t sacrifice someone, then!” Saeko grabs her arm, pulls her up closer to her, and when she leans down to get in her face, she finds that Kiyoko’s eyes are shiny with unshed tears. It doesn’t stir sympathy, but Saeko loosens her grip enough to ensure it’s not bruising. “When did you give up?”

“I haven’t!”

There’s another, louder _thump_ from overhead. Saeko’s tempted to try to shoot through the ceiling, but she’s not letting go of the witch just yet.

“I’ve run through this any number of times. Ushijima is either going to end up with one of our friends, or people die trying to stop him. There’s nothing—”

“Get a different fucking spirit then! Don’t drag _me_ into your bullshit plans and have me kidnap some poor thing!” Saeko releases Kiyoko, drops to her knees, and begins untying the qilin.

“Stop that, Saeko.”

“Fuck you.”

“If we target any other high spirits, people will get hurt—or worse. This was low-risk and easily contained. What other options do you believe we have?”

“How about he uses that stupid fucking fox of his?” Saeko growls and fights with the knots. “What if we get two birds with one stone? There’s _always_ monsters that need taken care of, surely we can foist something _else_ upon that asshole if you insist on appeasing him instead of putting a bullet between his eyes.”

“Like what? A misbehaving weather spirit? A tengu? They have friends and family in this city—”

“And qilin suddenly don’t have those?!” Saeko gives up on the knots and pulls her knife free. Kiyoko’s hand on her shoulder stops her, but Saeko grips the knife hard. “Use something else, Kiyoko. Don’t drag me into your fucking grey morality bullshit. This is disgusting and cruel.”

Another _thump_ overhead.

“Hell, use that archangel that has everyone shitting themselves. Maybe it’ll eat Ushijima and save us all the trouble. Or did you want something tame enough to not threaten him?”

Kiyoko sucks in a breath, but whether from the noise from upstairs or Saeko’s words, she doesn’t know, nor does she care.

“I’m _really_ wondering why I shouldn’t turn you over to Madoka right now. Except it’d be really, _really_ shitty to have you take the blame for Ushijima’s bullshit too, and I need to see him go down before anyone else.”

“You want to know why I don’t use the archangel?” Kiyoko softly asks.

“Huh? Well, yeah, there’s a long list of shit you could have sent me after before some random spirit.”

Kiyoko hauls her up, and Saeko reluctantly sheathes her knife again. When they start heading for the stairs, Saeko’s stomach tightens, and she prays to every single fucking god that this isn’t going where she thinks it’s going.

Saeko may not be the most magically aware person, but even she can smell the magic hanging in the air as they mount the stairs. It hangs thick and heavy, nearly visible, shimmering above their heads like so much trapped heat. “Kiyoko, tell me you’re not about to show me what I think you’re going to show me. Tell me you’re not in league with Ushijima and are gonna show me something really terrible in your supply closet.”

“The bedroom,” Kiyoko corrects without humor.

“I’m going to punch you if the reason you haven’t been sleeping is because you have something nasty locked in your bedroom.”

Kiyoko doesn’t respond.

There are a scary amount of locks on the door that Kiyoko undoes with gestures and murmurs. A lot of magic goes over Saeko’s head, but she knows that layering magic is an exponential thing, and this fills her with even more unease. Whatever’s trapped in that bedroom, she’s gonna hate it.

But no amount of bracing in the world could prepare her for the sight of the fucking archangel bound to the floor.

It’s glowing bright white, humanoid but winged—it looks like one and a half sets of wings, flapping about in agitation. There are a few blankets and a pillow in the circle beside it, but they’ve been shredded and burned. Dirty plates and bowls are scattered around the edges of the circle, and there are gouges so deep in the floor it’s gone through the carpet and padding to the wood beneath.

The archangel bares its sharp teeth at them. Saeko isn’t certain if her heart is still beating.

“Let me out,” it growls with a voice like a dark cavern. Saeko takes half a step back without meaning.

She didn’t know the fucking thing _spoke_. “Kiyoko, what the hell are you doing with _the archangel_ locked in your bedroom?”

Kiyoko reaches over to a bottle of water on the nightstand. She uncaps it, approaches the circle, and splashes the archangel with it. It must be witch water, because for just a moment, the archangel’s light dims. Brown hair, big doe eyes, a gaunt but familiar face—Saeko only gets a flash, but it’s enough.

It’s a great thing the bathroom is right next to the bedroom, because Saeko hardly makes it there before she throws up.

The most familiar thing of all is the sound of Yui crying from the next room over.

“The archangel in the city is Yui. It’s always been her,” Kiyoko says from the doorway. Her voice is utterly void of any emotion, her face likewise a mask. “I can’t let Ushijima have Yui. And I can’t let her out, because she’ll go to him.”

“Let her kill him,” Saeko says into the toilet bowl. Her throat burns with acid and her eyes sting with anger. “Let her _out_ , fucking hell. Why is she trapped in there like some animal?”

“She can’t control herself. She’s already… attacked people. And if Ushijima really is deathless, and if that god tries to possess her, or if Ushijima summons it early in a way I can’t—I need her for my plan to stop him, Saeko. So that’s why I can’t ask her to do anything else,” Kiyoko’s tone is still terrifyingly dull. The only way Saeko can even still hear she’s human is by the hitches in her sentences.

“You asked her to stay tied up in there?”

“She agreed to help me. She wasn’t always like this.” _Now_ , her voice cracks, and Saeko coughs once more into the toilet before raising her head. “We need help, Saeko. I don’t know how else to do this.”

“You’re really prepared to kill that qilin, huh.”

“I’m still going to speak to Ushijima at the Old Moon Ball. I’m still going to try to talk him out of it.”

“Put me in a room with him, and I’ll—”

“I’ve seen you do that,” Kiyoko interrupts. Saeko narrows her eyes. “I’ve had so many… induced so many visions. I’m trying to stay ahead, but I’ve seen so many… bad endings. Tragedies. Mistakes. I’ve seen you shoot him in the head, like you want, and you have never once got away with it. That’s why I won’t let you do it.”

In the next room over, Yui starts up a keening kind of growl, hoarse and feral and rising in pitch. The ripping sound beneath it means more carpet is getting ripped up too.

“This is so fucked,” Saeko groans. “Fuck you, Kiyoko. You’re sure you’ve found the route out of this?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure it’ll work?”

“Yes. And I’ll ask for help as I need it. Right now, I still need yours.”

 _Still_. Saeko pauses, regarding the woman in the doorway. _So what happens when she doesn’t?_

“We can save this city, but it’s a rope walk. I need Yui, and I need Ushijima to think he has the upper hand until I can enact the plan.”

Saeko’s stomach still roils with Yui in the bedroom, but she finds herself trusting Kiyoko’s judgment, if only because they’re in a bad spot if she’s gotten this desperate. “Alright. But the qilin is on you.”

“Of course. That was the agreement, and I’ll take responsibility for… everything else.”

If these are the preliminary steps, Saeko isn’t sure what the end of the world is going to bring with it.

 

\--

 

As it turns out, it is _scarily_ easy to get into a crow tengu prison if you have a crow familiar. Shouyou kind of wishes he’d tried this before; all other attempts he’s made got him chased off like he was some street punk.

He doesn’t like how uneasy Tobio looks without Kasa at his side. It hadn’t been Shouyou’s idea to use Kasa as bait, and he thinks it’s guilt that compels him to grab Tobio’s hand. He knows Kenma likes hand-holding, and so does Hitoka, so he’s pretty sure it’s a human sign of comfort.

Tobio looks less uneasy and more constipated now. Shouyou’s not sure if he’ll ever get used to communicating with humans.

“This way, the one at the end!” Shouyou pulls him through the last doorway, and Hitoka skitters in after them. All of them have muffling spells and inconspicuous clothing on, but if they were seen, no amount of clothing would hide the fact that they didn’t have wings.

There wasn’t supposed to be a guard stationed inside this time of night, but there’s one in full uniform beside the empty cell.

“Wh-What’s going on here?” the guard asks.

“Where’s the prisoner?” Tobio nearly as tall as the tengu, and somehow broader, and his face is as frightening as ever.

None of that explains the uncharacteristic way the guard _balks_ in front of him. “What are you doing here?” he stiffly demands in turn.

“You’re not a crow,” Shouyou realizes. The uniform had distracted him, but now he sees the snowy white of his feathers, only partially hidden by his clothing. It’s not just his wings, but also his legs. No crow has pure white coloring. “Who are you? What are you doing in our prison?”

“Did you take the prisoner?” Tobio asks with a face twice as scary as before.

“What are _humans_ doing here?” the guard snaps back.

“ _Shhhh_!” Hitoka squeals and tugs at both Tobio and Shouyou. She shoots a pleading look up at the guard, too, and he deflates, just a little. “We’re all going to get caught if you stand around arguing so loudly!”

“Or you could continue. This is some of the only entertainment I’ve had in weeks,” comes a new voice. Hitoka and Shouyou both whirl around to the empty cell—which is no longer empty.

A man sits against the far wall, watching them with eyes hooded by a matted mess of blond hair. What little clothing he wears is in dirty tatters, and bruises and half-scabbed cuts are visible all over his body. It even looks like one of his legs is broken.

Hitoka gasps. “Are you alright?”

“Are you the thief?” Shouyou asks, cautious and confused. This man looks human, and he knows it hadn’t been a human thief. No one could quite agree on _what_ the thieves had been, but certainly not tengu or human.

“Everyone seems to think so,” the man replies.

“I have questions for you!” Shouyou exclaims at the same time as the not-crow guard.

Tobio shoots the door a worried glance.

“But are you alright?” Hitoka repeats. “You’re injured.” She presses up against the wide wooden slats of the cell, like she might slip through them in an effort to help.

“Aren’t you clever,” the man stretches his broken leg with a wince. “I’m not close to death, if that’s what you’re asking. And while I’m very intrigued on why I suddenly have a _lot_  of visitors I shouldn’t, there’s nothing I’ll say to any of you that I haven’t told anyone else. Which is, to say, nothing.”

“You’re acting pretty high and mighty for someone to be executed,” the guard sniffs.

The man spares him a roll of his eyes. “They’re not going to kill me.”

“You stole a First egg. That’s not something to sneeze at,” Tobio points out.

“Then why am I still alive? I did that _last summer_. Not that anyone has any sense of weather here, but I know when it’s supposed to be winter.”

“We need to know where that egg is. Someone’s going to steal it, and use it for something really bad!” Shouyou joins Hitoka against the bars of the cell, crouched down beside her. “Like, _really_ bad. End of the world bad.”

“And? That’s the humans’ problem. Don’t pretend tengu care about anything other than that egg.” The man stifles a yawn with swollen fingers. “Tengu don’t care about anything other than their pride.”

“I don’t care about that egg.” The guard puffs up his chest, importantly, and declares, “I’m here on official business from the songbird clan. We’re investigating a connection to a missing tengu case.”

“No you’re not,” the man sighs, “You snuck in just like them. I’ve seen them let owls in, and I know how you all act with each other. Snooty and _so_ careful about stepping on toes. You wouldn’t be in here without an escort, kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” With an outraged snarl, the guard whips off his helmet. Despite his size, he can’t be any older than Shouyou. He has black hair, at a stark contrast to his white plumage, cut in blunt bangs over his eyes. His face is round, both with youth and the graceful kind of beauty that Shouyou immediately recognizes as a swan trait.

 _Ugh_.

“I’m going to be captain of the guards very soon! And I’ll have you know I’m going to solve this case myself, and _you’re_ the lead we’ve been missing!”

“So you’re a rookie and you really did sneak in here with us,” Tobio realizes aloud, to the swan’s aggravation. They both stand nose-to-nose again, trying to get height on the other. “You’re in our way. Go home.”

“What does a human know about tengu affairs? _You_ need to go home.”

“Shouyou,” Hitoka pulls bobby pins out of her hair, letting it down. “Can you stand back for a moment? Um, make sure they don’t hurt each other.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Shouyou feels little shame or fear in getting between the two—though they continue their glaring match over his head. “Hey! We’re _all_ in trouble if we get caught, so stop it!”

“ _You’re_ the loudest one here, dumbass!”

“Yeah! Pipe down, shorty!”

“ _You_ don’t get to talk to him like that.”

While they argue, Hitoka manually pops the lock open on the cell.

While very little can override or undo tengu magic, especially in a prison, they still have a physical lock on the cell doors. Shouyou pales as he watches Hitoka step into the cell and close the door behind her. The magic snaps back into place, self-correcting, and locking her in there with the mystery thief.

The other two freeze, utterly silent.

“That was a very foolish thing you just did, miss,” the man says softly.

In one moment, his battered body is sprawled against the far wall—and the next, there is a hulking, shaggy monstrosity stepping toward Hitoka. He’s so tall he must bend to fit in the cell, and his massive antlers catch and scrape against the wood above. He wears a bare skull instead of a face, with canines as long as any of Shouyou’s talons.

The monster reaches down for her at the same time Tobio and Shouyou hit the cell wall with matching gusts of wind magic. It doesn’t do anything—they’re meant to repel tengu magic.

“I’m a healer, and I’m going to heal you in exchange for information,” Hitoka exclaims without a single stammer.

The monster pauses, head cocked, claws too close to Hitoka’s body. “And what if I just want to eat you here and now?”

“You’re still limping. So even if you’re a shapeshifter, I know you’re still hurt. At the very least, I’m going to set your leg and get rid of that infection on your hand.”

The monster pulls back a hand to examine it thoughtfully. With all of the fur, Shouyou can’t see any sign of injury, much less infection.

“If you hurt her,” Shouyou growls against the cell door.

The monster huffs, almost a laugh, and sits down with a _whump_. Fur and bulk melt away until he’s just a man again. Not human this time, however; he keeps the over-large antlers, and this time, there are soft, downturned deer ears hanging near his neck.

Hitoka looks down her nose at the man seated before her, obedient for the time being. Then she collapses beside him, trembling and wheezing, clutching her chest. “I-I thought y-you were g-go-going to eat meeee!”

The man huffs another little laugh. His eyes slide sideways, and he grins crookedly at something they can’t see. “You have the weirdest sense of timing. Look, I have other guests.”

“Who’re you talking to?” the swan guard demands, though he sounds more confused than forceful.

The man ignores them. He doesn’t speak again for a long moment, but when he does, it’s clear they’re only getting part of this conversation. “That was the plan. I figured it would be best for you if I could walk.”

Hitoka catches her breath, brows drawn low in her own confusion. Her eyes rove his body, taking stock.

The man once again dismisses her, but ends up locking eyes with Shouyou. Then, over to the swan tengu. “…I’ll see. How soon?” This time, it must be a quick answer, because he nudges Hitoka with his good knee. “Alright, healer, information in exchange for your service.”

“Y-Yes! You… want your leg prioritized? Mending broken bones is more difficult.”

“That means a higher price,” Tobio says darkly. “Tell us where the First egg is.”

“What if you don’t like my answer?”

“I’ll still heal you,” Hitoka says before Tobio can respond. He chews on his lip but doesn’t argue with her. “I’m going to have to move you at points. Bear with any pain or discomfort, and answer Kageyama’s questions.”

“And mine!” the swan tries.

“No way!” Shouyou shoots back.

“ _You’re_ Kageyama?” the man asks with clear surprise. Hitoka pauses, hands over his injured leg, and glances between them.

For his part, Tobio looks just as confused. “You… know me? No, I don’t know you. Who’re you?”

“That’s another question. There’s some bruising below my shoulder blade I’d like for you to get rid of.”

“I can only speed up the healing process,” Hitoka mumbles, shoulders hunching as she begins work on the thief’s leg. “Kageyama, choose better questions. I don’t have that much in me.”

The man sighs as soon as the healing magic touches him. He tilts his head back until his rack catches on the wall behind him. “My name is Kawanishi, and the First egg you’re looking for is in the hands of a human witch named Ushijima Wakatoshi.”

“That’s not true!” Shouyou snaps immediately, again scrabbling at the bars of the cell. “He doesn’t have it yet!”

“He’s going to, very shortly,” Kawanishi replies, unfazed.

Hitoka finishes with his leg and helps him sit up enough to reach his back. “I’m going to do a purging spell on your body to hopefully get rid of any infection.” She turns toward Shouyou and Tobio; she already looks pale, and he can see her sweat from here. “That’s all I have in me today, sorry.”

“So one more question,” Tobio replies, and she nods.

“Fine by me. But does this mean there will be further visits?”

“I have questions!” the swan tengu announces, again, but now his expression is a little more pleading when he turns to Shouyou. “Pl—Please.” The word leaves his lips like it grievously wounds him. “I need leads, and if you were willing to sell me the healer for a time to get him to talk-”

“We’re not selling her,” Tobio cuts in, lip curled and fists clenched. “Go away already.”

“I can help you get in again! I can help the human restore her magic, I have plenty of potions! I came prepared for—”

“He’s just looking for someone he lost,” Hitoka gently interrupts. “We can help him, can’t we? We know how to approach this problem, so I can just fix a few extra things.”

“They’ll just break all your hard work again in a few days,” Tobio says with a frown. It’s the vaguely confused, softer one he gets when speaking only to her.

“Well, if he’s willing to give us the information anyway,” the swan says, similarly confused. “Maybe he just wants to stop hurting, or something. A bunch of animals would do a lot to avoid pain.”

“…Did you just call someone you’re seeking help from an animal?” the thief asks.

“No! I just meant—I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a break from things for awhile? Even if you’ll just get hurt again.” The swan flaps his wings as he backpedals, bouncing from foot to foot. “But shapeshifters are kinda… You _do_ have antlers, and those deer ears.”

“And you have wings and _bird legs_.”

“I’m a _tengu_!”

“Stop yelling, we’re going to get caught!” Tobio exclaims in something very close to a yell himself.

“Last question,” Hitoka reminds them, done with the thief’s back. She scrubs her face again, then ties back her hair into a high ponytail. “I’m going to need to take some of your blood, so don’t move.”

“Please,” the swan tries again in a pathetic little whisper.

“You’ll give us restoration potions?” Shouyou hisses, suspicious. The swan nods an excessive number of times. “And you’ll help us sneak in here again without getting us caught? Because if you _did_ get us caught, we’d sell you out in an instant, and they’ll be angrier about a songbird in our territory than us.”

“Don’t you think I’ve realized that?” He folds his wings, nose high in the air, and addresses the far wall. “We can help each other. You should accept my help. …Please.”

“Last question for today—you can turn invisible, can’t you?” Tobio interrupts. “You weren’t visible when we first came in here.”

Kawanishi glances down to Hitoka, as if to make sure she’s still healing, then replies, “Weird question, but yes.”

“We know someone else with antlers who’s invisible.”

Kawanishi’s expression doesn’t change, but the room grows colder. “Then I hope you treated him well. It’s good luck to be nice to deer.”

“I never said _him_.”

“I have a question for you, in return.” Kawanishi obediently stays still while Hitoka runs the purging spell. She looks a little wobbly, but at least she’s smiling. Kawanishi almost smiles in return, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, before he turns back. “How do you plan on getting her out of here without freeing me as well?”

Shouyou looks up to Tobio for answers, but he looks like he’s just dropped some priceless dish in front of someone important.

“Well, with two tengu working together, anything’s possible, right?” the swan offers.

Shouyou doesn’t like it, but he nods.

Hitoka, ashen-faced and frozen stiff, nods along with them.

 

\--

 

“Two different covens called it in, and it wasn’t the big ones,” Hisashi tells him after a long drink of his coffee. It’s only number two so far. “Betony and Dogwood. I think Yarrow heard about it, too, but they’re _really_ small time. We’re talking a dozen members. Foxglove and Alkanet are going nuts, and Eyebright is refusing to comment.”

Tadashi nods tiredly. Suga, standing, continues staring out the window. The sirens have stopped for the time being, but they’re announcing a voluntary evacuation on every news station. Suga had said it will probably turn into something mandatory soon. Tadashi is just tired of the noise.

Hisashi glances between them and drops his voice. “That’s the guy you’re training under?”

“Yeah, that’s the hunter who I’m learning from. My main… teacher, I guess.” God, it feels _weird_ to call Suga that. Mentor figure, sure, but the kind that is more like a frat guy working on his masters adopting a freshman. “He’s not a witch, either.”

“I know,” Hisashi says quickly with an uncomfortable fidget, followed by another sip of coffee. “But I think I’ve seen him around coven stuff.”

“Foxglove,” Suga answers without looking at either of them.

Hisashi ducks his head, cheeks bright red. “S-Sorry, man. Everyone’s just up in arms about this entire thing, and the ball…”

“They won’t cancel it,” Suga says with a heavy sigh, sliding into the booth with them. “They’ve already spent the money, and they don’t want any guests thinking that they can’t handle this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they play it off as wanting to avoid any kind of incident. Remember the Roessler incident?”

Hisashi snorts, then claps a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “Oh my _god_ , dude, that was _terrible_. That was my first ball, too, can you believe it?”

Suga finally cracks a grin, as if startled out of his thoughts. “No shit? That’s terrible! Welcome to coven life, here’s a bunch of drunk fae and noodles.”

Tadashi is _very_ lost.

“How do you get into balls if you’re not a witch?”

“My best friends are either witches or Oikawa Tooru. That comes with certain perks.”

“ _That’s_ where I know you from! You’re the guy who used to dance with Oikawa!”

Suga goes scarlet all the way down his neck, and quickly tries to hide himself in the jacket Tadashi is certain belongs to Daichi. Hisashi laughs and takes another swig of coffee like it’s beer at a bar. “The point remains, they’re not canceling the ball tonight. It’s too late notice, especially for spirits or creatures who’ve traveled here.”

“Well, I already had half a mind to ditch, but if Ushijima is stirring up a shitstorm, then you can definitely count me out. How does anyone know that he’s not going to do anything there?”

“With everyone in the same big room? He’d be killed in an instant…” Suga trails off, and Tadashi knows they’re thinking the same thing: death doesn’t stop Ushijima. “Even for someone like him, he’d be overpowered. It would be impossible to sneak anything in or out, either. He’ll probably just try to use tonight as an alibi.”

“Until he murders his dance partner or tries to spike the punch with poison.”

“Half the city suspects him. He won’t be able to do a thing.”

“What if he doesn’t go?” Tadashi asks. Both men blink at him. “Like… if everyone _else_ is at this big party, then won’t he have free rein to go do stuff elsewhere?”

“No, he’s gotten invited. Eyebright is going to make him go to keep an eye on him,” Suga replies. “Like I said, he’ll want an alibi, and Eyebright wants everyone to leave him alone. I think—hope—he’ll behave himself tonight. But still… these sirens mean he’s going to do something soon.”

“Or someone pissed off a weather spirit _again_. I don’t think we’ve rebounded from the last one that went missing,” Hisashi mutters. “It’s raining. In _January_.”

“Or it’s entirely unrelated,” Tadashi suggests.

“That’s almost worse. I don’t think anyone can handle anything _else_ on their plates,” Hisashi finishes his coffee, and rests his head on his arms. “Sometimes, I think having a magical presence in this city is a curse itself. Maybe we’ll just move away to some cottage out in the woods. No one minds if hermits in the woods have magic.”

“The dream,” Suga absently agrees.

Tadashi smiles at both of them, but he doesn’t envy anyone going to deal with Ushijima in the Old Moon Ball. Playing nice on purge night had been difficult enough, and that still had almost ended up in bloodshed. Hopefully this doesn’t turn out the same way.

He makes note to give Suga some extra luck before he leaves tonight, just in case.

 

\--

 

“You’ve been asking for a lot of luck lately,” Morisuke says pointedly, though he allows Kiyoko to continue brushing him. She’s far better at it than Lev. “Nervous?”

“Who isn’t nervous?” she replies.

“What’re we nervous about?” Lev asks. He glances up from his reading—another textbook full of runes, and he’s holding it upside-down. Morisuke would complain, but considering how fast Lev is picking it all up, there must be some method to the madness.

Yuuki pops up over the edge of the book with ears perked. Kiyoko eyes the kitten with poorly concealed interest.

“There’s a lot going on, and everyone’s busy,” Kiyoko replies.

“Everyone’s worried about Ushijima,” Morisuke translates. “And humans like luck. Maybe a little too much at times, but who am I to judge? I’m only a luck spirit.”

“Shouldn’t that mean humans listen to you about luck?” Yuuki asks in confusion, and Lev bursts out laughing. As endearing as he is, to both of them, Morisuke doesn’t like it. He slinks away from Kiyoko and pulls the last of the luck she’d brushed out with him.

He dumps it on Lev when he jumps over, and thanks to the _oof_ he makes at the sudden weight, it means he ends up sneezing. The bakeneko scatter to avoid the snot.

“Now it all smells like luck,” Yuuki says with a grin.

“It _already_ smelled like luck in here. Better than the magic and potion smells. You’re probably getting a lot of customers preparing for that party of yours.”

“A fair bit,” Kiyoko shrugs a little. “Between Koushi and Tadashi, I feel like they’re going to drink me out of restoration potions. We’ve been needing more healing poultices and painkillers too, since…”

“Since what?” Lev asks, unable to read the mood as always. Morisuke doesn’t know the details, but he does know that the little blonde healer hasn’t been here in a while.

“Nevermind. Yaku, if you or your friend would like to donate or sell any more luck to me, let me know.”

“We’ll see,” Morisuke places a paw on Yuuki to hold him back. He’s been eyeing that brush their entire visit. “But I don’t expect you to want any over your clothing for your event tonight.”

“Well, no, it has silver accents, not gold.”

“Then we’ll take our leave now. Thanks for the brushing.”

“Actually, Lev, may I ask a favor from you too?” Kiyoko asks, raising her head from the pile of luck she’d been brushing into a little jar.

Morisuke once again puts a paw out to stop Yuuki. “We’ll head out, then. Lev, we’ll see you back at the hotel room. Come along, Yuuki.”

“But I want—”

“ _I’ll_ brush you if that’s what you want.” Morisuke likes Kiyoko well enough, but between how strained things things have gotten with her and Kenma, and Tadashi’s own issues with luck, he would like to limit the amount of luck the humans are getting. He has a feeling, deep in his bones, that he doesn’t want to pour more fuel onto that fire.

You don’t live as long as he has by following every witch who offers some attention.

“Bye!” Yuuki calls just before they leave.

Kiyoko offers a small wave and a smaller smile, and Lev offers a large wave and a larger smile.

Morisuke is glad they vanish a moment later, because he can’t help the exasperated fondness bubbling up within him. How embarrassing.

Alisa is out when they settle back into the hotel room, so both languish as cats, enjoying the comparatively huge bed. Yuuki rolls a few times, before ending up on his back. “Why don’t you like giving luck to humans? I thought luck spirits were fond of humans.”

“They are. _I_ am.”

“But…?”

Morisuke sighs, then baps him on the nose. “Don’t you know the saying about curiosity and cats? If you must know, I’ve inadvertently been responsible for turning a young spirit into a luck spirit, as well as addicting a young human to luck. I’m learning about consequences. Learn from my lessons, meddling doesn’t do much good when it comes to humans.”

“But you’re still doing it,”

Morisuke’s ears pin back in annoyance. “You have to commit to what you do. Bakeneko are long-lived, but this means nothing if you don’t admit to the mark you’ve left on the world. Even if it is just sleeping in hotel rooms and following around nekomata.”

“Hey!”

“Enjoy it while lasts, kitten. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the good, peaceful times don’t last.”

 

\--

 

“The last time I got this dressed up, it was for a funeral,” Yuu says with his head craned back. Ryuunosuke cringes as he fixes his bowtie for him. “This is so exciting! This is the best pity date in the history of _anything_.”

“It’s not fair that Kiyoko asked you,” Ryuu huffs and flicks Yuu’s jaw. “Sae just wants me out of the city with the dogs.”

“And you normally clean up so well, too,” Daichi deadpans.

“Hey now. I look fucking _amazing_ in a suit!”

“That wasn’t sarcasm. You just _normally_ dress in the rattiest clothes you can find.”

“Just because we don’t all dress like Oxford professors—”

“Boys, boys, you’re smothering me. You’re _both_ pretty,” Yuu generously informs them.

Ryuu and Daichi exchange a glance, then both burst out laughing. Yuu grins, and Ryuunosuke finishes tying his bowtie for him. Daichi isn’t certain what to think—there’s some heavy history there he doesn’t wish to discuss right now—but somehow, he _could_ see the man in something so flashy for a funeral.

Yuu looks damn good in a deep red suit overtop a black dress shirt; the fabric is slightly shimmery and the cut is slim-fitting and unfairly flattering. His cufflinks and earrings are bright silver. He’s a small package stuffed to the brim with class and confidence, and if Daichi didn’t know her, he’d feel sorry for his date.

Not that Daichi feels plain next to him, but… alright, maybe a little. One can’t go wrong with black for a formal affair, however, and he’s sticking with it.

“You got that mopey look on your face again, man,” Ryuu says. Daichi scowls into the mirror. “At least you’re going!”

“You’ve gone before,” Yuu flatly points out.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna go again! It’s fun, and now I’m gonna miss you two actin’ all flabbergasted for the first time.” Ryuunosuke rests his elbow on Daichi’s shoulder and gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Noya’s at least known about magic for awhile now, but Sawamura, your brain is gonna melt out your _ears_. And I’m missing it because Sae wants me to babysit!”

“I’d like to take this time to thank you for _also_ taking care of my dogs.”

“Fuck you, Noya. You’re gonna get them back and they’ll be all, ‘ _Who’s my master?’_ Because they’ll love me more! I’m a dog whisperer.”

Yuu lets out a booming laugh and pretends to wipe his eye. “You can _try_!”

“Oh wise, experienced, humble Lord Tanaka, what are we expecting for this evening? Please, enlighten us naive newbies,” In the process of shifting his arm to sling it over Tanaka’s shoulders, Daichi ends up elbowing him in the neck. “Incapacitating me won’t get you a ticket to the ball, you know.”

“Who do you think I went with last time I was there?” Ryuu returns with a leer.

“So, we’re expecting Kiyoko to literally slay out of sheer beauty, but what else are we up against tonight?” Yuu interrupts.

“What else do you need?”

“Suga will be there,” Daichi pointedly reminds them.

“Yeah, that’s true, but like. It’s _Kiyoko_. Oikawa will be there, too, and he cleans up pretty well. There’s usually a couple of love spirits, maybe a siren or two.” Ryuu lists them off on his fingers as he goes, and Daichi tries not to let even that short list overwhelm him. “Fae are always a blast, and tengu are kinda fun after they get drunk. All the coven heads will be there, and _that’s_ a real party once the fists start flying.”

“Is there gonna be a brawl?” Yuu asks with sparkling eyes.

“Probably!”

This is all at a stark counterpoint to what Suga told Daichi of the evening; he’s been expecting a very formal affair with high amounts of grace, elegance, and magic. Hence the suit. He’s not exactly a man who likes to dress up.

“You got your angry face on,” Ryuu squints over at Daichi like he expects him to bite. “How did Suga sell you on this? Fairy dust and tea?”

“Doesn’t fairy dust give you a high if you drink it?” Yuu asks.

Daichi begins undoing his tie.

“No, _no_ , you stop that. You’re going, and you’re going to be absorbed into the magical hivemind yet.” Ryuu grabs his hands, and Daichi makes a show of resisting. Tanaka Ryuunosuke does not do things by half-measures. Daichi ends up with his tie nearly strangling him. “Where’re your tags?”

“I’m not wearing dogtags beneath a suit.”

“You are if they’re hiding a vorpal sword.”

“I’m _not_ sneaking a weapon into a fancy party.”

“Dude, there’s no weapon rules,” Yuu tells him.

At Daichi’s stunned expression, Ryuu’s grin is back, and he smugly informs him, “The only rules are for propriety and to make sure you stick to dress code. Half the guests are gonna be able to set you on fire or claw out your stomach without breakin’ a sweat, and almost everyone there is gonna be some shade of magical. They can’t really police that, man.”

“So they’re not trying?”

“Well, instead of getting politely asked to leave, you’ll get cursed or you’ll get your ass handed to you. Might even lose a limb!” Yuu exclaims, as if he’s _excited_ by the prospect.

Not for the first time, Daichi wonders just what the hell Suga has dragged him into.

 

\--

 

“Suck it in,” Suga commands and pulls on the strings again as hard as he can.

Kiyoko grunts and wheezes, probably the least graceful noises he’s ever heard from her.

“You’ve lost weight?”

“T-Tie the damn strings, Koushi.”

Suga doesn’t remember there being this much give to the corset top last time she’d worn the dress. He’s seen her in it all of three times. At the end of high school, it had been slightly large on her. A couple years after, it had been a little snug, with normal weight gain after aging. But now, it’s a little loose on her again, and that worries him.

He gets the topmost laces knotted, and Kiyoko relaxes as Suga shakes out his fingers. “You don’t have to make the bow pretty,” she says, eyeing his hands.

“It’s fine. That’s not too loose on you, right? You don’t want any kind of wardrobe malfunction…”

“I’m taped in, don’t worry.”

“I think Noya would be honorbound to kill everyone in the ball if you flashed them,” Suga says, thoughtful, and it _almost_ wrings a smile out of her. “Maybe that will be the entertainment for the night.”

“I’d be happy if Nishinoya just gets happy drunk and the only drama of the evening is him throwing up on someone.” With a soft, sad look, staring to the side of the mirror, she adds, “I miss Asahi. I know ghosts aren’t allowed, but…”

“He gets nervous in crowds. …Got.” Suga swallows, but his voice is even when he continues, “He got fidgety around regular parties. Noya’s the social butterfly, so I’m sure you couldn’t have picked a better date. Even if Ryuu is glaring daggers at both of you for the next month.”

“He’ll be out of town.”

“Huh?” That’s news to him. He’s not sure Tadashi knows that, either.

“I heard Saeko asked him to take the dogs out to their parents’.”

Few things ring more alarm bells than Saeko getting rid of her dogs, except Saeko getting rid of her _brother_. “Is there something going down tonight I’m unaware of?”

Eyes askance, Kiyoko murmurs, “Probably.”

Suga goes to run his hand back through his hair, but it’s already been slicked back, so he backs off at the last moment. “Well… Really. _Really_?”

“It’s a _very_ educated guess. I told you we were trying to force him into a corner—”

“You neglected to tell me that it’s _tonight_!” Suga’s voice is higher than he likes, so he clears his throat before speaking again. Kiyoko’s finally looking at him, at least, though it’s the closest she ever comes to surly. “Okay, fine. Tonight then.”

“Tomorrow, more likely.”

“ _Soon_ ,” he amends, exasperated. “At what point were you going to inform me of this?”

Kiyoko pretends to adjust her dress. Suga doesn’t buy it; he crosses his arms and waits her out. If he weren’t in socks, tapping his foot would make more of a point, probably. Even Sunshine comes over with an insistent meow, though Suga isn’t certain how the cat got into the bedroom.

“No, not on papa’s dress pants!” Suga carefully toes the cat away from the formalwear. “I’m sorry, Sunny. These clothes are worth more than you. Go out into the living room again.” As carefully as he can, he scoops the cat up and holds him at arm’s length away from his shirt.

Sunshine gives him a pleading look, tail swishing, when he’s set down on the couch. Suga can’t help but sink down beside him, despite the black fur he’s risking on silver slacks. As if sensing his mood, Sunshine sits beside him, meowing like his usual needy self.

Kiyoko is nearly silent when she joins them in the living room, but Suga sees the sparkly hem of her dress in his peripheral vision. “Should we just stay in? We need to prepare.”

“Nothing should happen during the party,” she replies. “Don’t throw away tonight because you’re worrying.”

“It’s only the end of the world!” he barks with a high, humorless laugh.

“It’s a _party_. And what good would it do to sit at home and fret? We’ve already been saving supplies for months, and Saeko has special weaponry as well. You’ve always squirreled away massive amounts of potions and supplies. What would one more night help you?” Kiyoko reaches up to adjust her glasses, only to find they’re gone, and rubs awkwardly at her nose. “It will be _alright_ , Koushi. Please believe me.”

“I do.”

“Then let’s just go to the party.”

“I’m bringing my bag.”

“You can’t bring it inside.”

“I know you’ve charmed your clutch,” Suga says with a smirk. Kiyoko frowns and does not deny it. “I can put it in that!”

“Do you know what a mess it is to put a pocket dimension _inside_ a pocket dimension?”

“Oh, come on! We’ve done it plenty of times—”

“I’m not carrying your bag for you all night,” Kiyoko flatly interrupts. “You don’t need it there. You’ll only get in trouble.”

His jacket will conceal the knife sheath attached to the back of his belt, but there’s no way he can bring in a messenger bag. “Then I’ll put it in Daichi’s tags. Dates are supposed to carry your shit, right?”

Kiyoko sighs, but there’s a fond tinge to it.

 

\--

 

Daichi can count the number of formal events he’s been to on one hand: family weddings, a high-end graduation party, and a military ball. He knows the basics: food is served, too many forks are used, people wear fake smiles the entire evening, and everyone hates dancing until the alcohol kicks in. There’s either too much country or too much dated pop. The decor is usually nice.

He’s spent the entire taxi ride sweating bullets just by sheer proximity. He may be a raging homosexual, but Shimizu Kiyoko is the most beautiful woman he’s ever met, and he had been unprepared for her regal appearance.

She has contacts in, though the way she keeps brushing her temples shows how rarely she wears them. Her hair is twisted up into something artfully messy, and clipped back with a silver flower piece, with a few perfectly curled stray strands framing her face. Her dress looks a bit like a cupcake and takes up a lot of space. The color fades down from midnight blue until it’s completely silver at the bottom, designed like a starry night, strapless and cinched in the back with a corset and bow.

Yuu hasn’t been able to make eye contact with her yet. His face is redder than his suit.

Daichi can’t fault him, considering he’s staring out the window _away_ from his own date. His and Suga’s hands are clasped against Suga’s thigh, tight and a little clammy. Daichi, for all his desire to go on more dates, isn’t quite prepared for the reality of them. Not when Suga looks ravishing in a sharp suit of full silver overtop a crisp white shirt. It almost perfectly matches his soft starlight hair, which has been slicked back for the evening, He looks as close to a spirit as Daichi used to imagine them being.

“Everyone’s so tense,” Kiyoko murmurs.

“We have an excuse,” Suga replies through a tight smile.

Yuu twists around to grin at them, and Daichi stares harder out the window. “You two look like middle school prom dates. And look, Daichi’s turning red!”

“Yuu, sit back down properly,” Kiyoko sighs. He ducks, just a little, but remains sitting improperly. “Though prom isn’t too far off as a descriptor… There’s nothing to be nervous about, Daichi. It’s all perfectly safe.”

“Aside from— _ow_!” Suga raises his legs away from Kiyoko’s fierce kicks, and ends up with his knees up to his chest. It’s silly and immature and a _wonderful_ reminder that he’s still a dork beneath the glitz.

Yuu smirks like he’s won something, and sits back down properly.

The tension in the car eases by the time they arrive. Suga had leaned over every few blocks to give Daichi a peck or rest his weight against him, which Daichi had to return. Kiyoko rolls her eyes as she slides out of the back seat first. Suga makes sure her dress doesn’t get caught on anything, and Yuu is already out of the car, extending a hand to help her.

“I feel a bit like a princess,” she admits with a smile in her voice.

Suga slides out of the car next, and offers his hand to Daichi in the same way.

“I don’t feel like a princess,” he can’t help his own grin, and of course he takes his hand.

“How early are we?” Yuu asks. He and Kiyoko don’t stay connected, and he’s instead halfway up the stairs to the building.

There are a few people—creatures?—milling about in small knots outside, and Daichi isn’t sure if they’re waiting or just chatting. “We’re not that early,” Kiyoko murmurs after checking her phone. “Perhaps there’s just a line at coat check? People are always late, and dinner won’t begin for another hour.”

“Then let’s find our seats early! We can beat the rush!”

“You just want to scope out the ballroom,” Suga comments, laughing, and Yuu doesn’t refute this. He rushes ahead like a bolt of lightning, though he waits politely by the door in order to hold it open for them. “Just don’t get into any trouble tonight, okay?”

Yuu gives him a falsely offended look.

“Koushi, your tickets,” Kiyoko says, ignoring them both. She digs around in her clutch, then waves the two tickets until they’re snatched from her hand. “Yuu, here’s yours.”

Daichi takes his. “Actual paper tickets? I would’ve thought… well, magic.”

“This is actually easier to keep track of,” Suga replies, “but they’re charmed, too, so don’t worry. You’ll get your dose of overwhelmed. …Overwhelmedness?”

“Overwhelming is the noun, technically. …I think.”

They make it through coat check and registration, declaring themselves human despite Suga’s nervous little chuckle.

While Daichi had been getting used to the long corridors and firmly nonhuman presences around them, there’s little that could compare him to the main hall. It’s huge, even for a ballroom. Tables ring the outside, tastefully decorated with multicolored candles and wreaths of flowers, matching the decor of the whole room. Lights glimmer like glitter overhead, there are all manner of colorful and beautiful people all around. It seems like something out of a fairytale, until Daichi spots the DJ booth in the corner.

“There’s no live band?” It seems _highly_ out of place, even off to the side.

“Well, we’ll probably get musically-inclined guests later on in the evening, I suppose,” Kiyoko replies. Then, casting a sidelong glance at Suga, she flatly asks, “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“I thought it’d be funny,” Suga admits without shame or apology. “You’re probably expecting something like out of _Cinderella_ , right?”

Or _Harry Potter_ , or any number of historical romances. Daichi nods.

“Truth is, fae actually like heavy bass, because of their…” Suga mimics antenna above his hair with his fingers. “And wings, I think. They like the vibrations. And most spirits don’t get into the human world too often, so unless they’re really dedicated to specific artists or composers, they generally like new stuff. Sorry, but tonight is going to be all pop music and dubstep.”

Yuu cackles, clutching his sides, and Kiyoko looks mildly sympathetic to Daichi’s stunned look. Suga leans against her to support his own awful laughter.

“Oh, Kiyoko! Excuse me!” A woman approaches them, rings of flowers hanging on her arm, followed by—Daichi does a double-take, because the man’s lower half is that of a snake.

“Mai,” Kiyoko says warmly, even smiling, completely ignoring the two laughing men hanging off her. “You look lovely.”

“A-Ah, thanks. You too!” The Mai woman blushes prettily, playing with one of her loose locks of hair. The rest is up in such a mass of curls that magic _must_ be involved. “I’m in charge of the flowers this year, so you know the drill. Palms out, please!”

Daichi can’t help but stare at the naga, so Suga grabs his hand and offers it for him. Thankfully, there’s no prick or blood magic involved, and instead appears to be an ordinary palm reading. He’s almost disappointed by it. Mai hums and thinks after each one, and once she’s done with all of them, she sorts through the flowers hanging from her arm. Only now does Daichi notice that they’re meant to be crowns.

“Rosemary for remembrance,” Mai says as she manages to wedge a crown over Yuu’s gelled spikes. “And snapdragon for protection. How dashing!” Yuu beams while Mai moves on. “Rosemary for you, too, Kiyoko, and white heather.”

“Thank you,” she replies after Mai sets the crown upon her head.

“We match,” Yuu says, grinning, and offers a high five. Surprisingly, Kiyoko gives it to him.

“Queen Anne’s Lace and zinnia for you. Very bright!” She has to stand on the tips of her toes to crown Daichi, but he’s too off guard by Suga’s sour expression to be of much help to her. “It’s for lasting affection and sanctuary. Very heartfelt.

“And Sugawara! Larkspur and forget me nots for you this year.”

His frown sours further, but he bows to let her set it upon his head. Mai gives them a cheerful wave, then disappears with her naga friend. Daichi adjusts the crown on his head self-consciously. “We’re trading,” Suga swaps them before Kiyoko can do much more than splutter in protest.

“ _Koushi_! That’s rude!”

“And this looks like hemlock,” he retorts as he adjusts his new crown. Daichi touches the new, bluer one he’s been given. Most of the flower meanings went over his head, so he’ll defer to Suga’s judgment on this.

“Why do we have these?” Daichi asks, still adjusting.

“They’re gifts from the covens for the human guests and their dates.”

“Humans get stuff that spirits don’t? That sounds like a fuckup and a half,” Yuu points out, and Kiyoko shakes her head as she rummages through her clutch. Her hand shouldn’t be able to go that deep into that little thing.

“It only offends them. Hold still, I have bobby pins in here, somewhere… and, shoot, Koushi, your bag—”

“I have some in mine. Here, I’ll go grab them and swap it out.”

After Kiyoko comes up with a few mismatched bobby pins, she hands her clutch to Suga, who takes it and marches Daichi back out of the ballroom. Daichi steadies the flowers on his head and has little choice but to follow. “What are we swapping out _now_?”

“You wore your dogtags, right?”

Suga tugs him into coat check, dodging the attendant, and pushes Daichi toward the back. They duck behind one row of thick winter coats, and end up pressed tight, nose-to-nose in the back corner. “Uh,” Daichi manages, eloquently. He’s not sure where to expect this to go, especially this early in the evening. Suga almost glows in the dim light from the single lightbulb overhead.

“Your heart’s pounding. Anything you’d like to share, Daichi?” Suga smirks, before his hands come up to fiddle with Daichi’s collar under the pretense of straightening it.

Daichi _was_ going to go in for the kiss, but not if he’s playing into Suga’s hands. “Just nervous with all the magic around. Always nervous around your plans.”

“Hey now!”

“Mind telling me why we’re hidden in a closet? I have some guesses, but I know I’m wrong.”

“Maybe later,” Suga elbows his way around a couple coats to get some more room. He reaches his entire arm down into Kiyoko’s clutch, confirming Daichi’s suspicions, then holds it out to him. “Hold this for me, we kinda had to wedge it in there for it to fit. I’m gonna pull on the count of three, alright?”

“Uh, yeah, but what _is_ it?”

“One, two, and _three_!” Suga tugs with his entire body, and ends up falling through the coat rack when his messenger bag pops out of the clutch.

“You brought that with you? I thought this isn’t a work event!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking!”

Suga’s crown has fallen off too, so they spend a few moments searching, knees knocking and hands brushing. It’s Daichi who manages to fish it out from behind someone’s boots. “Here. Mind telling me why you smuggled in your bag?”

“In case of emergency?” Suga tries, but it’s not particularly convincing. He dips his fingers beneath Daichi’s collar again, and fishes out the dogtags with a bit more choking than necessary. “You know me, I like to be prepared. But it kind of threw off my ensemble tonight, so…”

“I’m not sure you need to bring a walking armory to a dance.”

“You’re overestimating how many weapons are in there.”

“Apothecary?”

“Are you two quite _finished_ yet?” comes an irate call, and both jump, guilty and embarrassed. Suga rolls up the messenger bag as best he can. Even with literal magic as an explanation, it seems impossible how he crams it into the dogtags.

They shuffle past an annoyed attendant with arms full of multiple coats, and the guests waiting eye them with blatant amusement. Suga goes very still as soon as they’re out of the doorway; Daichi himself recognizes one of the waiting people, though it takes him a moment to actually place the man.

“You’re Tanaka’s friend, right?” Daichi asks, and the man turns to him. This little group already has their flower crowns, though the man’s stays in place fairly easily with the help of his mohawk. “Yamato?”

“Yamamoto,” he replies, looking between Suga and Daichi like he’s attempting to solve a very difficult algebraic equation. “And you’re…?”

“Ah, sorry. We met on Halloween, Tanaka dragged me along to that party.”

“Wait, right, the guy who won the jackalope! I remember you, you were a stick in the mud once Ryuu started his drunken Portuguese. Dude, nice to see you!” The man throws a huge arm over Daichi’s shoulders and knocks his flowers askew. “Didn’t expect to see you at this kinda thing, didn’t know you were a witch, but you’re, uh, here with Sugawara, right?”

Suga nods, tight, and keeps glancing at Yamamoto’s friends. One of them clearly isn’t human, judging by the fox ears and tail, but the other man appears to be human, if built like a brick. The fox guy leers down at them with a rather ugly smirk. It occurs only now to Daichi that not only does Suga probably know these people, but they may not be friends.

“We should be going,” Suga forces out through gritted teeth.

“Fine, fine, let me hang out with your boy toy after you drink enough to remove the stick up your ass, ‘kay?” Yamamoto releases Daichi, then waves dismissively at them.

“Mind telling me what that was? You can let go now—”

“That was Ushijima,” Suga says, voice hitching, “that’s the man who’s trying to end the world.”

 

\--

 

“Well, that’s an annoyance,” Tendou glares after the retreating figures.

“Don’t go picking fights, no one’s gonna be keen on the kitsune that Ushijima Wakatoshi brings as his date. Even Sugawara would win that fight,” Yamamoto drawls. He gives Tendou an unfair stink eye, one that Wakatoshi doesn’t exactly dispute.

“He’s a matagot.”

“Yeah, sorry. Point is, fox spirits are bad enough, and no one even knew you were… dating,” Yamamoto says cautiously. He looks between the two of them expectantly.

“It was nice seeing you, Yamamoto. I hope we can see each other again later in the evening, but we’re supposed to be meeting a friend of Tendou’s.”

The burly witch watches them go with fond bemusement, and while Tendou can’t help but give him a cheeky wave, he feels _far_ better once they have some space. He knows the place will be swarming with all kinds tonight, but he hadn’t expected to get ambushed by one of Wakatoshi’s coven mates with the first step inside. “That’s not gonna be a problem, right? I’m not exactly gonna be there for most of tonight, and if people are keeping an eye out for unruly fox spirits, then…” Tendou trails off meaningfully.

This time, Wakatoshi catches on. “It will be fine. There’s nothing you’ll do that will rouse any more suspicion than my presence, and I’ll be sure to behave myself. Your friend will help with that, you said?”

“Yeah. Not much you can’t do by way of distraction with a siren helping you— _parle du diable_! Semi-semi, over here!” Tendou uses Wakatoshi as a boost to wave up over the heads of the thickening crowd. He gets Eita’s attention almost immediately, but he also sees Eita turn away. “I’ll yell _louder_! Semi-semiiiiiii!”  [5]

“Shut _up_ , stop drawing so much attention!” Eita shoots a narrow-eyed glare up at Wakatoshi, but it morphs into surprise, then something blushing and hilarious. “Oh my god, you were right about him.”

“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” Wakatoshi replies like this is a normal conversation.

“Uh, nice to… yeah.”

“Smooth,” Tendou snickers. Eita smacks him without looking.

“Why’re you wearing one of those?” Eita asks, then glares up at Tendou. “Those are for witches. For not wanting to stick out, you’re doing a poor job of things.”

“Witches and their _dates_!” Tendou replies with much waggling of the eyebrows. “You can wear mine while I’m out if you’d like.”

“I think that would draw the wrong kind of attention,” Wakatoshi points out. “Technically speaking, you should leave the flowers here while you’re gone.”

“Wouldn’t that raise more suspicion…?”

“I’ll just hang them on Shirabu’s antler while I’m not using them. Do we know what the plan is?” Tendou brightly asks.

“You go raise hell elsewhere, and we enjoy polite company and too much attention?” Eita suggests.

“I stay somewhere highly visible and do nothing of note all night, and your friend is our emergency response,” Wakatoshi corrects, frowning in unfairly endearing consternation. “I’m just here to prove our innocence.”

“Are you really that innocent if you’re letting _that_ roam around for your plans?” Eita asks flatly, gesturing to Tendou, who has to strike a perfectly innocent pose with such a good lead-in. Eita smacks him again.

“I’ll be back soon, don’t worry. Don’t cause any scandals without me!” For luck, he kisses them both on the cheek. Shame that he has to walk away instead of disappear. The building has been warded for the ball, so no spirits can jump in or out at their leisure. A hassle, but not unworkable.

It’s chilly without his coat, but he only needs to get down the steps to the street before he can vanish. Kind of a pity, since it’s not every day a matagot can crash a witches’ ball, but oh well. He’ll live.

Tendou reappears in front of an old stone church. There are only a few lights on that he can see, but probably in offices, and all on the ground floor. He glances around for a moment. Nothing. “Shirabu? You’re here, right?”

“ _Yes_ , and took you long enough,” comes a voice near enough to him that he jumps. “Jeez, you’re already nervous?”

“Nervous? _Me_?” Tendou scoffs. He makes a blind reach for Shirabu, but swipes empty air. “Come, let’s gallantly rescue your _beau_ now. Ready?”  [6]

“I’ve been ready forever. C’mon, it’s this way.” With a tug on his hand, Shirabu guides him around to the side of the church. They slip into a side entrance easily—it hadn’t even been locked—and steal their way upstairs.

Tendou only briefly catches a glimpse of someone else in the church. He knows that the priest here is friendly with the tengu, and they’ll need to incapacitate him if necessary, but fighting in a church doesn’t sit very well with him. Fighting a priest even less so.

This set of stairs leads all the way up to the drafty attic. It’s cold again, and ten kinds of dusty, but Tendou has no complaints when they spot the faintly glowing realm door on the far side. Nothing moves in the rafters, and while the entire area stinks like feathers and blood, it looks like they’re alone.

“Did you see any of the crows at the Old Moon Ball?” Shirabu whispers as they tiptoe closer.

“No, but they’re all supposed to have representatives, right?”

“There will probably be guards on the other side.”

“That’s what you’re here for!” Tendou chirps. He shifts into a fox, and jumps into Shirabu’s arms.

Well, he misses, but Shirabu catches him out of the air before he lands. Though he’d been warned about this, it’s still strange to suddenly _see_ Shirabu above him, scowling and shaggy-haired and as expressive as ever. They should both be invisible now, so long as he keeps up physical contact, and Tendou bares his teeth up at him in an approximation of a grin.

Shirabu smirks back down, showing off sharp teeth.

“I’ve always wondered why you have such sharp teeth for a deer.”

“You can save the chatter for after we’re safe,” he grumbles, and pushes at the door.

There is a guard stationed immediately on the other side. She cocks her head at the door opening, but doesn’t immediately attack or call for backup.

Both of them hold their breath as they circle around her. Shirabu nearly crushes Tendou to his chest, and he almost trips on the uneven cobblestone.

It’s half a street down before they breathe. Tendou wriggles in his arms, half in relief and half to muffle his laughter. Shirabu squishes him again as a warning.

Last time, Shirabu got out with the egg, and his friend didn’t. Shirabu has been taking occasional jaunts between realms to visit, so Tendou doesn’t fret too much about where they’re going.

It’s the first time he’s been to another realm proper—the goblin market doesn’t count. This isn’t some mishmash of different cultures and magics, but a pure sense of those stuffy birds. Everything seems to be wood, and most of the architecture is designed with height in mind rather than width. He sincerely hopes they don’t have to try climbing anywhere. He can only float so high.

The prison turns out to be surprisingly small and poorly guarded. There’s only one tengu stationed outside, and another dozing inside. It doesn’t seem as if many of the rooms are occupied, but Shirabu is in such a hurry that Tendou hardly gets a glimpse as they rush past. He nearly runs into the last room in the hall, and Tendou barely catches the door before he slams it shut and ruins everything.

“Tai,” Shirabu whispers, and the figure in the cell snaps his head up.

“Kenjirou,” the man whispers back, and with a few pained grunts, manages to make it to the bars separating them.

Tendou slips out of Shirabu’s slackened grip before they could try doing anything through the bars to each other. “Hi there, I’m Tendou, and I’ll be helping your jailbreak this evening,” he says, resting his chin on his folded paws. “Kawanishi, right? It’s nice to finally meet who Shirabu has been tearing his hair out over, but more pleasantries will have to wait until after we’re out.”

“We need to figure out a way to break this open,” Shirabu mutters with a glare in his voice. “It’s tengu magic, but it’s still just…”

“If you break that down, we’ll have every bird spirit in the realm on our asses,” Tendou points out.

“We need to break it open physically to circumvent the magic. But we can’t force the lock or the door without making a mess of things.”

“Or noise.” Tendou can make some fire, but they’ll be warded against that, and Shirabu’s questionable magical ability seems to be centered all on overwhelming force.

“Actually,” Kawanishi quietly breaks in, tearing his eyes from the invisible Shirabu for the first time, “I think I have a way out on my own.”

“If you could get out on your own, why are _we_ here?”

“I can barely walk,” he flatly replies. “Remember my last visitors? They should be stopping by again tonight. Have the little witch pop the lock, then we can make a break for it.”

“And that still puts us in front of two tengu and two witches. We can’t fight that many.” They probably can’t fight any tengu at all, but Tendou kindly doesn’t interject. Shirabu flickers briefly, and clings to the bars like he’s ready to tear them apart.

“Take the little one as a hostage. The crow and the other witch almost shat themselves when she approached me last time,” Kawanishi suggests.

“No, the last time someone tried that, she _killed_ Ushijima.”

“Woah, _woah_ , back up a moment.” Tendou darts in between them with ears perked. “You don’t mean those little brats that hung around with blondie, do you? The little scared one that killed Toshi? What the hell are _they_ doing here?”

“She killed someone?” Kawanishi looks nearly _offended_ by the idea. “She broke into a tengu jail cell in order to help a stranger with some injuries. And I assumed this benefactor of yours would be more…”

The sound of the outside door opening cuts the conversation short.

Tendou leaps into Shirabu’s arms, and they backpedal until they’re pressed against the wall, scarcely daring to breathe. Precious few seconds pass—Kawanishi limps back away from the bars of his cell—before the interlopers tiptoe into the room.

Kawanishi was right: it’s two tengu and two humans. Tendou barely holds back a growl, and Shirabu squeezes him preemptively.

“You have to be _quiet_!” the unknown tengu with the white plumage hisses at them. He’s taller even than the grumpy witch, but certainly no crow. “But there, I got you in again. Today, _my_ questions will be answered!”

“ _You_ be quiet!” Tall Witch hisses back.

“How are you doing tonight? How has your leg been?” Tiny Murderer asks in an inappropriately gentle voice. Her expression is full of delicate sympathy, but Tendou still bares his teeth at her.

“Fine,” Kawanishi grunts. “I’ll trade you information for the ability to walk, though. Running would be even better.”

“Why, you planning a jailbreak anytime soon?” the short tengu asks with a sneer.

“A guy can dream.”

“You, do you know anything about a robin tengu named Nakashima? He went missing—”

“Keep it _down_!”

They squabble, and Tendou wonders how they haven’t gotten caught yet. Shirabu shifts from hoof to hoof, eyes locked onto the little blonde human, and Tendou nudges him in reassurance.

She ignores the tengu behind her and after fiddling with the lock, it pops open.

Shirabu almost starts forward, but Tendou shoves back against his chest.

She kneels beside Kawanishi as the tall witch shoves his boot between the door and frame before they can get locked in together.

“Does Ushijima have the First egg right now?” she asks, hands hovering over Kawanishi’s leg.

Kawanishi glances over in their direction. “Not yet, I suppose. Not that it will help you.”

“Tell us where it is,” Tall Witch demands.

“Start with the healing, and I’ll start talking.”

“We’re asking about my case _today_ ,” the tall tengu growls.

“After we find out about the egg.”

“ _Next question_.”

Tendou doesn’t care about other tengu, but he’s beginning to care about the two right in front of him. They’re both young, and the crow is small. Wakatoshi doesn’t want them risking anything, but if there are two right here, in front of them…

Shirabu squeezes him again, to the point of pain, and Tendou wheezes.

Both tengu snap over to stare in their direction.

“I’ve been imprisoned for half a year,” Kawanishi volunteers, just a hair too loudly. The dark-haired tengu excitedly turns to him, taking the bait wonderfully, but the annoying bright-haired one continues staring at them, brows drawn low.

 _He doesn’t see us_ , Tendou desperately reminds himself. _Shirabu only flickers when he moves, and out of the corner of the eye… he can’t see us._

“I haven’t heard of anything happening outside, and I don’t know anything about any songbird tengu,” Kawanishi continues.

“But you had help stealing the egg,” Tall Witch says, and Kawanishi’s eyes narrow. “You’re the only one imprisoned, so your accomplice got away. Maybe they know something about this missing tengu.”

“An accomplice would definitely know where the egg was,” Tall Tengu adds.

Tendou can _see_ the realization dawn over them.

He jumps out of Shirabu’s arms at the same time the annoying little tengu unleashes a blast of wind directly at them. Tendou tumbles through the air, only getting the fringe, and Shirabu yelps when he hits the wall.

No one reacts as fast as the crow did, so Tendou darts into the open jail cell and pounces on the girl before anyone can catch him. He shifts into a human, one arm around her throat and his hand fisted in her hair. “You try _anything_ , and I snap your neck, alright?”

Alright, so he’s in the same situation Wakatoshi had been in when he’d last been killed. No big deal. She’s probably going to try something, anyway, and Tendou isn’t deathless like certain witches he’s fond of. But she’s a smaller target, _and_ she’s the healer.

“If anyone makes any more noise, we’re all going to get caught, and I don’t really want that, so I’ll have to do something nasty to your murdering friend here, alright?” Tendou hefts her up a little higher. She makes an _urk_ sound and her feet dangle around his shins.

“M-Murdering?” she wheezes against his arm.

“I know how fast you killed Wakatoshi, but I have pretty sharp reflexes myself, you know,” he absently replies. He can’t see Shirabu right now, but no one else has moved, and guards haven’t immediately descended upon them. Not bad.

“But I-I—”

“Good girls keep quiet if they don’t want to get broken like a toothpick.”

“Let her go,” Tall Witch growls.

“As it so happens, I can’t really do that. I’m actually a _very_ generous wealth spirit, so how about a trade?”

“We’re not healing your _accomplice_ anymore! We already know you don’t have the egg yet, so we can still stop you!” the fierce, annoying little tengu exclaims

Tendou really wishes he could see Shirabu right now. They’re going to do something stupid, after all, and he’ll need help. “A trade,” Tendou corrects. “You for her.”

“ _No_ ,” Tall Witch replies immediately.

“I don’t think you understand how this is going to work,” Tendou replies, cheerily, and hefts her up a bit higher in order to rub their cheeks together. “See, I don’t really _like_ her, because she killed someone important to me. If you say no, this isn’t going to be a hostage situation anymore—I’m going to break her neck, and we’ll fight our way out. In case you forgot, _we_ can become unseen. You can’t. So you’ll end up with the pile of angry tengu guards on you, and by the time anyone sorts anything out, we’ll be long gone. The only sadness in the situation being the fact that I can’t watch her die. _Comprendrez-vous_?”  [7]

The girl in his grasp whines, confused and panicked, and kicks her feet just a little.

“You think having him will guarantee you safe passage out?” the white tengu demands.

Tendou can’t help but grin. “If you want to volunteer instead, be my guest. But I don’t think you’re so invested.”

“You—can’t,” the girl gasps out.

Tendou tightens his hold on her until she goes limp. The little tengu makes a strangled sound that she certainly didn’t match. “Your choice. Maybe I’ll just suffocate her instead. That puts you on a time limit, doesn’t it? I don’t know how long humans can go without breathing…”

“F-Fine!” the tiny tengu squeaks.

If they’re actually able to pull this off, Tendou would be mightily surprised, but they have little option if they want to get out of here in one piece. He’ll trust their chances.

 

\--

 

“Sitting at a table with only humans is like sitting at the kids table at a wedding,” Tooru complains, as he has been since they found their seating assignments. “Not to mention the _horrible_ company.”

Ushijima looks up from his salad with a confused frown.

“Children, behave,” Kiyoko says without looking up from hers.

Iwaizumi, having already finished his food, looks between Ushijima and Tooru as protectively as he can manage. Every time Ushijima raises his head, half the table jumps, and the other half reach for concealed weapons. The man doesn’t appear to mind, if he even notices.

“Where’s your date, Wakatoshi?” Kiyoko asks coolly, still not deigning him worthy of a glance. “He’s going to miss the first course at this rate.”

“He wasn’t feeling well.”

“Y’know, it doesn’t take a mind reader to see through _that_ ,” Tooru shoves his fork into his mouth with another nasty glower.

“No fighting at the dinner table,” Kiyoko sighs.

“Dinner and a show,” Yuu mutters, almost under his breath, and Iwaizumi can’t help but grin. He and Yuu are the ones who wolfed down their food, so hey, they’re free to entertain.

If Iwaizumi’s awful, constrictive suit manages to get ruined in any brawls, so be it.

“I miss Koushi,” Tooru lays himself upon Iwaizumi like he’s meant to be a fainting chair.

“If you hadn’t given up your status, maybe we’d be sitting at the tengu table, too,” Iwaizumi nudges him off.

“This table is terrible for smalltalk. Why can’t we talk about the weather or our day jobs?” the freckled man introduced as Ikejiri asks. He’s one of the unlucky ones between Ushijima and Tooru, though a bit off to the side, so Iwaizumi doesn’t feel too sorry for him.

“How has your job been, Hayato?” Kiyoko asks.

“Bet any more jackalopes?” Yuu adds.

“Well, all the sirens got everyone spooked, and that definitely includes my animals. The weather’s throwing everything off, too—half my breeding stock are in winter coats, and the rest are already shedding it out,” he sighs, and admittedly, Iwaizumi tunes the man out. He doesn’t want to talk about wrong fur color any more than he wants to be in sight of Ushijima. He wants to shove Tooru under the table and make a covert escape.

The food isn’t terrible so far, but they’re already cutting out early tonight, to get back to Miyanoshita. At least she’s still talking to them; Iwaizumi honestly wouldn’t blame her if she blacklisted them again.

Iwaizumi, so caught up in glaring across the table at Ushijima, manages to miss the part of the conversation that causes Tooru to lapse into _R’lyehian_ , of all fucking things. “ _Ya stell’bsna-thanarak ee_ ,” Tooru cheerfully says around the blood dripping from his nose.

Half the table starts, either slapping their hands over their ears or knocking against the table. Yuu accidentally spills his water and one of the witches at the far end of the table accidentally flings her fork into a passing server.

“See, he didn’t even bat an eye!” Tooru accuses with a red pout and imperious finger in Ushijima’s direction.

Iwaizumi shoves his cloth napkin up under Tooru’s nose. “You utter asshat,” he hisses under his breath, “ _what_ the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Wh-What the hell was that?” Ikejiri asks with a pale face and hands still pressed over his ears. His flower crown has been knocked almost off his head.

“Oikawa,” Kiyoko says, nearing a growl.

“What the _fuck_ , man!”

“ _Noya_ ,” she says and her voice drops deeper.

“He didn’t flinch at the words! Because he’s been dealing with this kind of shit for _months_!” Tooru’s muffled with Iwaizumi’s hand covering him, but is powering on anyway. Iwaizumi tries shoving his cloth-covered fingers into his mouth the next time he opens it, but he just ends up bitten for his trouble.

“So why are _you_ speaking it?” the witch with the missing fork asks.

“Get possessed enough times, and you begin to pick things up.”

“Your grammar was terrible.”

The table falls deathly silent for a long, pregnant pause. Even Kiyoko, fork halfway to her open mouth, simply _stares_ at the frank admittance. Iwaizumi tries covering Tooru’s mouth again as a precaution.

“So you _admit_ you speak that burning shit?” Yuu stage-whispers, like he can’t quite believe it. Ushijima inclines his head in almost a nod. “Oh my god. That’s a dead god language, the kind of _evil one_ that’s supposedly going to end the world. And you happen to know this _why_ …?”

“I was not the only one unaffected by the words,” Ushijima replies, once again nodding, this time in Iwaizumi’s direction. And then _Kiyoko’s_. “Oikawa, I don’t suggest you try saying anything else. It’s foolish and this kind of pettiness is beneath you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to fetch a healer for your bloody nose.”

He rises and bows to the table. Tooru looks as if he’s been mortally offended, mouth hanging open and eyes blazing with outrage. “Please tell them to bring out my next course. I won’t be gone long,”

Tooru tears the bloody napkin away from his nose and stands, hands flat against the table. “He’s not even getting anyone, he’s going to see that pretty guy he’s using as a distraction!”

“Are you jealous?” Ikejiri makes a valiant attempt at both joking and smiling. Iwaizumi would probably like him in other circumstances.

Iwaizumi shoves the bloody cloth in Tooru’s face.

“I’m gonna spit in his food!” Yuu declares as the serving staff begin taking their plates.

Kiyoko sinks low into her seat and massages her temples.

 

\--

 

Suga has been trying to figure out how the sleeves work all evening.

Placement with the tengu envoy is a privilege, one he hadn’t quite expected for the night. His status with Akaashi hasn’t been at the forefront of his mind lately, and he kind of forgot that it _is_ a status thing, and as such, he’s expected to play by certain rules. That means getting seated with a bunch of tengu and very few humans. _Very_ few.

He’s well aware of how tengu like to dress—loose clothing and nothing that would impede wings, even with glamors. Both Akaashi and Bokuto wear a similar style of attire: a robe-like dress, tied at the waist with a _very_ ornamental belt, spats on their legs and headbands pushing back their hair. Bokuto looks decidedly better with that, but that’s not something Suga would _ever_ say to Akaashi’s face. Bokuto is dressed in blues with cream accents, and Akaashi is, as usual, in neutral browns.

But he doesn’t understand the _sleeves_. They’re open on one side to allow feathers, but have thick cuffs on the wrists, thick enough that Suga has no idea how they got any feathers through them, much less flight ones. Tengu don’t like hassles, either.

“You’re staring again,” Daichi leans over to whisper in his ear.

“I’m allowed to,” Suga replies, just as quiet. If anything, he stares _harder_ at Bokuto’s arms. Wings. Arm-wings. Suga doesn’t understand the terminology, either. _Do they use magic to get dressed?_

“Suga, you’ve seen everything here a _lot_ more than I have, but you’re still acting like this is your first time.”

“So I’m familiar enough to know the weird parts!”

“No, you’ve been drinking,” Daichi flatly tells him, and Suga pouts. He’s only on his second glass of wine, _far_ from drunk, even for him. “C’mon, what’s a guy to think when his date won’t stop staring at others?”

Suga smiles despite himself, and rewards Daichi with his attention. “How needy, I love it.”

Akaashi _does_ stop trying to kick Suga beneath the table when he leans against Daichi’s shoulder—scooting his chair over unsubtly to do so—but any slight romantic tone goes out the window when Daichi admits, “Not needy, Kiyoko just told me to prevent you from picking any fights tonight.”

Suga draws back again. “Did she?”

“And to prevent you and Oikawa from dancing together, for some reason. I get the first part, but…”

“Both parts are bullshit.” Is _that_ why she shooed them off toward the tengu before he could properly greet Tooru? Suga grabs his wine glass again, and Daichi sighs. “Tooru and I took dance lessons when we were together. It gets a _little_ showboat-y, but it’s not bad. And I wouldn’t _pick fights_ here. Sometimes, you gotta take her proclamations with a grain of salt.”

“When it comes to you, I never know what to expect.”

Suga shrugs—fair enough.

The dinner course ends and miraculously, Suga dodged the bullet of Daichi asking _what_ exactly he’d been eating. The tasteful classical background music fades away as people begin leaving tables, making for the dance floor or friends to talk with, but Suga stays seated.

“We’re not missing dessert,” Suga says.

Bokuto, two seats down, nods wildly.

Suga doesn’t like the implication that he’d been able to listen the entire time, which means Akaashi had _definitely_ been privy to it all. Well, that’s what they get for making Suga sit with them.

“Nishinoya is standing on his chair and yelling about something. Are you _sure_ we can’t get up to see what’s going on?” Daichi flatly asks.

“That’s normal. He’s been drinking more than I have, too, and I’m sorry if you came into tonight thinking that this is going to end any other way than most of the magical community getting absolutely shitfaced together. If Noya yelling is the weirdest thing that happens tonight, I’ll eat my shoe.”

“Does that mean you two missed when the fae got here?” Akaashi asks. The server comes around to take plates and begin passing out desserts, and Akaashi gestures for the others gone from their table to get theirs, too. They don’t even wait for the servers to leave before unashamedly claiming the extra desserts.

“Something already happened with the fae?” Suga asks, with more eagerness than intended. Usually the first scandal came from their direction, but he hadn’t anticipated it so early.

“Technically not them, but one of their dates,” Akaashi replies around a mouthful of marshmallow fluff.

“Kenji wrangled his way into a ticket tonight!” Bokuto excitedly adds.

“Who?”

“The kitsune who always bothers us in the goblin market. He’s already cursed someone who accidentally stepped on one of his tails, and he managed to come as the date of one of the fae, so half the fairy court got in on the resulting brawl.” Somehow Akaashi already half done with their cake, but considering they have three more in front of them, they’ll probably finish at the same time as the rest of them.

“Ah jeez, we _missed_ that?”

“It was pretty fun,” Bokuto admits with his mouth stuffed full, too.

Suga doesn’t understand why he’s so afraid of them when they’re both such sweet toothed slobs.

He sighs, digs around in his breast pocket, and pulls out a folded up paper. He can cross _fairy fight_ off the list now. That’s usually one of the highlights of the evening. “Do you think anything else will happen, or have they all remembered they’re supposed to be magical role models?”

“Considering how fast I’ve seen a couple of them gulping down alcohol?” Akaashi asks, now done with one dessert and moving onto the next. “Give it an hour at the maximum. Someone’s going to end up covered in fairy dust and stuck to the ceiling. The smart money is on one of the love spirits.”

Bokuto hastily swallows and, leaning forward, adds, “I also heard that we’re missing a bunch of spirits! Attendance is _way_ down because the humans are all freaking out. Why’re you all freaking out?”

“Ushijima,” Suga replies. Speaking of, he lost sight of the man earlier, and how is he supposed to be a nosy, neurotic mess if he doesn’t know where the target is?

“So how long before someone tries to take him out?” Bokuto makes it seem both utterly innocent and utterly inevitable. “I mean, all it takes is one higher spirit who decides they like humans enough to pick a fight. It’s gonna happen tonight.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of,” Suga drinks more wine. He turns back to his date, about to apologize for what must sound like jargon, but Daichi isn’t in his seat anymore.

Akaashi smirks around their fork and polishes off another cake.

 

\--

 

It’s slow going, but it beats any alternatives.

Kawanishi limps along beside him, pressed tight to Tendou’s side, one arm thrown over his shoulders. Shirabu carries the unconscious healer ahead of them, and the little tengu leads the way. He’s the only visible one to any passersby, but the streets are quiet this time of night, and who knows how many tengu are gone for the witch festivities.

“How’re you holding up?” Tendou asks. Kawanishi only grunts halfheartedly in answer. “We went through a lot of trouble for you, you know. _A lot_.”

“And you’re lucky I’m covering you right now.” His head droops, and he stumbles, but he catches himself before he drags Tendou down with him. “Any chance you’d carry me?”

“No way, then we’d never get out of here.”

“Both of you, be _quiet_ ,” Shirabu grumbles from ahead of them. The girl in his arms stirs, and they all pick up the pace.

“Alright, little volunteer,” Tendou calls as loudly as he dares, “you’re going to talk us through the door, and if you try any funny business, you won’t like the outcome.”

“Y-Yeah, okay,” he replies, the picture of docility.

Not that Tendou believes it for a second. Tengu don’t come in docile. He knows for a fact that the other two are following them at what they consider a sneaky distance, and he doesn’t actually _know_ how he’ll deliver a very unwilling tengu across town without getting eviscerated. If they actually let the girl go, then they lose their bargaining chip, and that means a _faster_ evisceration. It’d be little effort on Shirabu’s part to sneak away and simply leave Tendou to his fate, but that seems mean, even for him.

The guard by the realm door has changed since they came in, but this one doesn’t seem any more suspicious or alert than the last. He nods the little crow through with a despairing sigh, like he’s already done this before.

Tendou and Kawanishi nearly end up on top of Shirabu as they struggle through the door without rousing suspicion. He has the feeling that if the little crow were any more liked, they’d be in trouble.

“Alright, we’re out,” he says in a quavering voice, and turns to face them. His clenched fists tremble at his sides. “Now let her go!”

“That wasn’t the deal,” Tendou graciously makes certain that Kawanishi can stand on his own power, then steps out into visibility to stare him down. He can jump, that wouldn’t kill him, but tengu know empty space better than he ever could.

Tendou hears the click of the gun at the same time he feels the barrel against his ear.

“What kinda deal?” comes a smug as hell voice to the side.

In his peripherals, Tendou finds a sharp-eyed woman in a leather jacket and inappropriately cute earmuffs. Another rifle slung over her back, thigh holsters, and a gleaming knife held loosely in her other hand.

“Saeko!” the little crow cries with so much relief that Tendou knows he hadn’t expected her here any more than they had.

Well, fuck, then.

“Can I help you?” Tendou asks, grinning and cocking his head against her gun.

“I know I asked you a question, but I actually don’t give a shit what you have to say. So you’re going to shut up before I put _another_ hole in your head.” She shoves back against him, twice as forceful, and he goes rigid at the threat.

Very gently, Shirabu nudges against his back. Tendou can’t tell if she knows they’re there, too.

“Hinata,” sighs the woman, “what the _fuck_ are you doing here? I really wanted Kiyoko to be wrong, y’know.”

“They have Yachi!”

The woman clicks the safety off, and Tendou exhales sharply through his nose. He holds his tongue. A human woman is little threat, even if she is a witch. He doesn’t smell any glamor magics on her. While Shirabu could take her out, Tendou doesn’t think he’ll survive another bullet in the brain, and that would leave Wakatoshi sans a higher spirit _and_ Tendou. He hopes one would be significantly more upsetting than the other, and he thinks he knows the answer.

“There’s more that you can’t see, too!” the annoying crow exclaims. “It’s that deer guy—there’s two now, and they have Yachi, and Kageyama and that annoying swan are going to be coming, but they—”

The door behind them swings open and on cue, the two tumble out. The door slams shut again, nearly on the tall tengu’s tail feathers.

Tendou can’t see either of them, but someone pins the witch to the floor, arms twisted behind his back. Both tengu squawk, and the tall one scrambles away from them, indignant but not particularly attached. “What’s going on here? Who are _you_?”

“I’m here on orders I don’t particularly like, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get to ignore them and blow your brains out,” the woman informs them.

“You might not want to hurt Ushijima’s partner,” Shirabu replies, and curiously he’s _not_ the one pinning the witch, “because that will work out poorly for you. He’s expecting us back soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Ushijima’s next on my list.” After a moment that stretches on _far_ too fucking long, the woman pulls the gun from the side of Tendou’s head. She doesn’t holster it, or even drop her stance, but she allows him to step back. “Give me the girl, and,” her eyes flick over to the pair of tall, dark, and grumpies, “those two. And I’m taking this little crow with me, too.”

“Lady, you might have a gun, but you’re still dealing with a matagot here,” Tendou dares a smirk. “You humans are dead after just a hop, skip, and a jump for me. Less than that.”

“Yeah, and you’re going to try to kidnap a _tengu_. If I weren’t so scared you’d actually hurt the kid, I’d let you try just for shits and giggles.” She points with her gun, unnervingly close to where Shirabu is. “Hand her over. _Now_.”

“You know what’s a great motivator when dealing with antagonistic women with guns?” Shirabu asks, and the woman raises an eyebrow. “Spite. You can’t go shooting anyone because then we’ll just take out your little murdering friend. If we don’t end up with a tengu, so be it.”

She isn’t impressed by his response—but neither does she appear surprised. “It’s a good thing I don’t have patience for dumb stalemates. Now, about that deal.”

“You… want to make a deal? Actually?”

She taps her finger against the trigger guard, something that makes Tendou exceptionally nervous, “Yeah, no bullshit. I was sent here to make sure Hinata made it out in one piece. Got kind of attached to the kid, and like _fuck_ I’m letting you do anything to Hitoka after all she’s been through. So here’s my deal: you let the tengu go—both of them, I guess—and hand all the kids over to me. That means the healer _and_ the witch.”

“And why would we do that?” Tendou asks.

“Because I can give you something a hell of a lot easier to deal with than an irate tengu.”

“…What?” Shirabu asks, just as incredulous as Tendou feels.

“Give me the girl. _Now_ ,” she commands and raises the gun again. No one moves. “I know where you can find a qilin, unconscious and bound. That’s a pretty sweet deal for you, right?”

“Why are you striking a deal with us?” Tendou suspiciously asks. He hasn’t given up the thought of just jumping with either of the birds, after all, as shitty of an idea as it seems.

“Because a friend of mine seems to think it doesn’t matter how far you get, you’ll _still_ go down.”

 

\--

 

“Wanna dance?” Suga beams as he extends his hand. “C’mon, it’ll be fun! No one’s smashed yet and the fae haven’t started in on the constant dubstep.”

“I don’t really know how to dance,” Daichi likes the idea, but he’s also a coward on the dance floor. Being in a formal crowd isn’t helping that.

Suga only shrugs a little and drops his hand. “Thought I’d try, but don’t think I’m giving up on you yet. Where’s Tooru—?” Before he can properly finish his thought, someone steps up to take his hand and pull him onto the dance floor with a whirl of silver and tulle.

“I’m stealing his first dance if you won’t take it,” Kiyoko calls over Suga’s shoulder. Daichi nods, amused at the _indignant_ look on Suga’s face.

There aren’t that many people dancing yet, though the floor is far from empty. The bar is crowded, and there are still a few stragglers picking at food, but most guests are just chatting at tables or around the floor. There are a few open corridors and smaller rooms for the Old Moon Ball as well, but the bulk of the party is here, and it shows.

With everyone having food in their bellies and drinks in their hand, Daichi can already see how the atmosphere has loosened. Spirits, creatures, and who knows what flit overhead. Daichi hasn’t had a drink or a shoe dropped on him yet, but he eyes them warily all the same.

Yuu pops out of the crowd and pulls up a chair alongside Daichi. Where he got the cheese platter, Daichi doesn’t know, but it’s half empty. “So, you haven’t had a panic attack yet. That’s good.”

“I’m not convinced this is all real. I saw someone with _horns_ earlier. Don’t get me started on all the wings and tails and animal ears.”

“You should see the _Danse_ sometime!”

“I can tell by the tone of your voice that I should _not_.”

“Ah, the _Danse Macabre_?” another asks, and both of them turn to find a man with curly black hair, a tied robe that looks like it belongs on a jedi, and glimmering, translucent wings. He smiles pleasantly at them both and sits without asking. He doesn’t have a flower crown like any of the humans, but he does have a delicate crown of twigs and laurels. Beneath that, Daichi thinks he sees _antenna_. “The human realm has such funny traditions. I’ve heard it’s fun, however.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Yuu replies, cautious, even around his mouthful of cheese. “Usually other kinds of people don’t wanna go near it. Kinda gets messy.”

“Oh no, not for me, definitely not,” the fairy replies easily. He takes a cube of cheese and Yuu looks a bit like he wants to bite the man’s hand for it. “So, I can’t help but notice that neither of you two are witches…”

“S’right,” Yuu grumbles.

“We’re guests,” Daichi adds. “Uh, did you need a witch…?”

“Do you know that man?” he asks and inclines his head toward Suga and Kiyoko. “He’s not a witch, either, right? I think he’s a friend of that old Foxglove one.”

“Yeah, what business d’you got with him?” Yuu has a dangerous gleam in his eye, and no amount of cheese stuffed into his cheeks can ruin it.

The fairy cups his hand around his mouth and whispers, “Is he single?”

The dangerous gleam is gone in an instant. Yuu sags in his chair, alternating between howling laughter and wheezes that sound half a step from choking, and Daichi goes rigid in his seat.

“N-Not for me!” the fairy hastens to add, waving both hands in front of himself. “I have a friend, a-and he says he doesn’t want to be with this fox spirit anymore, and so I’ve been going around asking…”

“He’s not single,” Daichi grits out.

The song ends, and Suga sweeps Kiyoko up in a bear hug that makes her turn bright red. Daichi’s never seen the woman blush, nor lose her composure. As soon as her heels touch the floor again, she yanks him down by the suit jacket to plant a kiss on his cheek, and he quickly matches her.

The fairy buzzes in confused agitation.

Daichi kind of agrees, though he’s used enough to how freely affectionate Suga can be.

Kiyoko whispers something in his ear, then they speak quietly for a few moments, up through the beginning of the next song. When the dance floor fills further due to excitement over some Taylor Swift song, they shuffle off, neither of them looking particularly happy.

Suga smiles again only when he catches Daichi’s eye.

Kiyoko and Suga bow, surprisingly, to their fairy guest, and he rubs the back of his head sheepishly. Daichi thinks he sees his antenna twitch. “Your Highness,” Kiyoko murmurs as a greeting, then holds out Suga’s hand as an offering to Daichi. “Koushi, thank you for the dance. I won’t steal you any longer.”

The fairy— _did she say Highness?_ Daichi thinks in a sudden panic—looks at Daichi like he’s seen a ghost.

“A-Ah, I’m so sorry,” the fairy royal squeaks and flies off without any goodbyes.

“…Did you two scare a fae prince?” Kiyoko asks with a voice like ice.

“No, definitely not! It was Daichi’s fault!” Yuu immediately replies, unashamedly traitorous. Daichi turns a glare on him. Yuu leaps out of his seat, cheese platter finished, and grabs Suga’s proffered hand like a trophy. “C’mon, let’s go dance!”

They don’t go that far, sticking to a quieter edge of the dance floor, and close enough Daichi can watch Suga try to teach Yuu a few steps. Kiyoko watches for a beat as well before sitting down in her date’s vacated spot. “He really wants to dance with _you_ , you know,” she tells him.

“I don’t mean to avoid it. I’m just…” He makes a vague hand gesture, not wanting to admit outright he’s embarrassed to try. Now that he’s seen Suga move, it’s clear that he actually learned a thing or two in the past. Daichi’s experience is closer to the high school swaying from side to side, or drunkenly grinding.

“Do you need to stand on my feet?” they clearly hear Suga ask. They also hear his resulting yelp when Yuu stomps on his foot.

Yeah, no, Daichi couldn’t handle that kind of teasing when all he’s already so off-kilter from the evening. Romantic slow dancing and sweet nothings and zero weight put onto actual dancing skill.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Kiyoko asks, and Daichi declines. “He’ll keep asking you to dance. And I’d rather _you_ dance with him than Tooru.”

With that, she leaves, and Daichi barely gets a moment’s reprieve before someone takes her vacated spot. It’s not as if there aren’t _other_ empty chairs in the hall.

Akaashi looks irritated enough that Daichi would rather not press. They sink low in the seat, legs drawn up awkwardly, putting their long talons nearly eye-level with Daichi. He kind of understands now why Suga is so skittish around tengu.

“Are you… drunk?” Daichi delicately asks.

Akaashi slumps lower in the seat. Their back is now on the bottom portion, legs completely in the air, arms folded tight across their chest. “I wish. I’m avoiding someone, and sulking while doing so. You’re not so cheeky as to poke fun at me.”

They sound a _little_ drunk. “Who are you avoiding? Does your, uh, lover want to dance, too?”

“Oh, not yet. He likely won’t for another few hours. He’s shy.”

Even from his limited interactions with Bokuto, _shy_ is not a word Daichi would have used to describe him. “A few _hours_? How long does this party last?”

“Until the last guest departs. Probably midday tomorrow, though most leave by sunrise.”

There’s no way Daichi is going to last that long. He’d only promised midnight, and if he drinks, he doubts he’ll last even that long. He scrubs a hand over his face, already tired just _thinking_ about partying until dawn, and Akaashi sighs, too.

“I’m avoiding a valkyrie. If you see a woman with wings, tell me to run.”

“And you’re just going to… sit there, like that, until then?”

“No one I’d want to dance with is ready to dance yet,” Akaashi peers at Daichi out of the corner of their eye, and Daichi can’t help but read something distinctly predatory in it. “Do you know why they choose the old moon for their celebration?”

“I didn’t realize there _was_ an old moon until this evening.”

“It technically works with any relationship,” Akaashi says, fiddling with their claws, “but anyone who dances together under the old moon is destined to have a long and fruitful relationship. It’s popular with mates—lovers—and dangerously idealistic for crushes. It’s not an opportunity to pass by.”

“But that’s just gossip, right?” Daichi asks.

Akaashi doesn’t answer, because of _course_ they don’t, and catches sight of something behind Daichi. He turns to look, seeing the usual mass of strange people, and when he turns back, all he sees are retreating tawny tail feathers into the crowd.

Daichi turns to look again. He’s going to take a wild guess and assume the winged woman making a beeline for him is the valkyrie. Her wings are folded tight against her back and draped with delicate gold jewelry, but they’re still massive, and it takes her some maneuvering before she can cross the floor.

“I don’t know where they went,” Daichi tells her as she opens her mouth.

The valkyrie regards him with narrowed eyes. “…Are you another one of their tengu friends? I don’t recognize you.”

“Date of a tengu friend. Normal human.”

“There’s very rarely such a thing.” She scans the area once more, then relents with a world-weary droop. Her feathers brush the floor, even with the scarily tall gladiator heels she has on. “If you see Akaashi again, please tell them that Suzumeda is looking for them. But it’s nothing urgent.”

Daichi nods, and she leaves him. He leans back in his seat, stretches out his legs, and cranes his head back to watch the flying people and creatures dancing in midair. He’s seen so much tonight it hardly fazes him. He probably wants to dance with Suga. It’d be a good show of faith, right?

When he spots Suga on the dance floor again, he’s swapped dance partners again; this time it’s a man with a mass of fluffy fox tails that half the dance floor is frantically avoiding as they twirl. Suga seems more off kilter than his movements have been prior. Daichi nearly considers stepping in, but Suga’s grinning madly, and the fox spirit appears to be laughing nonstop as they go.

The song ends, thank god, and when something not peppy pop or thrumming bass comes on next, Daichi stands to approach Suga.

A white and black blur pelts across the dance floor—Daichi doesn’t stand a chance. There’s an irate shout that follows the movement, but next thing he can process, Suga has been dipped so low his arm brushes the floor, and Tooru brings him back up with a flourish and a swish of his coattails.

This dancing is nothing like the fast twirling with the fox spirit or the intimate, gentle movements Suga had with Kiyoko. This is the kind of dancing you see in fairy tale movies, and Daichi is _stunned_. _A couple of dance lessons my ass_.

Their steps are long and smooth, and every sweeping movement is more graceful than Daichi has _ever_ seen. Only then does Daichi notice how many other onlookers there are—and while Daichi _would_ expect showboating from those two, their eyes are only for each other. Along with their smug grins. They _know_ they look good.

When the song ends, they spin apart, and both bow grandly. It comes off as a little arrogant, but Daichi doesn’t expect the smattering of applause that follows.

“I didn’t know you could _actually_ dance,” Daichi blurts out as Tooru hands him off to him. Daichi keeps firm hold on Suga’s hand this time.

“Oh, I hope Iwa-chan is as easily impressed as you,” Tooru says, standing on the tips of his toes to scan the crowd for his date.

“I missed like three steps and he nearly ran me into someone,” Suga grumbles. He shoos Tooru away with his free hand. “But you were impressed, right? The witches don’t like us dancing in public because we show them up, but it makes us popular partners. So you should take advantage of this great opportunity while you have me.”

“I can’t dance like _that_ —”

“I’ll show you a couple steps!” Undeterred, Suga tugs him out onto the corner of the dance floor, and eagerly adjusts Daichi until they’re holding each other in some apparently proper way.

“What are we doing?”

“Dancing! I think this song is a cha cha, but I’m not good at that, so we’re just freestyling it. That means you actually have to _move_.”

Daichi is aware that the cha cha is a style of dance. He is not aware of how it works, however, and he’s pretty sure he can’t copy what other people are doing. He couldn’t even copy Suga.

It doesn’t matter much when it’s just _fun_ to mess around with Suga. Suga soon forgets what attempt at a frame he’d had, and instead grabs Daichi’s hips, taking the lead and moving them both how he wants. It’s not at all befitting the formalwear or proper evening, and that Daichi can _definitely_ get behind.

They’re two seconds from outright grinding when the song fades out. Suga, very suddenly, wraps his arms firmly around him, and twists them both around in order to dip Daichi. Daichi clings to him, both out of surprise and being unbalanced.

It does little to prevent Suga from dropping him. Suga ends up on his knees beside him, laughing helplessly. “I-I’m so sorry! Are you—god are you _okay_? Sorry!”

“I’d feel a lot better about this if you weren’t _laughing_ at me.”

“I forgot how big you were!”

“Then why did you try it?” His head got bumped, but he’ll live, probably without bruising. His pride is the main injury.

Suga, still stifling laughter, leans forward and kisses the tip of his nose instead.

Daichi’s face goes hot, and they both scramble off the dance floor before they get stepped on. There had been a woman with dragon wings and a tail who’d been getting a little too close for his comfort.

“Sorry,” Suga says again, mirth dancing bright in his eyes. “I won’t do it again.”

Miffed as he is, Daichi cannot resist bringing them close for another kiss.

 

\--

 

“Cutting in now!”

Wakatoshi is surprised to see Tendou back so soon. He’s less surprised to see his clothing is rumpled and torn in a couple places, and absolutely _not_ surprised at the shameless way he cuts in between Wakatoshi and Eita’s dance. He’s also admittedly surprised at the smoothness with which the matagot executes such a ploy.

“You’re back already?” Eita asks.

“Yes, and your job is done now.”

“Not yet, we have to transport things. You still have the mobility,” Wakatoshi tells him.

“The deer guys are on it! And, Toshi, you would not _believe_ what I got you,” Tendou purrs, leaning in inappropriately close for the social setting. Eita pointedly clears his throat. Tendou lowers his voice, until even the sharpest of spirit would have to strain to eavesdrop, “We got you your higher spirit. Qilin, just for you.”

“You got _what_?”

“What? What did he do now?”

Wakatoshi seizes Tendou by the shoulders to hold him at arm’s length, looking over his rumpled appearance with a new, unnerved eye. He didn’t appear to be wounded. Tendou cocks his head to the side and his expression becomes one of disdain rather than excitement. “You needed a higher spirit. I _got_ you one. You’re _welcome_.”

“You weren’t supposed to risk yourself. How did you find a qilin?” For a heartbeat full of something like fright, Wakatoshi imagines Tendou dragging off a guest of the party.

“ _What_ did you do with a—oh my god, this is what you’ve been wanting that elimination job for,” Eita gasps, hand pressed to his mouth. He looks between them, fight in his eyes. “What do you want a higher spirit for? I thought you told me these were all _rumors_ about what you’re doing.”

“It’s fine, Eita. We have this under control.”

 _But how have they contained a qilin? How did they subdue it?_ Wakatoshi doesn’t know anything about the capabilities of this friend of Shirabu’s, nor how long they’re staying after delivering the egg. He doesn’t know how to transport or subdue a qilin himself, either, outside of brute force.

“ _C’est pas sous contrôle_!”  [8]

“ _Je pensais que tu me faisais confiance_ ,” Tendou replies around a forced kind of pout. [9]

“I don’t speak French,” Wakatoshi tells them, frustrated.

“We know,” they snap back in unnervingly perfect unison.

Since they aren’t moving, much less dancing, and voices have already been raised, they’ve been garnering attention. Wakatoshi doesn’t notice until one of the coven guards heads their way; he’d nearly forgotten about the low profile he _must_ maintain.

He pulls Tendou off the dance floor, and Eita grudgingly follows, but intercepts the witch before any kind of scene starts. “Go away,” he orders in a beautifully melodious voice, and Wakatoshi turns on his heel before Eita grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket. The witch leaves without a word, and Wakatoshi blinks owlishly down at the siren.

“I’m glad we haven’t had to use that before, but we shouldn’t argue like this.”

Eita glares at Tendou, and Tendou pretends to ignore him. “What do you need a qilin for? And _how_ did you find one?”

“Well, first I had a tengu—”

Eita claps a hand over his mouth and Wakatoshi has little doubt they’re going to get into trouble with this conversation. If Tendou says he has a higher spirit, then Wakatoshi will trust him, and Eita will have to get an explanation after the fact.

They have everything.

A cheer goes up across the ballroom, thankfully drawing attention from their near-argument again, and Wakatoshi’s eyes narrow when he sees Kiyoko surrounded by a knot of her usual suspects. She smiles, prettily, and exchanges pleasantries with Yachi Madoka.

His eyes linger on Tooru, with his arm around Kiyoko, and Wakatoshi realizes if he’s done, all he must do is secure his backup plan.

“We can handle this,” Wakatoshi informs Eita, “and I would appreciate your discretion on the matter. Tendou, please behave and stay with Eita. I’ll be back, and then we’ll leave.”

He can pinpoint the exact moment they notice his approach: expressions shutter, laughter dies out, and half of them glare daggers at him.

He opens his mouth to address Tooru, to ask to speak with him, but Kiyoko preemptively cuts him off. She offers her hand, and with a cold voice, she says, “You must be here to offer me a dance, naturally.”

Wakatoshi looks at her hand, limp-wristed with shimmering nails, then looks up at the rest of the group. Kiyoko’s eyes are hard as iron, and the others surrounding her glare at him with sneers promising poison and pain.

He takes her hand. He doesn’t know what she wants from him, but he knows he can’t pick a fight in the middle of the ball.

She leads him, despite his instincts bucking against this. Her hands are tight in his and her mouth remains pressed into a grim line.

“Why did you want to dance with me? I was under the impression you don’t like me,” Wakatoshi says.

“I don’t,” Kiyoko replies without hesitance. “But I’m giving you one last chance. _Stop this_.”

“It won’t become an issue. I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have the power to banish a god again. It will devour you and everything you care about. You’ll just lose her again.” Her voice drops in pitch and volume. “Stop this, Ushijima. I am prepared to use and do everything in my power to stop you, but you could avoid this devastation if you’d just come to your senses now.”

“Have any of your visions ever led you to believe I would back down at the very last moment?”

Frowning so deeply looks unbecoming on her.

“I am not about to unleash Northot upon this city or realm,” Wakatoshi spins her with a little more roughness than strictly necessary. When she comes back to him, she digs her nails into his jacket. Even through the thick fabric, he can feel the sharp press. “You’re just going to risk lives if you intend to fight me. If you believe I’m going to make a mess, then let me be the one to clean it up.”

“Most people, even arrogant witches, aren’t so foolish as to make messes on an apocalyptic scale.”

“It won’t come to that.” He spins her out again, and when she draws back to him, her back to his chest, he leans down to whisper in her ear, “And I don’t think arrogant psychics need to think they can solve everything, either. This doesn’t concern you. If you or any of your men come after me again, I’ll _stop_ holding back.”

“Getting someone possessed and trying to murder numerous people becomes my problem very quickly. So does threatening my city.”

The emptiness in the back of his mind echoes like he has a phantom god still there. “They started that.”

“I will _finish it_ if you don’t prevent this tragedy before it begins.”

They glare at one another for the remaining duration of the dance. She does not feign a smile as he leads her off the dance floor again, but at least her entourage seems less likely to draw weapons at the blink of an eye now. The short man who Kiyoko had brought as her date acts as though he’s checking her over for injuries.

“I’m fine. He just wanted to wish me a happy birthday before we left. Isn’t that right?” Kiyoko asks coolly.

Wakatoshi hadn’t known it was her birthday. He doesn’t particularly care. “We just had a chat. What kind of monster would start some sort of fight in the middle of an event based on togetherness?”

The short man seethes. Kiyoko puts an arm around his shoulders, and he deflates, albeit only slightly. “Koushi, I think we’ll be headed out soon. Please don’t start anything.”

Sugawara turns from Wakatoshi with arms folded tight. “No promises.”

“I won’t intrude on your time any longer,” Wakatoshi replies, “but Oikawa, if I could speak to you a moment?”

Tooru looks a lot like a deer in the headlights as the blood slowly drains from his face. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think—”

“It will be just a moment.”

“How about you go fuck yourself instead,” Sugawara offers.

“Mind your own business. If you stopped sticking your nose where it didn’t belong—”

“Stop,” Kiyoko breaks in. She loops her arm in Sugawara’s and gives him a tug. “Come, walk us out, and you can go find Daichi and Iwaizumi. I think they’re terrorizing the DJ again.”

Sugawara eyes Tooru, but Tooru just nods, so they’re left alone.

He may have everything he needs now, and Kiyoko may be as much of a nuisance as ever, but nothing has happened to jeopardize his plans tonight. However, given the unnecessarily complicated feelings Tooru holds toward him, he knows he must choose his words carefully. “May we dance? You’re very skilled.” Wakatoshi offers his hand.

Tooru eyes it like it’s a venomous snake. “I know, but _no_ , thanks. We can stand and talk somewhere.” He doesn’t so much cross his arms as wrap them around himself. “What exactly did you want to talk to me about? We’re not friends, and I don’t know anything about that stupid language of yours.”

“Ah, no, it’s unrelated to that. Although…” He pauses, just for a moment. It’s not as if many others have gone though the same thing he has, having an old god in his head. “Have you experienced any lingering connection after the possession was severed?”

Tooru audibly sulks at him. “No, and why do you care? You’re the one that foisted that… goddamned _nightmare_ upon me to begin with. I can grasp a bit of the language, and there’s the usual headaches, but nothing lasting. This isn’t my first possession.”

“Clairvoyants are so vulnerable,” Wakatoshi murmurs, mainly to himself. Tooru bristles. “Not to say you haven’t dealt with your stresses admirably. Northot isn’t something to take lightly.”

“So you’re making a deal with it because… what. You’re stupid? Suicidal?”

“I am not.”

“What do you _want_.”

“I’d like you to open a portal for me.”

Tooru stares at him like he’s just grown another head.

Wakatoshi frowns, puzzled. He’s _seen_ the man do it—well, his bodyguard, but he’s under Tooru’s employ. He’d thought it would put him in better graces to ask Tooru rather than seem like he’s sneaking around to ask the shapeshifter first.

“Or your… man. The bodyguard shapeshifter. I’d like to set the portal into a spell to—”

“How about you go fuck yourself instead?” Tooru replies with a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh.

“In the unlikely event that my first plan fails, then this is my backup. You _claim_ you wish to avoid casualties and destruction, so why not help me?”

“Oh no, _no_ , you don’t get to _guilt me_ into helping you with this!” Tooru’s voice grows angrier. Others are beginning to take notice of them, whispering behind hands or fans or claws.

“Please lower your voice. I just wanted your help with this. I can pay you whatever you’d like, money is no issue—”

Tooru cuts him off with a jab into his chest. Wakatoshi takes a step back, surprised. “I am _not_ helping you, and Iwaizumi isn’t either. You can fuck off and leave us both alone.”

“You’re making a mistake. You’re being selfish.”

“ _I’m_ being selfish?!”

“You’re making a scene—”

“Yeah, I am! And guess who the covens like more? It’s definitely not _you_ right now!”

“ _Fine._ ” Wakatoshi steps away from Tooru, disappointed and frustrated but knowing when to give up on a losing battle. “I’m leaving. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”

“You pretty much just ruined it for me. We’re headed out, so don’t worry about avoiding us. Have fun building up your alibi and tricking people into believing you’re not a murderous asshole.”

Tooru stomps off, and Wakatoshi leaves just as quickly. So much for not drawing attention. He’d stayed civil and he knows he’s in the right—Tooru is blinded by his stubbornness.

He doesn’t need him, though the safety net had been a reassurance Wakatoshi doesn’t like to admit to wanting. It doesn’t matter. This will be over with soon enough.

Wakatoshi waits while Tendou and Eita finish their dancing, and beckons them both with a crook of his finger. Tendou floats over, in higher spirits now, though he’s missing his jacket and his shirt had been obviously ripped. “We’re leaving. Tendou, I need you with me. Eita you’re… free to stay, if you wish.”

“Actually, I’d advise going home soon,” Tendou corrects, tail wagging. “It’ll be calmer in the goblin market. Less humans running around screaming.”

Eita sighs. “You two are going to get into some serious trouble.”

“Do you know how _filthy rich_ we’ll be?” Tendou says with an obscene sigh. Wakatoshi feels a little dirty just for hearing the sound. Eita, based on the color of his face, feels similarly. “Oh, it’ll be fine, Semi-semi! Just run along home and ignore my trouble, like you usually want to.”

“Promise me you won’t end up dead in a ditch.”

“Promise! And then, afterward, we’re headed to Paris. You’re more than welcome to join us!”

Eita glances between them like he’s suspicious of something, but Wakatoshi nods in agreement. “You’ve been helpful tonight. Thank you.”

“Ah, jeez. I guess _someone_ would have to make sure Tendou doesn’t push you into the Seine, or translate things incorrectly. And I think you both owe me a few dozen drinks for spending this much time with humans.”

“You’re ruining all my fuuuuun,” Tendou pouts, making a grab for him. Eita smoothly ducks away, using Wakatoshi as a shield, then waves at them both.

“Don’t die, either of you! I won’t help you if you’re on the run from the law, either.”

“ _Menteur_!”  [10]

“Goodnight, both of you.”

Tendou floats after Wakatoshi like he’s being towed by an invisible line. He doesn’t bother trying to retrieve his jacket, and it’s only an afterthought that Wakatoshi grabs their coats. Many people seem to be departing, now that the moon is going down and the music is getting louder.

When they finally get their coats and head out, the sky is still clear and dark, and their breaths still fog out in front of them. The streets gleam in the light from the building behind them and their shadows stretch out down the stairs.

“Are you happy now that I did the rest of your work for you?” Tendou asks.

“Yes. I just didn’t want you to risk yourself. Will you tell me now how you managed to find and secure a qilin? They don’t come to the human realm often, and I didn’t think there would be any in the tengu realm.”

“As it turns out, one kinda fell into our laps…?”

The cold air is bracing as Tendou recounts his admittedly concerning tale. Wakatoshi can tell it’s embellished, but he isn’t certain _where_ , and that concerns him. Even more concerning is what it all implies.

“You’re certain this woman… she was called Saeko?” Wakatoshi knows Tanaka Saeko, of course. Everyone in the business does, but she’s very friendly with Kiyoko, and why would Kiyoko threaten him if she were trying to make a deal with him under the table?

“Definitely! And, well, she gave us a bound qilin, all drugged up and ready to go. Might wanna dump some more sleep soot on them soon, but we should be fine. That woman was very frantic about saving everyone, though, so she had a surprisingly soft heart all things considered.”

“She was doing it on orders.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. I don’t know if this means we have a friend, but it doesn’t sit well with me. Not that I’m one to look a gift horse in the mouth, mind. Or gift qilin, I suppose?”

Wakatoshi doesn’t want to be ungrateful for this, either, but it doesn’t mean he has to trust it. No one knows where the circle is set up, and Shirabu and his friend are capable of traveling undetected. The supplies are all there, provided they retrieved the First egg for him.

His nose is numb and his limbs are heavy with cold by the time they make it to their destination. Wakatoshi unlocks the door with a wave of his hand, too tired to write, and they head down the stairs into the parking garage. Not many things are going to get through this many tons of concrete.

It’s not _quite_ a backup plan, but Wakatoshi could hypothetically bring the entire building down on Northot’s head.

The circle is still untouched and pristine in the middle of the lot, and their ingredients are sprinkled around the edges. Most of it is prepared, and the rest of it won’t take long. There’s an unconscious, glamored qilin bound and braced against one of the concrete pillars. He’s never actually met one before.

More importantly, he finds the First egg cradled in the lap of a man sitting cross-legged against another pillar. The man jerks his head to the side, large antlers scraping the concrete behind him. “Hi.” His head jerks again, as if getting pulled. “Our antlers are stuck together. I’m too tired to be perturbed by this kind of introduction, all things considered.”

“Um,” Wakatoshi intelligently replies. Tendou bursts into laughter.

A well-timed kick from Shirabu gets Tendou’s legs out from under him, and he crumples with a shocked _yip_. Wakatoshi doesn’t like the sound, but considering Tendou resumes cackling a moment later, he assumes he’s fine. “Detach us!” Shirabu demands.

“That would be nice,” the man drawls.

It takes some doing, considering he must feel around something he can’t see, and his fingers get pinched more than he likes. But soon he has them separated, and the man holds up the egg like it’s a thank you gift. Wakatoshi takes it with misplaced gratitude. “Finally. Thank you, both of you, for your cooperation.”

“Well, now that we’re both out, we’re officially the most successful thieves the tengu have ever had to deal with,” Shirabu proudly replies. Wakatoshi catches a flicker of him standing tall. “And, um… Thanks, both of you, for your help. Tai, say thank you. This was _your_ fault, after all.”

“It was because of me that the egg made it out of the realm at all. _I’m_ the most successful thief.”

“What does that make me? I stole you,” Tendou asks, still on the floor, but tail wagging happily.

“A greedy opportunist,” they reply together.

“Ouch! Well, I can’t say that’s a lie…”

“I’m going to begin the spell preparations now,” Wakatoshi tells them, “though the area will be safe for the time being.”

The man stretches out both his legs with a tired huff. Wakatoshi glances back at him, confused and not sure if he should ask. Tendou saves him the trouble. “You settling in? I thought you two would head for the hills now.”

“Taichi is still injured,” Shirabu snaps, strangely defensive.

“I’m _tired_ is what I am,” he corrects, “and curious as all hell about this great witch Kenjirou has taken such a shine to. I want to see you summon a god.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Wakatoshi replies. He’s fond of Shirabu, and he’s curious about this antlered man sitting on the ground, too. He makes a note to ask more about the greatest thief of the tengu realm after this is all over.

He places the egg where it should be in the circle, then checks over the qilin. He double-checks the confinement jar he sealed the ghost in, then begins counting out bundles of hyssop and jars of ichor. Everything is accounted for, and everything is in place.

Something thrums in his blood, not quite nerves and not quite excitement. _This is it_. It’s taken almost a year of preparation. He’s gone through losing a partner, to gaining several, to possession and firefights and death.

He’s finally going to see her again; he’s finally going to feel whole again.

Something about the fact that the three present don’t know what he’s asked for as his payment doesn’t sit well with him. They might not understand. Tendou judges everything, and loudly at that. So does Shirabu. None of them are witches, much less human.

“What’s wrong, nervous finally?”

Wakatoshi hates it, but he actually jumps as Tendou hooks his chin over his shoulder. He pushes his weight onto him, bowing Wakatoshi momentarily, before he rights them both. “I’m not nervous.” He doesn’t _get_ nervous. “It’s just… sobering, to think of this finally happening. Are you clear on what you need to do?”

“Absolutely! Can’t wait!”

At least someone is looking forward to this.

Not that he isn’t.

Wakatoshi strips off his gloves and starts gathering his magic. “ _Ya sll’ha-thanarak hai ch’-nglui. Nogog, Northot._ ”

 

\--

 

“C’mon, let’s dance!” Suga shouts over the pounding bass. Daichi gives him a pleading look. “I bribed the DJ! Next we’re getting a tango, and I’m not letting you escape! It’s old music, you’ll like it!”

“I like more than just _old music_ , you know,” Daichi shouts back.

Overhead, fairies and pixies happily dance and flit about. Suga has already caught more than one case of humans trading glowsticks for fairy dust, so the ballroom is more colorful and less elegant than ever. He thinks they’re getting sloppy enough to start shedding it as they move overhead, too.

Suga tugs at Daichi’s arm again as the music begins to wind down. Daichi, at least, quirks a smile when ABBA comes on. “What exactly do you think my taste in music is?”

“Weird, now c’mon!”

The night has worn on long enough that Daichi has come out of his shell; they’ve danced more than a handful of times, and while it’s clear Daichi has no formal training, he’s more comfortable taking the lead now. There’s only a natural push and pull of movement, and it’s fun even with bumps and bruises and stepping on each other’s feet.

When the song fades out, Suga grins and goes in for a kiss, but Daichi surprises him by wrapping his arms around his back and twirling them around instead. He dips Suga, not gracefully or easily, but he manages it, and Suga is starry-eyed for one blessed moment before he’s dropped on his head.

Daichi doesn’t fall on him, but he looks a bit like he’s dropped some priceless china. “Are you okay?”

“Was that _revenge_?”

“That’s harder than it looks!” Daichi helps him up, and they scuttle off the dance floor as the loud twanging of country music takes over. Daichi pulls Suga flush against him to avoid a particularly excited Bokuto as he physically hauls Akaashi onto the dance floor. “Fae like dubstep and tengu like country… There’s a lot to learn about the musical community, huh.”

“At least they’re having fun,” Suga replies. He’s not sure he’s actually seen Akaashi smile so widely before.

Kiyoko and Yuu went home a few hours ago, and Madoka followed them out. People with day jobs already left as well, and while there were a few late entries as more nocturnal beings arrived, the party is thinning out and _almost_ winding down. When Suga checks his phone while Daichi chugs water, he finds it’s nearly three in the morning.

“Kinda surprised you lasted this long, old man.”

The look Daichi gives the phone is rather like a man staring at the gallows. “Don’t remind me. Otherwise I’m going to start whining. I was hoping I’d be able to keep going, then pass out somewhere, and you’d feel such pity for me you’d let it slide.”

“Oh, Daichi, trust me—you don’t want to pass out at a magical party.”

“So you’d be stirred with such pity you would _definitely_ see me home and tuck me in and I could almost pretend I’m getting enough sleep tonight.”

Most of his friends have gone home, and it’s not like his feet don’t hurt or the alcohol is making him feel draggy. The very thought of sleep is beginning to wear at him, and Suga stifles a yawn. Daichi yawns, then, and Suga punches him in the arm as it causes him to yawn _again_.

“You’re sabotaging me!”

“You started it!” Daichi shoots back. “I’m going to just put it out there and say we should head home, though.”

“I’m not asleep yet,” Suga replies, determined, but already he’s not sure he wants to get up out of the chair. “Ugh, not fair. You’ve worked your wiles on me yet again, Sawamura.”

“What am I, a sleep demon…?”

“Demons don’t come in categories like that.”

“You know what I mean,” Daichi leans against him. “I know you’ve mentioned succubus, though. What are they, then?”

“It’s a hazy connection at best. They’re more like a subset of love spirits, but not quite like bakeneko and luck spirits. It’s kind of more like how sprites are related, or maybe it’s like… You’re _not_ falling asleep on me, are you?” Suga suspiciously demands as Daichi leans a little more against him.

“I like the sound of your voice,” Daichi murmurs.

“Oh, come on. We’ll head out, then. We’ve already established I can’t really carry you, and Akaashi will have my hide if I ask either of them to help.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of effort, but Suga manages to stand, and through even _more_ effort, he gets Daichi upright, too. “Thanks for taking me out tonight,” Daichi sounds both shockingly sincere and shockingly awake. Suga regards him with further suspicion. “I’m serious. It was fun, and I appreciate spending time with you. Seeing you dressed up was the very nice cherry on top.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk?”

“It’s not a uniform.”

“No, it’s not,” Suga agrees, running his hands up Daichi’s black shirt to fiddle with his tie, “but you clean up pretty well. I’ll have to think of more reasons to get you in a suit more often. Now, why are you being so sweet to me all of a sudden?”

“Because, my love, I’m going to be a demon myself tomorrow morning, and you’re going to bear the full brunt of it.” Daichi pecks Suga’s nose. “I wake up early even without an alarm. And if we’re both cranky, then it’s going to get messy, so I thought I’d get all of the sweet nothings and declarations of love out of the way now, before things become a warzone.”

 _Ah_ , Suga thinks, and smiles, though helplessly. “Tomorrow’s going to be a hell of a day. I’ll see if I can’t make you sleep in. Maybe I’ll just hex you again.”

They wind through the stragglers to retrieve Suga’s suit jacket, then make their way out to coat check. The air in the hallway is cooler and clearer, and Suga finds his ears are ringing from the loud music inside the main room. The attendant from before recognizes them and spares them a rather unfair look of disdain.

They hurry outside.

It’s the kind of cold and quiet that the city only gets at terrible hours in the morning, and despite exhaustion settling over him like a slowly suffocating blanket, Suga enjoys it. It’s a kind of magical time on its own.

 _Ushijima didn’t do anything tonight_. _He didn’t make a move, everyone survived the party, and no one even started any fights._

It’s just a fifteen minute walk to the train station. All he does is lace their fingers together and tug their hands into his coat pocket.

The trains are nearly empty this time of night, and no one else in full suits are aboard. They get a couple of strange looks, but they just snicker to themselves, and use each other as pillows. Suga’s place is closer, and he doesn’t think Daichi intends on parting ways with him tonight. Glancing sideways at him, he finds Daichi’s eyes drooping, but he sticks his tongue out when he catches Suga looking.

“I’m turning off all our alarms and hexing you,” Suga warns. “You’re sleeping in tomorrow. I’m not ruining such a great night with your old man crankiness.”

“You’re older, _and_ you have grey hair.”

“Bite me. You act like a seventy-year-old. What kind of hot-blooded twenty-something can’t handle a late party once in awhile?”

They fall silent as the sirens start up outside again, a low whine hardly audible over the noise of the train. They’ve been going off frequently enough that Suga hardly bothers caring anymore.

“Tooru said he’s been able to sleep again,” Suga murmurs and squeezes Daichi’s hand. “He and Iwaizumi found that baku they were chasing. Tadashi and Kei really came through for them.”

“You sound like such a proud grandfather.”

“I’ll hex you now and let you sleep on the train.”

“You’d be too sad without me to warm your bed,” Daichi replies, smug as hell because he _knows_ he’s right.

It’s not fair. He _wants_ a nice warm heater in his bed, and he wants to laze around with Daichi well into the afternoon tomorrow. He also wants to properly investigate Daichi’s nice clothes, too. Or maybe just throw them on the bedroom floor. He _is_ tired, and so is Daichi. Morning sex? But that’s not the same, and he still has that pleasant buzz in his belly from all the otherworldly booze.

“What if we thoroughly tired you out,” Suga suggests as they trot across a very not busy street. The sidewalks are still damp, but the night is clear, thanks to the weather spirits the covens bribed. The moon’s already gone from view, leaving just the few stars overhead that you could see in the city.

“Don’t do this to me again. You’re going to pass out as soon as you get horizontal. We both are.”

“We’re vertical right now.”

“We’re _walking home_.”

“Have you ever gotten your cock sucked in an alley?” Suga innocently asks, and Daichi swats at him, the perfect amount of scandalized. Suga can’t help but laugh; he accepts his punishment of no more hand holding. Poor him. “Just throwing it out there! You _have_ to have things on your sex bucket list, right?”

“Do you know how dirty alleys are?”

“Yeah, I’ve fought ghouls in them before. They’re disgusting. But if you’re not the one getting down on your knees, why do you care?”

“We’re not fucking in an alley, or anything that could be construed as fucking.”

Suga sighs as dramatically as he can. He carefully waits until they’re about a block from his apartment building before he suggests, “Up against a wall? This isn’t an alley right here.”

“ _Suga_.”

“ _Daichi_.”

“Are you just horny because you’re still drunk, or do you have a suit fetish too I’m just now discovering?”

“Uh… both, maybe. Mostly, I just like teasing you.”

“Yeah, I know.” Daichi scrubs a hand back through his hair, then continues, with a voice deeper than normal and twice as rough, “Not that you’re too difficult yourself, _Koushi_. Do you know how good you’ve looked all night? I though about sneaking back off to coat check. I don’t know binding magic or whatever, but I could always just use my tie, right?”

“Fuck you, Daichi,” Suga says, covering his face to try to rub the heat from his cheeks. “N-Not fair!”

“Relationships are a two-way street, Koushi. Need to remind you once in awhile I can rile you up as easily as you do it to me.” Daichi pauses, thoughtful, then innocently adds, “Or easier, since I suppose all I have to do is wear my ABUs around you.”

“You’re evil.”

They avoid alleys, but they do end up against a wall; Suga doesn’t know which of them moved first, exactly, but he knows his back hits rough brick and Daichi’s mouth is on his. They’re both tipsy, and their noses are cold, and their lips are sloppy and too wet, and neither can stop laughing against the other, but the kiss is wonderful and all Suga wants of the evening.

Daichi presses into him and Suga winds his arms around his shoulders, then runs his fingers up through his hair. It hadn’t been styled, so it’s still soft. He cards his fingers through Daichi’s hair as they melt against each other.

Morning sex will be alright. They need to _sleep_ , first, but Suga will be damned if he’s not going to cuddle the fuck out of this man the entire night.

“Morning,” Suga says against Daichi, between kisses, “we’re gonna resume this. And later, we’re going out for a fancy dinner, and you’re dressing up again for me.”

“You have to, too.”

“This was a rental.”

Daichi nips at his lower lip a little too hard. “Equality in relationships. You looked amazing tonight, and you can’t keep that kind of stuff from me if you’re making me constantly dress up for you.”

“Maybe _you’re_ the one with the suit fetish now.”

The ground quakes beneath them. Daichi loses his balance and falls back. Suga presses against the brick wall, trying to stay upright, but the shaking stops just as abruptly as it began.

He doesn’t remember hearing any loud sounds, but his ears are ringing. When Daichi speaks, his voice is muffled, coming through cotton. “ _What_?” Suga calls back. He thinks he’s shouting. The ringing in his ears from the party is nothing compared to this now, and it’s not fading.

He helps Daichi up, and Daichi’s mouth is almost at his ear before he can hear, “Are you okay?”

Suga looks them both over—dirty but fine—and looks up and down the street. The nearest streetlight is still blinking, but there are lights coming on in windows of the apartments. He absently signs, “ _I don’t know what that was._ ”

It takes Daichi tapping his shoulder for him to remember that he doesn’t know sign language.

The smell hits him at the same time the sirens begin blaring again, and Suga _knows_. The air is filled with rotted, decayed magic, cloying and thick. He gags and staggers against Daichi. “You okay?” he hears through the ringing in his ears.

Suga can hardly breathe, but shoving the fabric of his coat against his nose helps a little. _Of all the nights not to have my scarf_ , he thinks, and jogs out to the middle of the street to try to get a better view around buildings.

The magic in the air is so thick it’s like swimming, ten times worse than any humidity or fog. They have to be close, for it to be this bad.

Suga marches over to Daichi and shoves his fingers beneath his collar until he can fish out his dogtags. Daichi catches wise to _something_ , because he’s barking questions the entire time, but Suga pulls his messenger bag free and ignores him. Strangely, his heart is beating evenly in his chest, as slowly as ever. He feels detached and businesslike as he digs out what he needs.

First, he ties a spare scarf around his face, then he digs out his usual silver knife.

“What are you _doing_ ,” Daichi demands, and he’s perfectly clear again beneath the terrible ringing and wailing sirens.

“You need to get home, or—” Suga glances up the street, to his apartment building. “Look, I have an emergency bag stashed under my bed. Grab Sunshine and that and—”

“What just happened?” Daichi demands, twice as fiercely.

“Ushijima just—” His tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth. “I’m close, I have to go see how bad the damage is. Maybe I can do something…” He knows enough necromancy to surely fuck up someone deathless, and he knows the theory behind drawing on the angelic magic within him.

That might kill him, too, but he still _could_.

 _Oh god, he just summoned a god_. He’s tired and drunk and scared as all hell, but he’s _close_ , and he doesn’t know how long they can wait before something worse happens. “I need to go see what he did. Give me your sword.”

“Like hell.”

“Look, I have some gloves in here—”

“I’m coming with you.”

Suga gapes at him. Traitorously, he feels _relieved_ that doesn’t have to rush in there alone as a shitty first response. “No, you aren’t! You don’t know what kind of magic this is!”

Daichi is human, and nonmagical, and so very, very mortal. Suga at least stands a chance of coming back later.

“And you think I’m letting you go alone to _something_? You’re pale as a sheet and your hands are trembling. You don’t get scared like this, Koushi.” Daichi’s voice and face both soften, and his big, warm hands cover Suga’s. Damn him, they were shaking. “Tell me what happened. Let me help you.”

Suga blinks back sudden tears; he tells himself it’s from the oppressive magic in the air. It’s foul and unearthly and he nearly gags again just remembering how bad it is. “I-It’s just the end of the world. And I think we’re really close to ground zero, and I need to check it out because I’m here and I’ll come back.”

“I’m coming with you,” Daichi maintains, and Suga shakes his head. “I’m making _sure_ you come back, and I’m not handing over the sword. If we see anything going down, then we’ll run and alert someone else.”

Suga doesn’t respond, but fishes out his phone. It doesn’t even unlock at first, and the time and date are hopelessly scrambled. He can’t even access half the buttons. Daichi rifles through his messenger bag while Suga struggles to open up a call. At this point, he’d take about anyone.

“Damn it. _Damn_ it!” He can’t get it to work, so he doubts his burner cell would be any better. Suga shoves it back in his pocket and glares down at Daichi. The vorpal sword is out of his dogtags, and lays on the sidewalk, bright against the dark asphalt. “Phone’s out for the time being. Covens will try to get communication and a perimeter set up first, probably set up protective wards around residential areas first.”

“So let’s find out what’s going on.”

“You can’t come with me.”

Daichi glances up at him, still elbow-deep in his bag, and tells him, “I’ve already had to wait by your bedside while you were dead, Suga. I can’t do that again.”

Suga briefly considers grabbing the sword and running for it, but Daichi has his bag, and frankly, that’s more valuable to Suga right now than even vorpium. “…Fine. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

Northot is… smaller than Wakatoshi anticipates.

He knows it’s not up to its full strength—by his calculations, it’s just a fraction of a sliver of power of a god—but it still stands shorter than he is, thin and wispy. It’s mostly upright, though it’s kinked and crooked, like a misshapen tree branch.

Northot moves with unnatural jolts as it rights itself and seems to stretch. Wakatoshi can detect no limbs or a face, but he thinks he can distinguish a head, if only for the many pointed antlers sprouting from it. It’s colorless but bright, illuminating the parking garage after shorting out all of the lights.

“Y̴̧h̡a̴͘fh͜'̴̧d̸ŗn̷̵͝,” Northot says and there are immediate cries of pain. Even Wakatoshi flinches, teeth bared in reflexive defense. “T͢ha҉n͏k y̨o̢u͝ fo͜r͠ ̕f̸ul͏f͏i̸ll͢i͟n̵g your ҉en̵d͡ ͝of̕ ͡t̕he ̕c͢ont̕ra̛c̸t͞.”

“Stop,” Wakatoshi pleads, one hand pressed to his ear. “I know.” His voice is hoarse from spellwork, and he feels dead on his feet. He hadn’t anticipated the spell taking this much from him, considering how prepared he’d been. “You cannot move from the circle until you fulfill your payment for us. Give me mine first.”

Northot cocks its head in a jerky snap. Wakatoshi thinks it’s smiling, and he must look away before his eyes burn. When he wipes at them, there’s blood smeared across the back of his hand. He doesn’t see either Shirabu or Taichi, and Tendou is covering his face with his forearms, ears laid flat, panting for air.

They can do this. They know what to do to come out on top.

Wakatoshi can taste the black magic in the air as Northot murmurs foul words to pull life from death. Wakatoshi has studied necromancy and other dark arts; he knows this is a drastic conclusion, but there is no way for any mortal to have enough power in order to resurrect someone from death. You can reanimate a corpse, or summon spirits, even specific ones, but you cannot bring back a specific life without cosmic levels of strength.

This is the only route that would work.

Not looking directly at it, Wakatoshi steps forward, up through the outer ring of the summoning circle. His teeth ache and his ears ring from proximity, and he knows they’re still protected from the brunt of it.

Northot cannot harm them until they move first against it, and it must fulfill their payment before it can move freely. Those were its weaknesses.

With outstretched hands, Wakatoshi screws his eyes shut and turns his head from the blinding light in front of him.

“Y̸o̶u͜r̴ p͠a̡ym̢e̵n̸t: t͜h͏ę ̨l͞o̵s̡t pa͘r̵t ҉o͞f y͏ou̶r͠ ͢life.” This close, Northot’s words feel like needles in his eardrums. Wakatoshi feels a weight press into his hands. He almost opens his eyes to look, but backs away first.

“You’re shitting me,” Tendou says as soon as Wakatoshi steps out of the circle.

He cracks open his eyes, blinking against the stinging, and finds an eagle chick in his cupped hands.

“A _bird_?” Wakatoshi cannot tell if he’s angry, upset, or simply surprised.

“This is Athena,” Wakatoshi says, voice thick, and brings her up to his eye level. “This is my familiar.”

“You summoned an old god for a _bird_.” He’s definitely some shade of angry.

“She ҉w͘il͏l͟ not ̨d͟i͜e s̢o͜ ͠l͏ong a҉s ̛you ͘s͞ti͞l̨l li҉ve.͏ Y̵ou͢ w̢o̷n'͢t l̵ơse ̕he̢r ̧again̸.”

Athena cowers in his hands at the sound and reflexively, Wakatoshi cups her close to his chest. She’s so small now—again—but he can already feel the connection back in place, a puzzle piece he’d been missing for too long.

“Okay, so an immortal baby bird. Sorry, but I’m kind of missing the importance here.”

“Familiars are vital to the power and sanity of any witch,” Wakatoshi explains, distantly, focusing on studying every ugly mottled feather and wrinkle of skin. She’s too young to fly—again—and he’s too scared to ask if she actually _remembers_ anything. He had worked so hard on the contract with Northot, to ensure it’s actually her, but animal souls are separate from human souls, even familiars. “I was not myself—I needed to have her again.”

“And you don’t think this was a bit of _overkill_ , Wakatoshi?!” Tendou says with a wild gesture in Northot’s direction. The god snickers, and they all cringe away again. Athena lets out an indignant peep that pulls at his heart.

“It’s your turn,” he coldly replies.

“No, I want to talk about why you kept her from us! You _knew_ this was overkill, that’s why you didn’t tell us, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I’ve been around witches, and I know how familiars work. I’ve seen how important they are. I don’t care, but I know. But you didn’t _tell us_. You didn’t tell me.”

“You don’t know.” Wakatoshi closes his eyes, not to shield himself from _The Thing That Should Not Be_ , but to ground himself. “You’re… friendly. You’re long-lived. You’ve had people around you, people who like you. You’ve had friends and family.” He glares over at Tendou, daring him to argue, hoping he’d understand anyway. “Athena is all I’ve ever had, and I would go through hell to maintain that. So I did. I don’t care what you think of that.”

Tendou lashes his tail behind him. His eyes are still narrowed, ears pinned flat, mouth a pinched line. “I’m a spirit of fortune. I _understand greed_ , Toshi. And if she was so important to you, you should have told me. I could’ve been teasing you about baby birds for awhile instead of brain bugs.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides toward Northot. He probably means to look confident and fearless, but it’s obvious he’s trembling. Northot leans over, and a piece of its body splits out to make a sort of leg, though it acts more like liquid dripping from itself. “Y͝ou͢ wa̢nt͜ t͜o̸ b̴e̡ st̵ro͞n̛g,̡ ͏a̕nno̧y̛ing şpirit̡, a͟n҉d y̧o͡u̧ w̢a̛nt̕ ̸to̡ be rich.͝ ̶I̶ w̵il͘l̛ gran̴t̡ this ͡to͟ ̵y͞o͡ư ̡a͡n͠d ͟ļaug̕ḩ ̵at ͢hǫw͏ s̶i̵mpl̸e ̡y͟ou̧ a̸re̡.”

“ _Merde_ , but you reek.” Despite their proximity and the way his legs shake, Tendou stands tall, and grins at the god in his face. “And sorry, mister god, but I was your first and last mistake.” [11]

Technically not first; that had been Kageyama, but Wakatoshi lets him have his line.

Northot cocks its head again with another whiplike movement. Wakatoshi thinks he can see teeth now, too many of them, not quite _there_ in its face. He must look away and Athena nips at his finger again.

“I want my payment, and my payment is as much power and gold as I want.”

Northot nods, indulgent, and smiles wider.

Tendou grins right back, finally to full strength. “You promised a spirit of greed as much as I _want_ , and you can’t move from that circle until you’ve paid that.”

Wakatoshi rather wishes Northot were capable of proper expressions, because even he feels a smirk at hearing that. He thinks he hears Shirabu snort out a laugh.

The _bang_ of the outside door startles the triumphant scene, but it’s not as if Wakatoshi weren’t prepared for intruders. Cradling Athena with one hand, he draws his gun with the other, and listens for the trip of any of the magical wards or traps leading the way into the parking garage.

His magic dies, fast, and he thinks he knows who it is moments before Sugawara and his date make it down the stairs. Wakatoshi wants to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, but he had _warned_ Kiyoko, and he’s tired of dealing with this man. “Leave, _now_ ,” he calls out, and his voice echoes in the empty garage.

“Not on your life,” Sugawara shouts back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( good job on stopping that apocalypse team
> 
> formalwear references if you're into that kinda thing: [daichi](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/08/3a/5c/083a5cefbedc9e48fea3da84ab06c515.jpg) | [suga](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1ZhXGKVXXXXcqXFXXq6xXFXXXw/2016-Italian-font-b-Light-b-font-font-b-Grey-b-font-wedding-business-suits-for.jpg) | [oikawa](http://www.tuxedowarehouse.net/uploads/4/2/5/5/42553849/s401497254439752242_p270_i3_w588.jpeg) (plus coattails!) | [kiyoko](http://kathleenbrewster.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/star-6.jpg) (except with silver on bottom & blue on top) | [noya](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/74/5d/bd/745dbdebf42be18383506033735765c5.jpg) | [ushijima](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/70/3e/d5/703ed5868e8c6414be2976e1a9740df4.jpg) (the shirt is dark green if you can't tell, yes gloves included) | [iwaizumi](http://g01.a.alicdn.com/kf/UT8d1fqXv0aXXagOFbXz/2016-New-Custom-Made-font-b-Black-b-font-font-b-3-b-font-font-b.jpg)
> 
> this is also the first chapter that the incredible [corvid](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/preciouscrowchild) helped me and [ellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/works) with!! i know it seems like there's a revolving door of betas but trust me we're in this for the long haul now. 
> 
> 1Mon oisillon. = "My little bird." [ return ]  
> 2Qu’est-ce que fuck?! = "What the fuck?!" [ return ]  
> 3Le chat! = "The cat!" [ return ]  
> 4Merda. = "Shit." [ return ]  
> 5Parle du diable! = "Speak of the devil!" [ return ]  
> 6Beau. = "Handsome guy (with the connotation of a relationship)." [ return ]  
> 7Comprendrez-vous? = "You understand?" [ return ]  
> 8C’est pas sous contrôle! = "This isn't under control!" [ return ]  
> 9Je pensais que tu me faisais confiance. = "I thought you trusted me." [ return ]  
> 10Menteur! = "Liar!" [ return ]  
> 11Merde. = "Shit." [ return ] ))


	24. Shimizu Kiyoko Is Prepared For The Worst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( for your listening pleasure: [this is the long atmospheric mood playlist for the finale](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3r8rHgG9B4cRDO0cOmOBrMo4tCVIpSKU), and [this is the playlist for kiyoko feelings](https://playmoss.com/en/tarotdactyl/playlist/shimizu). good luck! ))

It’d been farther than Suga had anticipated—good, because he didn’t want this going down near his home, and bad, because most of the trains were already shut down and by fucking god they were _tired_. They also weren’t prepared. At all.

Dead man’s blood easily cut through the spells and wards surrounding the place. Ushijima had hardly tried. Maybe he truly, _honestly_ thought he’d take care of this quickly.

Suga’s vision swims as they head down the stairs. There is a low thrumming in the air, alien and pressing, and Daichi shakes his head like he’s trying to clear himself. “Don’t look directly at anything that doesn’t look like a man or a fox,” Suga whispers, then repeats himself, louder. His hearing seems to be muffled; strange, since he can hear their footsteps and he thinks he can hear talking from up ahead.

When they come out into the main area of the parking garage, he drags Daichi back behind the nearest pillar.

There’s a _thing_ there, in a crater of cracked concrete and spell ingredients. This proximity had already been stifling; being in front of it makes fear sing through him. He can’t handle knowing it’s there, that it exists, that it _knows he’s here_.

But Daichi is here. They’re both here, and no one else is. He can’t do _nothing_.

 _Mute-quiet_ , Suga draws in the air with a murmur, and places his hands over Daichi’s ears. He relaxes a little, but his eyes search Suga’s for answers he doesn’t have. Suga casts the same spell on himself, and the world quiets down into something less suffocating.

Suga points to his eyes and shakes his head; Daichi nods, but he still looks confused. It’s inevitable, but they’re going to face blindness, maybe even eyeballs melting.

Daichi holds up his sword, and Suga puts his hands together. Daichi shakes his head. Worth a shot, either way, and Suga pulls out his largest silver knife.

Suga does a tally: Ushijima silhouette, fox spirit silhouette, and blinding _wrong_ light that makes his head pound. He isn’t sure where the invisible guy is, or if he’d even cast a shadow. They’ll either get stabbed in the back or they won’t.

Ushijima shouts at them, and raises his gun.

Suga doesn’t back down, knife raised, wishing for a gun to match. He hates guns, but at least they pose more of a threat at this distance. “Not on your life!” Suga calls back, teeth bared.

He notes the eaglet Ushijima cradles close to himself with his right hand.

Ushijima clicks the safety off. Suga doesn’t approach, but a good thing about only having a dinky little knife is that it leaves one hand free. He writes runes against Daichi where they’re pressed together.

When the wraith pops out of their shared shadow, only the replenishment potions Suga had downed on their way here keeps him upright. Daichi steadies him, even as he balks at the spirit that claws its way between their legs, with its blackened tongue hanging out of its mouth.

As soon as the wraith begins to sizzle away into inky smoke, Suga figures he should have gone with a shade. He’d assumed that something more solid would be worth the drain.

A gunshot echoes through the space.

Suga jumps, expecting pain or blood or a Door again. Belatedly, he sees the hole in the concrete just in front of their feet. “ _Leave_.” Ushijima’s voice is as cold as ice. Suga is _very_ worried about the fact that he can actually hear him. “And get rid of that unholy thing.”

Suga cannot help the wild laugh that escapes him. The tinnitus is beginning to settle back into his brain. “Are you fucking _serious_?”

“I have this under control. I always have. I will not risk any mistakes as messy as you.”

“You’re fucking over the entire human plane!” Suga shouts, and his wraith rears back like a snake readying to strike. It trails shadows with the same kind of afterimage that the god in his peripherals creates. Northot is a shifting, dripping entity of winking light and antlers.

He looks without meaning to.

Suga falls to his knees at the same time his wraith bursts into a mass of wriggling limbs. It thrashes just before him, but Suga’s eyes are locked onto the figure stepping toward him. Northot creates new limbs as it moves, graceful despite leaving an edged trail like broken glass. It shifts between colors with an oily sheen, but it’s brighter than anything Suga has ever seen.

This is a _god_.

Suga opens his mouth and bares his throat as the deity reaches down for him with many great hands. His wraith is eaten up like a first sacrifice, and Northot hungers. It must eat, it must devour, it must regain the strength it lost clawing its way into this disgusting excuse for a realm.

Suga was a fool to think he could stop this.

Northot dips down to reach for his exposed throat, and pain explodes in Suga’s leg.

He collapses backward, clutching at his thigh, and with a blink, the scene changes. The god is still a radiant peripheral image, the wraith is crouched in front of Daichi and melting, and Ushijima has shot Suga in the leg.

As he clutches his leg, Ushijima tonelessly tells him, “I’m not letting you get possessed and ruin my plans. You need to leave before you unleash this.”

“R̕e̶le͢͞a͡ş̕͝e̵͞͞ ̸̨m̡e̵̢͜,͏” Northot says. Suga can’t cover his ears, but he whines against gritted teeth.

“You haven’t finished paying me yet!” the fox spirit declares with a triumphant cackle. Gold has been piled around the circle, reflecting the god’s light further and casting strange shadows.

Suga’s not used to his heart pounding this quickly.

“You need to leave while I prepare the banishment circle,” Ushijima says by way of explanation. “We’re safe here from its touch, but you aren’t, and I’m _not_ letting it use you as a doorway out of my circle.”

The eaglet in his hand peeps softly in agreement.

Suga doesn’t feel Daichi’s hand on his shoulder at first. He’s not sure how long he’s even _been_ there, next to him. Everything’s still fuzzy around the edges. He can’t feel much outside of the searing pain in his leg. Not even his hands, tight around his thigh, are much more than a distant sort of pressure.

 _I’m not dying_. Not from a leg wound. Even if it hit major arteries, he bleeds slowly enough that he should be fine for a little while longer. _What’s wrong with me?_

 _Y̕o̶͠u͘ a̡͏r̸̡e̴ w̸ę͏ak, s̸҉͞h̡u̸͏g̢̕go̴t̵̨̡h,_ comes an insidious croon, and Suga jumps to find the god curled around him where he’d thought Daichi had just been.

“Leave before I kill you,” Ushijima snarls, and the image of Northot wavers in his mind.

Suga lets go of his leg to place one hand on Daichi’s shoulder. He doesn’t even notice the blood on his hand until he realizes how slick his grip is.

 _Why didn’t Ushijima just try to kill us when we came in?_ It’d been his biggest fear, bringing Daichi with him, though resurrecting in front of a god wouldn’t be— _ah_. Ushijima wouldn’t want to point out a deathless body in front of the god.

It’s a point of antagonism Suga is surprised to find. He wants to be reassured.

It doesn’t save Daichi.

They can’t exactly _trust_ Ushijima, but Suga is grounded and Daichi is mortal and neither of them have projectile weaponry. His wraith has almost boiled down to nothing.

“Get them out of here,” Ushijima commands empty air, moments before Suga is hauled up beneath his armpits. Daichi shouts as he and Suga are ripped apart by unseen hands. Daichi swings the vorpal sword wildly, and someone swears.

“R҉elȩa̧se ̸m͏e.̨ B̢ęt͞ra̸y ͟me̸, a͢ņd̡ re̢l͝e̵as̸e͞ me͞, ̨a͏nd ̸kn͢ow ̸tr͏u̧e̸ pa͠in. I͢ ̴ti̛r̕e o͞f̢ ̨th̷is g̡am̨e.͏” Northot certainly seems to think it and Ushijima aren’t friends.

“Stop kicking, you’ll only bleed out faster,” someone hisses in Suga’s ear.

“There are _two_ of you now?” He kicks harder out of sheer spite.

The thrumming in the air dies away to nothing. Suga freezes out of reflex, and he feels the invisible person holding him still as well. They’re all holding their breath, and he doesn’t know why.

“You shouldn’t get distracted,” the fox spirit says loudly. It hardly breaks the tension. “You’re busy with me, remember? More gold, more power!”

The thrumming returns, and with it, the ringing in his ears, twice as bad. His wraith evaporates with a screech like nails on a chalkboard. The air is positively _thick_ with magic and Suga gets dropped as his captor reels back with a hacking cough. He twists, reaching out for Daichi, but freezes again when he sees—when he _sees_ them.

He saw one of them briefly before, a short man with dark-furred legs and a missing antler, but the other is taller, wild-haired and with a larger, full rack of antlers. He’s shabbily dressed, and unlike the one Suga has seen before, has no deer legs, and appears to be injured.

“Stop this,” Ushijima barks. The thrumming dims, and everyone takes a breath. The two remain visible. They seem startled when they realize they are. “You cannot harm us until the contract is broken.”

“Yo̸u͘ a͘nd͜ ͡th͜e̕ ͏g̨r͏e̡e͟ḑy fox ͡a͞r̵e un͟der co͝ntract̷,” Northot agrees in a purr like an earthquake.

“Shirabu is under our protection—” Ushijima begins, and cuts himself off, eyes wide with horror.

There’s four on Ushijima’s side.

“You can’t move from that circle!” Shirabu shouts as he and the other previously invisible man step back. Daichi dives for Suga and they scramble away, Daichi halfway carrying Suga, as his leg will hardly support his weight. The pain is slowly ebbing away too.

Northot can’t _leave_ , but there’s no confinement circle in the realm that can stop a god. Magic shatters like glass and Suga looks away when one long, many-jointed and claw-tipped hand reaches towards the unprotected man.

“Don’t attack it!” Ushijima shouts and with the whirl of action behind them, Suga takes the opportunity to direct Daichi over behind one of the concrete columns of the garage.

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks. His voice is still muffled.

Suga smiles, tired, but reassuringly. “I have some first aid stuff in my bag,” he says, and Daichi digs around in his messenger bag without further prompting. The blood stands out stark on the silver fabric of Suga’s dress pants. Even though one hand clutches his thigh tightly enough to create white knuckles, he hardly feels the pressure anymore. “There should be a blood-stopping potion in there, somewhere, too. Little glass jar, it’s a dark orange potion.”

Daichi grimaces but doesn’t complain. His expression is tight yet fragile. Who knows what all the magic is doing to him.

Suga needs to know he’ll be safe. He needs Daichi to leave this mess before it gets worse. _But how?_ There’s no chance in hell Daichi will leave his side. “Daichi, you need to—”

The concrete shielding them cracks, and they barely get out of the way as it comes crashing down.

Northot follows the taller antlered man with a spear-like limb, and Shirabu and Ushijima try in vain to pull it back.

“If they attack that thing, then it’s coming after _them_?” Daichi asks in a low voice.

“Seems that way.”

“So they’re not friends?”

“Seems that way,” Suga bitterly repeats. “But we need to act while they’re distracted.”

Northot remains stationary aside from the one spidery limb chasing them, and the matagot is still in front of it. They’re probably both stuck there as part of the contract. With Northot able to attack, they’ll likely get one shot. Ushijima isn’t going to be pleased, but this is his fault to begin with, so Suga has little warmth for the man.

Supported by Daichi, Suga takes two steps toward Northot before it all goes to hell.

The poor antlered fuck collapses on his injured leg, and Shirabu throws himself in between him and Northot. Northot spreads into a waving, knotted mass of lethal spikes branching out like a web over _all_ of them, before bringing it down. Shirabu moves to _defend_ , and Northot prepares to finish them off. Daichi raises his blade, and hacks off the nearest limb like a hot knife through butter.

_How can vorpium easily cut even a god?_

Northot’s full attention snaps to them as its severed limb drops to the ground. The air is suffocating, and both men balk for a half second too long.

Ushijima dashes into the circle, pulls the matagot out by the tail, and slams both hands into his magic with a shout in a language Suga doesn’t understand.

The parking garage goes deathly still.

Overhead, Northot’s many limbs melt into hot rain. Both Suga and Daichi yelp—he hears other cries of pain—and bruise-like curses immediately begin to spread over their skin. The area is dark now, and they need to get out of the foul remains as fast as possible.

Suga is elbow-deep in his messenger bag, searching for any blessed items or statis potions, when he processes what the darkness means.

“Is it _gone_?” the matagot hoarsely asks as he creates a small flame over his open palm.

A sickly thin sliver of oily light flickers in the middle of the circle, stealing the color of everything in its radius. There are no antlers or mouths or eyes or limbs; it’s like a crack in space itself.

Ushijima looks pale in its light. The blood pouring down his lips and chin appears black.

“What just happened?” asks the deer man they just saved. “What did you _do_?”

“Are we safe?” Shirabu remains protectively in front of the other.

“No,” Suga bursts out, making all except Ushijima jump. “ _No_ , you just blew your trump card, didn’t you?”

Ushijima continues staring.

“Help me over there, I’m banishing the rest of it,” Suga tugs Daichi in that direction. They can fix the curse later with Hitoka’s help.

“You think you can banish what Toshi couldn’t?” the matagot demands.

Suga bares his teeth right back at the fox. “I know dead magic better than he does, and you’re lucky I don’t banish you, too.”

“Want another trip through the Inbetween? Think I’ll drop you off there this time.”

“ _You failed, y̵hafh̡'̸d͢r̡n_.” It comes from Ushijima’s mouth, but it certainly isn’t his voice. The hairs on the back of Suga’s neck prickle, but at least the words don’t burn.

For a brief moment, Suga entertains the thought of taking the vorpal sword and killing Ushijima with it. Surely it would do _something_ to the parasite in his brain. But he doesn’t have the strength, and Daichi doesn’t understand the weight of killing something that appears human.

“ _Shit_ ,” Shirabu hisses.

“I’ll say,” Daichi grunts back.

“You fucks got lucky.” The matagot tugs Ushijima from the circle. The man collapses in his arms, eyes rolled back and nose still pouring blood. The fox spirit keeps his sharp eyes on Suga and Daichi, but he turns his head enough to address the flickering ones behind him. “We’re bringing the place down. Regroup afterward.”

“Don’t—we need to _banish_ it. We need to actually get rid of it!” Suga gestures to the sliver of remains of the god. “Finish the job you started!”

“We _will_ take care of this,” Shirabu says and blinks out of sight entirely. The magic in the air has dissipated, but it’s far from normal levels, but Suga still tastes metal. “But you’re not helping. Get out of here before the building falls on you, too. We don’t need anything else pinned on us.”

“You’re bringing the building down?” Daichi asks.

“I guess… they were prepared. I think there’s a Plan B.” The remaining antlered man glances at the invisible one beside him, and mutters, “Better fuckin’ be. Hellscape isn’t too much better than a jail cell.”

“A little gratitude for saving your skin?”

“I didn’t ask for the apocalypse.”

“It wasn’t really supposed to get this far,” the matagot admits, and hefts Ushijima. He awkwardly manhandles Ushijima until he has the unconscious man bridal style in his arms. “Well, it wasn’t a pleasure! I hope we don’t cross paths again. _Au revoir_!”  [1]

Suga’s head clears the further they get from that circle, but at the cost of his body slowly remembering what mortal pain is like. He leans more heavily onto Daichi with every step, and by the time they’re up on the sidewalk, he’s seriously considering ditching his messenger bag.

Step one: get Daichi out of the city, to somewhere safe. Somewhere he won’t get thrown headfirst into hell and expect to come out on top. Step two: get to someone who knows what’s going on, or at least someone who can use what Suga has just learned.

It’s not like he’ll bleed out along the way… probably.

Well, he’ll come back anyway if that happens. Another reason for Daichi to leave; Suga won’t make him repeat that experience.

Casting a sidelong glance at the man supporting him, Suga weighs his options.

 

\--

 

_There is a man with a broad back and short hair standing over a wreckage. He’s only a silhouette against a bright, blinding light, and he tightens his left hand on a dripping red sword. Buildings lay broken and ravaged around him, and he stands on a charred slab of concrete and rebar like a king surveying his land._

_When Kiyoko comes back to herself, eight days short of sixteen, she finds she’s spilled half her ice cream down her shirt._

_Yui is trying admirably hard not to laugh at her. “Another vision?” she asks with a wiggly, suppressed smile._

_Kiyoko sighs and reaches for the napkins. Normally, visions are longer, not just flashes of a static scene. Those are rare, though not unheard of. “It wasn’t anything important.”_

_It is only years later she realizes what that vision had been a first glimpse into._

 

\--

 

“Wh-What was that?!”

Saeko sighs. She had just gotten all the little shits to quiet down. She feels like a kindergarten teacher in the worst way.

Father Takeda stays with them when the magic seeps into the church. Saeko struggles to remain calm, but Takeda has little problem with that. The man seems to be a permanent smile, if nervous around the edges, and he masterfully handles two tengu.

The crow and the swan, the little Hinata and the larger but equally young Goshiki, are the biggest problems. That’s not to discount the witch separated from his familiar, or the quaking medic who’s moments from a heart attack.

She wants to wash her hands of all of this shitty business, storm over to Kiyoko’s, and point both fingers and guns.

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as we’re thinking.” Takeda’s pleasant but strained voice manages to jolt Saeko out of her steadily more murderous thoughts.

“We need to go back,” Goshiki stresses. “They’re probably locking the doors as we speak! If something bad truly happened here—”

“What else could it _be_?” Hitoka squeaks.

“Kasa’s still over there! We need to go back, regroup, and secure tengu help—”

“They’re not going to help!” Hinata exclaims with a little flap.

“Probably not, it’s not tengu business,” Goshiki agrees. “The elder councils of the different clans will have to talk over any involvement, and that’ll take _forever_. Humans really can’t count on any tengu involvement. It’s not our problem.”

“I have some bad news for you,” Saeko replies through gritted teeth, “you’re _in the fuckin’ human realm_. It’s about to be your problem, kid.”

“But we need to get back,” he feebly repeats.

Takeda places a hand on Saeko’s shoulder. She sinks back into her chair before the ground shaking upends her out of it. “Saeko, I know you’re worried.”

She’s not _worried_. Saeko doesn’t do worry, not really, not like constant fretters like Suga or Hitoka. She’s _pissed_. She had trusted Kiyoko, believed in her and crossed lines she otherwise wouldn’t have. She’d been willing to not only work with Ushijima, but _kidnapped someone_ on Kiyoko’s orders. She had assumed this would lead to some lull on Ushijima’s part, and they’d swoop in and fuck the bastard over, not actually kickstart the goddamn apocalypse.

“We’re going to need you to—”

The front door downstairs bangs open. The stomping up the stairs is the wrong gait for an angry person, and the _clacking_ accompanying the noise gives it away moments before the youngest Ukai bursts into the office.

Keishin is still in formalwear, but exhausted and intoxicated. “Itte—” He cuts himself off when he registers everyone else, and he points to Hinata, then Goshiki, mouth open without speaking. “You,” he thickly forces out. He grips the door frame to stay upright, and the wood splinters beneath his grasp without him noticing. “You’re comin’ back with me. We’re closin’ borders.”

“My familiar is still there and I _am_ tengu friend!” Tobio says before either tengu can respond, firm and fierce. “I demand we go back with you to regroup, as human ambassadors and to remind you of your friendship with humanity.”

Saeko certainly never taught the kid _that_. Despite her aggravation, she’s actually impressed. Even if Keishin were sober, he’d be unable to refute something like that.

Keishin works his jaw for a long moment, biting back his temper and intoxication. “Fine. We’ll respect _your_ status.”

He grabs Hinata by the scruff of the neck, and gestures for Tobio to follow him upstairs. Saeko starts after them with a snarl of, “Oi, _bird_! You’re taking Hitoka, too!”

“A-And wait, am I going back with you, or…?” Goshiki asks.

By the time they make it upstairs, Hinata kicks and writhes, Hitoka is trembling, Goshiki keeps trying to interrupt, and Keishin is rather impressively ignoring all of their noise.

The realm door glows fainter than before. Keishin drops Hinata and begins pointing again. Saeko already hates this, and is working herself up to a suitable glower.

“The tengu are coming back with me, and the two friends are, too. That doesn’t mean you ladies, unfortunately for you,” Keishin says. “Sorry, Tanaka, you know you’re not that special. You and Shimizu will have to stay on this end and deal with things from here.”

She bares her teeth at the mention of Kiyoko.

But before she can start in on him again, Takeda finally speaks up, a calm counterpoint to everyone else. “I’m staying here. The church is one of the most heavily warded buildings in the city, and people are going to need shelters from whatever happens tonight. My doors are always open, Keishin, you know this.”

“If Father says so, then take Hitoka instead.”

“Yes, keep them together!”

“This ain’t a lifeboat you can trade seats on,” Keishin snaps, and Hitoka quails despite not having any input. Saeko steps protectively in front of her.

Behind him, the realm door opens. Keishin grimaces as he turns back to the guard. The guard’s expression isn’t much better. “Ukai, we have to close. The other doors are sealed.”

“You’re _sealing_ it?” Hinata makes to skitter back, away, but Keishin grabs him again before he’s out of range.

“We’re not losing you _again_ ; your mother will have my head. Until this gets sorted out, the tengu are staying the hell out of it.”

“Until the _apocalypse_ gets sorted out,” Saeko says, and Keishin looks vaguely ashamed. “You’re saving your hides and leaving the humans to burn. You’re leaving the entire _realm_ to burn! I thought you birds were all about power and pride?”

“I thought you humans were all about ingenuity and surviving against all odds?” Keishin shoots back.

“We shouldn’t be fighting about this,” Takeda tries to interject, but Saeko has marched over to Keishin, and he’s already puffing out his chest and flexing his claws.

“Let me remind you, that it was _humans_ who turned their back on spirits first. We had to make our own realm, carve it out of nothingness and give our blood and magic to create a place for ourselves. We’re protecting ours first, because that’s what we’ve been shown that everyone else does.” Keishin lifts Hinata one-handed. “We’re _going_. If you’re lucky, maybe we’ll come back to clean up your mess.”

Saeko bristles, but Takeda hauls her back, an arm around her shoulder and the other out to stop Keishin from advancing further. “Both of you, _stop this_! We shouldn’t be fighting amongst ourselves right now. We need to start focusing on how to fix this, if any sort of catastrophe has occurred. We don’t actually _know_ anything, yet.”

“We know that goddamned fox had his higher spirit!” Saeko roars, more angry at herself than Keishin now. She pulls herself free, turns on her heel, and almost storms out of the attic.

In the process of turning around, she comes face-to-face with Hitoka. The rage bleeds out of her, leaving quiet contempt in its wake. Hitoka’s their healer. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t remember Kiyoko. No one _knows_ what Kiyoko did, how she betrayed them all. Hitoka glances sideways, toward Tobio and Hinata.

“Can’t you take her with you? It’s not as if space is limited; it’s just a matter of status. She’s already friends with Shouyou,” Takeda says.

“I need to stay,” Hitoka looks nervous. “People could—a-are going to get hurt. I need to stay, and help.”

“It’s going to be dangerous,” Takeda says.

“That’s why I’m needed here,” she replies, even more firmly.

Keishin sighs, feathers rustling, and the guard at the door clears their throat. “Fine! Ittetsu, you’re staying here, and if— _when_ —we come back to help, it’ll be through here. Stay put.”

“We’re coming back!” Hinata declares in swift reassurance. “Right after we pick up Kasa—”

“Oh no you’re not.” Keishin hauls Hinata up again, and tosses him through the open doorway. Tobio skitters in after him with a desperately apologetic look thrown over his shoulder. When Keishin turns the very same glare on Goshiki, he just darts behind Takeda.

“I-I’m staying here, then.” Goshiki only slightly shakes. “I can help protect this place, and there’s someone I need to find here. You can’t order me in after you.”

“You’re disobeying your elder.”

“You really should go, at least until we have a better idea of what’s going on,” Takeda gently adds.

Saeko chews on her tongue—she won’t say no to firepower, but she doesn’t know this kid. Hitoka molds herself to Saeko’s side with all the frailty of a particularly small duckling.

“I’m staying here,” Goshiki repeats. “I’ll refresh the wards on this building. I’ll protect the humans you like.”

Keishin sighs through his nose and instead slams the realm door shut behind him. The light fades from it entirely, and they’re not getting it open again on their side. “He really locked us out, huh,” Saeko says with a low whistle.

“Oh, it’s fine. The tengu won’t abandon us,” Takeda says at once, complete with a sunny smile.

The smile does little for Saeko’s dark mood or the forlorn way that the two kids stare at the locked door.

“Well, refresh the wards here, and I’ll let the others know that this is gonna act as a shelter.” Saeko pulls out her phone. They’re far enough away from _whatever_ is going on that she still has some service, but it clicks between zero and two bars. The covens are probably already switching to radios, which means she’ll have to get in on that soon. “You still have those walkies, Padre?”

“Ah, yes! Of course! It’s a set of four, so you can take three with you, and I’ll just keep one here…” Father Takeda bustles off, and Saeko is left with the other two. She won’t look at either of them, not even with the way Hitoka clings to her, but she can’t just stand here and do nothing. Anger still simmers quietly within her.

There are a few emergency supplies left at the church—a couple aged potions, a grab-bag of a few first aid and binding supplies—but no weapons, of course. Saeko just has what she has on her, which definitely won’t be enough for a goddamned apocalypse.

At least with the forewarning Kiyoko gave her, she’s already fairly prepared. Just not _here_.

Takeda does a cursory scan for any coven channels on one of the walkies while Saeko watches the tengu kid work his magic. Hitoka still seems lost. They can set up some kind of triage here—well, Saeko hopes to fuck they won’t need it, especially out here, but she knows Hitoka just needs something to do.

Three walkies, so that means one for herself, one for Yuu, and then… Takeda probably expects her to give it to Ryuu or Kiyoko, but they’re both out of the picture. Suga will already have his nose up Foxglove’s ass by this point, and Tora always closes rank pretty damn fast with this kind of thing, too.

 _Yamaguchi?_ Saeko wonders, with no small amount of guilt. He’s had training, but maybe she should go with Tooru instead, just for someone to keep an eye on things.

Saeko is halfway to her bike when she realizes she has two followers. She stares at the medic and tengu who innocently slip out the door behind her. “Oh. Oh no. _Hell_ no.”

“The building’s all checked out!” Goshiki exclaims with some kind of a salute.

“I’m _not_ turning you loose in the city. God, you’ve never even been here before, have you?” Saeko hisses at him, and still weirdly determined, he shakes his head. “No. Absolutely not, get your feathered ass back inside.”

“I’m going to be your bodyguard!”

Saeko bursts out laughing. Even Hitoka hides a small smile with her hand.

“Kid, you’ll only slow me down.” Saeko wipes a fake tear away, and continues on down the stairs. “If you need to play bodyguard for the sake of your pride or whatever, do it for Padre or our healer. They’re way more important, and way more fragile. No offense, Hitoka.”

“None taken, I guess. But since I’m coming with you, then he can guard us both, at least for a little while, right…?”

At the gate of the church, both of them are still right on her ass.

Hitoka looks at her with disarming eyes, “You’re going to the covens to check in, right? It would be a better use of my skills to see where they need me. Could you drop me off, please?”

Saeko groans. She _can’t_ say no to that face, and with how rarely Hitoka actively weaponizes herself, Saeko hadn’t accounted for it. Worse, she has a certain logic… “God, fine. Your mom will kill me instead of a god. Peachy!”

Hitoka hops onto her motorcycle before Saeko even makes it there. She passes Hitoka her helmet and eyes the tengu bobbing along behind them. A bodyguard isn’t a terrible idea. Keishin can get over himself if he thinks Takeda needs _more_ protection inside that fortress of his. Maybe Madoka will actually be pleased; she’ll definitely be able to wield the kid appropriately.

He doesn’t have a glamor, but that’s the least of their worries right now.

With Hitoka’s iron grasp around her waist and the tengu kid flying overhead, Saeko carefully leaves the church.

“Saeko,” Hitoka calls. They’re not going fast enough for her voice to be lost to the wind. “I was in a fight, wasn’t I? Tobio got shot.”

Saeko nearly swerves with a swear.

Hitoka’s hold tightens on her. If it were literally anyone else on the planet, Saeko would believe it was a threat. “I fought too, right? The matagot said I…”

Saeko should’ve killed that damned fox. “Yeah. Yeah, you did. It was… bad. I know it’s hard, but try not to think about it, okay? You know how messy memory magic is, and she… we thought it’d be best. It wasn’t to hurt you, or hide anything from you. You did some good work, but we just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She pretends not to hear the wet sniffle from behind her.

Hitoka’s grip suddenly goes lax, and Saeko tries to swerve to accommodate. Goshiki pelts downward with an alarmed squawk.

By the time Saeko jumps off her bike, Hitoka lays sprawled on the asphalt, unmoving.

 

\--

 

_One moment Kiyoko is tensing, rushing forward, perfectly timed and perfectly strong._

_The next, she’s seeing the inside of a car. A taxi, it seems, with three young men crowded into the backseat. The one in the middle is the largest, by far, which the other two seem to find amusing. He hunches, but it doesn’t do anything to disguise his bulk. The atmosphere seems happily woozy from both company and alcohol._

_The large man in the middle, with the longest hair and a scruff of a beard, laughs self-consciously and tries to hunch down further. He doesn’t succeed. Both of the other two laugh and poke at him, teasing mercilessly but not without warmth._

_The rightmost man, with a beauty mark near his eye and hair like silver, affectionately reaches over to poke the leftmost man, who’d been the most active with his prodding and most vocal with his laughter._

_The middle man sighs at the warzone across his lap._

_Turned as he is, the rightmost man does not see the car coming at them through the car window._

_When Kiyoko snaps back to herself, it’s with a screech of metal and blinding pain that is not her own—_

_And then suddenly it is._

_She’s sprawled on the ground, knee in agony, having missed her jump’s landing. Badly. Kiyoko doesn’t know if her blurry, watery eyes are from her pain or theirs. She lets out a low moan, wordless, before her voice catches. She breaks into her first panicked sob at the same time her first teammate makes it to her._

_Kiyoko’s track career ends that day, at seventeen and with a year left of high school._

 

\--

 

The goblin markets are in chaos.

No one is afforded any space or any respect, much less _actual_ space for tails or wings. Koutarou strong-arms his way as far as he can, flanked by Keiji and Futakuchi and one of the fae he doesn’t recognize. Keiji’s claws dig into Koutarou’s hand, the only thing preventing them from getting separated.

The air is honestly worse, full of magic and curses and panic. At least on the ground, they can shove back.

Antagonism is thick between those who’d been at the Old Moon Ball and those who hadn’t—spirits coming out of their homes in the dark hours of the morning, confused and fearful and angry, versus those outside of the sting of betrayal from the covens of the human realm.

“They’re saying the fae and tengu have closed up,” Futakuchi says, ears rotating, head cocked. “I guess the Prince got back in already. You’re all hung out to dry.”

“No.” Keiji flaps into the air and knocks into half a dozen others in the process. They get clipped by a kinnara trying to do the same, who draws away with an insulted hiss. Koutarou jumps up beside them, far more stably; Keiji sheds a few half-charred feathers with all of the maneuvering they must do just to stay airborne in the crowd. “Come on, there’s no way they’ve closed the borders already.”

Koutarou shoots a look down at the two they’re leaving behind—no true friends of theirs, but catastrophe tends to bond people together. “Good luck!”

“You too!” Futakuchi calls back, almost _nice_ for two whole seconds.

The crowds don’t thin out when they near the tengu sector. So many people are here, but nothing’s happening.

The realm door is, indeed, shut.

They’re not the only ones locked out, though half of the tengu by the door aren’t owls. No one is stationed outside, and nobody seems to have answers.

Keiji storms through the others with an anger rarely seen from them, and Koutarou hangs back with half morbid curiosity, half a desire to keep an eye on things from above. They jostle briefly with a pair of hawks, but then they lay hands on the door, fingers spread wide and claws gently rebuffed from the door’s surface by magic.

“What makes _you_ think you can get that open?” one of the hawks demands. Their voice is colored with fear.

“I’m an Akaashi,” Keiji thinly replies, “we’ve been guards since the realm was formed.” It’s been the Akaashi line’s pride to consider guard work their primary career path. Keiji personally hates it, but they know more about the realm doors than most.

The perks of being an Akaashi do not help right now. After much muttering and a few false starts, Keiji gets the door to _click_ open with a rush of broken magic—only to have it slammed in their face after hardly a moment.

Nose almost touching it, Keiji glares at the shut door before them.

“They really _did_ lock us out!” the hawks whisper at each other. A songbird tengu mother with her fluffy child arrives, the chick’s crying adding to the growing din. Keiji continues staring at the door.

Several urge Keiji to try again; that they’ll force the door open, that they can break it down, though they all know that won’t work. Half the point of making their own realm had been to ensure they could close it off.

Keiji jumps when Koutarou’s hand finds their shoulder. “They shut us out.” They turn to him with confusion raw in their voice. Their makeup is smeared and they’ve long since pulled off their headband. Keiji’s brow furrows, and they wipe at their smudged eyes. “Koutarou, my father was on duty tonight. _He_ locked the door. He locked me—he locked us out.”

“C’mon, you know the council likes to panic first and ask questions later,” Koutarou says as gently as he can manage, and draws Keiji away from the door. Let others throw themselves at it for now. “They’ll open it back up once they realize the human realm isn’t going to explode in five minutes.”

“I didn’t want you to be here. I didn’t want either of us here for this.”

“I know, I know, but it’ll be fine. You heard Kenma, he has a plan for it. And he’s going to need our help.”

“I know.” Keiji wipes at their eyes again. “I’ll have words for the council later. I always feared you’d run off to join this fight, but I suppose now we have no choice.”

“Don’t take the nobility out of it!” Koutarou is unable to restrain his smile or his happiness, and slings a wing around Keiji’s shoulders. “We’ll kick some ass here, help Kenma with his great plan, and then you can verbally flay the elders at your leisure. I’m already a war hero, so it’s about time you got on par with me, anyway.”

“A dragon is hardly a war.”

“Neither is a god, but I’m letting you have this one.”

The goblin market is two moments from an all-out riot, but realization is slowly subduing everyone. By the time the pair are pushing their way out of the market, the first humans are trying to get in, fleeing the same disaster that no one else knows anything about.

There are a few others trying to get back out. Koutarou ends up squished beside a loudly complaining faun, and Keiji nearly trips over the flower nymph dragging him. A witch is trying to guide them in something resembling order, but there’s too many here—certainly too many who aren’t keen on witches right now.

As soon as they’re in the human realm, Koutarou and Keiji jump across space, hand in hand. Koutarou doesn’t register the foul stench of dark, foreign magic until they’re back from the InBetween.

Despite the chaos everywhere else, they find Kenma and Kuroo fast asleep on the bed. It’s possible that they’re too far for the shock of all the magic to have woken them, but it’s more likely that Kenma’s wards have insulated them.

Neither witch nor demon stir at the arrival of the tengu. Their only greeting is the tiniest _mew_ from Midna, who is still asleep in the crook of Kenma’s neck.

Koutarou doesn’t approach the bed, but Keiji has no qualms about wrenching the blankets from the sleeping pair. Kuroo wakes with a jolt and nearly pegs Keiji in the face with his foot, but Kenma only offers them a sleepy huff. “Get _up_ , both of you.”

“The hell?” Kuroo asks, voice half-slurred with sleep. “Thought you two would still be out partyin’…”

“The apocalypse kinda ruined our plans,” Koutarou sheepishly replies.

Kuroo blinks at him, processing.

“That means _you_ need to get up.” Keiji reaches for Kenma. He rolls away before they can grab him. “Ushijima must have succeeded. The air is rancid outside, and every human we’ve seen is panicking. The goblin market is nearly a riot.”

“Then why are you still here?” Kenma murmurs. Midna toddles over to him to try to reclaim her spot beneath his chin.

“Be petty with me later. You have a spell to do now,” Keiji grumbles and kicks the bed. The mattress skids off of its box, and Kenma is unceremoniously rolled onto the floor as Kuroo is dumped off the opposite side.

Kenma sits up, hair just as messy as Kuroo’s. His eyes are slitted and he largely still looks asleep.

He grabs his phone from the nightstand and squints at the light when he turns it on. He presses a few buttons, yawns, and pockets it. “Okay, there.”

“There… what?” Koutarou asks, confused.

“Mass text to get everyone to the hotel.”

“Did you text Sugawara?” Kuroo asks. Kenma makes a face that is answer enough. “ _Kenma_. Suga or Kiyoko. You’re texting one of them.”

Kenma frowns at his phone all the while, but he taps out a few more buttons, and Midna yawns in his lap. It’s all so oddly _tranquil_.

Kenma darkens his phone again, but Koutarou’s eyes are already adjusted; he sees the way Kenma faces him expectantly. “We’re moving and meeting up with others. I’m going to need a broom. Would either of you go play thief for me?”

He’s still so calm, but Koutarou has nerves enough for both of them, so he gladly volunteers.

 

\--

 

 _“I had to remind him that I don’t_ know _ancient Greek.” Yui twists in the mirror. The sleek, shiny, forest green fabric falls down her back in a flattering cascade. “Neither does he. Didn’t stop him from—”_

_Kiyoko blinks and the scene becomes Yui in combat wear, bleeding and crying and older._

_“I-It_ ate _h-her!” Yui sobs into her hands. It looks as if several of her fingers are broken. “That thing—that_ thing _—oh my god…” Her voice catches and prevents her from speaking further. It’s unclear if there’s anyone else in the shadowed, burned-out building she’s cowering in. The light that filters in through the broken windows is grim, grey, and could be from any time of day._

_Yui’s crying has always been something private to her, but she weeps openly now, her grief too potent for her to notice the radiant figure that moves outside._

_The cracked wooden door on the far end of the room bursts open and Tanaka Ryuunosuke bursts in. One arm hangs useless at his side, but he aims his shotgun at the window. “Yui!”_

_Yui breaks into a relieved smile just as a spear of_ something _breaks through the wall to impale her._

_Ryuu takes aim, and fires twice out the window. Yui slumps as the glowing spike is pulled from her. Outside, something hisses and shrieks. Instead of fumbling to reload, Ryuu drops his shotgun and pulls out his 9mm. He fires until the ungodly thing outside crawls through the window with too many limbs and a great many antlers._

_Kiyoko jars back into herself with tears already making her vision swim. Her eyes burn, but not from them. Something about whatever that was had been impossible to behold._

_“Well, you know how he is,” Yui turns again to try to check out her own ass. The green dress still looks lovely on her. “Almost got his fingers bitten off for his trouble, but I think he made a friend with the cerastae.”_

_Kiyoko wordlessly walks over, and embraces her tightly. Yui does not question her, but after a beat, hugs her back._

 

\--

 

Atsumu shifts his gun to his other hand. It’s cold as balls, he’s tired from being up all night, the magic hanging in the air is like the worst humidity in history, and he’s _so_ disappointed in Wakatoshi.

“I told him what I’d do to him.” The metal of his gun is freezing, and he swaps it to his other hand again. It’s not windy, but this high up, any little gust is enough to knock them around. “I _told_ him what I’d do.”

No one responds directly. Somewhat hesitantly, one of the Eyebright witches approaches him. “Uh, sir—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“—we found the matagot.”

He casts one last, long look at the rubble of the broken building below. “I want that negation circle down _now_ , and I don’t care who’s doing what. Let me know whatever you find there. Have we figured out anyone else’s radio frequency yet?”

“No, we haven’t,” Osamu replies. As usual, he’s completely at ease in the cold. Atsumu shivers jealously.

“Let me know when that’s done, too.” Let him know everything, as usual. That’s how he likes to operate. Who cares if everything Wakatoshi did tonight flew in the face of their agreement?

Agreement was too strong of word—nothing about this mess was anything Atsumu would _ever_ condone. Eyebright was built upon the freedom to pursue different types of magics, maybe magics that others weren’t so keen on. Things that were supposed to head toward progress.

More often than not, he ended up with dead witches. Suddenly dead, or suddenly psychic, or suddenly almost ending the realm.

“Tsumu,” Osamu says, suddenly nearer, though he’s careful not to nudge Atsumu’s broom. “We have to get going.”

Atsumu grabs his brother’s broom, and Osamu indulgently tugs him along. It’s not an uncommon sight to see the Eyebright leaders like that.

He’d seen other witches in the sky, at a distance, so others are moving. He doesn’t know what they’ll do. Madoka will probably come straight for his head. Hidemi will probably behave, probably aim to set up some kind of perimeter. He doesn’t know how the public is going to take any of this, so all anyone can do at this point is try to keep people out and evacuate anyone who’s too close.

Maybe evacuate further. Mandatory, this time around.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Osamu says dryly.

“Someone’s gotta,” Atsumu shoots back.

“We don’t even know what’s going on yet.”

The witch leading them doesn’t take them far. They float over an empty, unlit clothing store. There are no obvious signs of forced entry, but this area of town isn’t known for a great percentage of magic or spirits, so it’s unlikely there were any magical locks.

Atsumu casts a muting charm over the two of them, swaps his gun to his other hand, and leads the way down. Only he and his brother go.

Sure enough, the glass door pulls open easily. They know Wakatoshi had been working with others, at the very least the annoying matagot, but there’s no real fear as Atsumu strides in. He creates a pair of witch-lights over his hand and checks the safety on his .45. “Wakatoooooshi!” he calls after flicking it off. “I have a bone to pick with you!”

“What do you have against stealth?” Osamu grumbles. Only then does he pull his own gun from the holster on his hip.

“Oh, he knows we’re coming.” And if he only got this far, then he’s injured in some way. This isn’t going to last very long. For all of Wakatoshi’s strength and power, the Miya twins are the coven leaders for a reason.

Then again, if he succeeded in getting that damned bird of his back…

Atsumu kind of wishes he’d paid more attention to the math of magic. Was it sixty-six or seventy-five percent stronger? It’s a moot point—he’s not afraid. He’d probably just find him bleeding and woozy somewhere. Maybe the matagot ditched him here, either unwilling to help without payment or having already received it.

They find Wakatoshi in the staff room with two disappointments: there’s a fox crouched over him, growling protectively, and the man already seems to be dead. Or damn near close to it.

Atsumu groans into the dim room. “Seriously? You couldn’t even give me the satisfaction of this?”

“Back off,” the matagot warns them.

“You’re under arrest on coven leader authority for aiding a large-scale magical catastrophe,” Atsumu halfheartedly tells him, and raises the gun. Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, not even to defend the spirit so valiantly trying to protect him. “And Wakatoshi, you’re supposed to be under arrest too, but I told you what I’d do to you if I found out all those nasty rumors were true.”

The gunshot is loud in the little room. It’s neatly in Wakatoshi’s forehead; they’re ten feet away and Atsumu isn’t known for sloppy shooting.

The man was already down, already dead, and a single clean shot doesn’t begin to tamp down the anger and frustration and betrayal that roils within him. Atsumu fires again, heedless of the matagot leaping for him.

Osamu catches the fox out of the air with a _push_ , and then pins him to the far wall with a flick of his wrist. They probably should take care of him, too—not with lethal force, not if they want to save some face with the public—but Osamu’s always been lax on foxes because of his own familiar.

For now, he unloads his clip into Wakatoshi’s body.

It doesn’t make him less angry. It doesn’t make the collapsed building or what may lurk beneath it go away. It doesn’t clear the air from whatever this stench is.

It does cause a giant monster to crash through the concrete wall and punch him.

Atsumu sees just a flash of shaggy sable fur and antlers before he’s sent flying into the wall. The wind is knocked from him, and he’s left gasping. Atsumu’s left arm gives out beneath him with enough pain for him to know it’s broken. It hurts to breathe, so his ribs are possibly damaged, too.

Foolish move, emptying his magazine, but witches are far more dangerous than any gun.

Osamu heaves the monster across the room with a gale of icy wind. There’s not enough moisture for much to freeze, but it should slow most things. Atsumu struggles to get up, eyes searching for the matagot.

He finds the fox just as he jumps away from the wall, freed with the break in magic.

Atsumu pins him again with a swipe of his hand, and the matagot glares at him. Atsumu doesn’t notice the small sink beneath Tendou’s body.

He pries it from the wall without much finesse, and ends up breaking a pipe. “Samu!”

His brother catches the water without looking and it’s nearly solid when it collides with the monster. Freezing anything that fast is taxing, so Osamu builds up ice to hold it while Atsumu gets back to his feet.

He happens to glance in the corner where Wakatoshi’s body had been.

It isn’t there anymore.

Atsumu whirls around looking for the missing man. He’d heard rumors, but there’s no fucking way someone could reanimate six feet from him without him noticing. Magic of that scale isn’t stealthy. Wakatoshi is nowhere in the room, and there’s only two ways out: the way they came, and another door that just led to a probable closet. The door behind him is ajar.

“What the _fuck_?” Atsumu wheezes and pushes out into the main room of the store.

He hears the fox cackling, and a soft _pop_ cutting it off. Kind of surprising he hadn’t jumped before—

 _They were a distraction_. He grinds his teeth, and heads into the back room.

The monsters says in a surprisingly normal voice, “See ya,” and turns into a mouse. It plops out of the slush and ice, skitters between their legs, and completely vanishes from sight even before it reaches the door.

Atsumu takes a long breath, deep as his lungs will allow. His chest is still tender.

“So, I guess Wakatoshi had more friends than we thought,” Osamu says, completely unhelpfully. “A shapeshifter, huh… guess that explains why I didn’t know what that thing was.”

Atsumu groans weakly.

Osamu has the gall to grin in that small, private way, when Atsumu leans against him for support. “Guess you also get to see Kiyoomi, since you’ll be visiting the healers.”

Atsumu is _definitely_ going to shoot Wakatoshi again the next time he sees him.

 

\--

 

 _Visions tend to come in moments of relaxation, distraction, or weakness. Kiyoko, at twenty, is_ very _used to them when falling asleep or waking up, but they can be difficult to differentiate from dreams at times._

_She has just laid her head down on her pillow when the room changes to an open warehouse._

_Two men are tied up, though only one is conscious; the silver hair on the one lying prone identifies him as Sugawara Koushi. The man sitting up, cheek resting on his knees, has badly dyed blond hair and sharp eyes. He tracks something unseen._

_The unknown man glances down to Suga. Blood clings to both of their clothing, but it seems as if most of it is Suga’s, based on the stranger’s lack of panic or pain._

_Bootsteps draw his attention, and a man strides forward like power incarnate. Something about him seems familiar. “I’m sorry,” he says tonelessly, “but I’m going to have to kill you both.”_

_“So you said,” the first stranger murmurs._

_“Tell me where you sent the demon.”_

_“And you’ll let us go?”_

_“You’ve gotten in my way too much, and my employer is pressuring me to leave fewer loose ends.”_

_“Your_ employer _,” the stranger scoffs._

_“If you won’t cooperate.” The tall man draws a handgun and pulls the trigger. Suga’s body jerks and the other jumps as he’s splattered with blood. He squeezes those sharp eyes shut, shoulders hunched and shaking around his ears. He dies with another’s name on his lips._

_Kiyoko goes to vomit in the bathroom, rinses out her mouth, and goes back to bed. She tries to remember why the man with the gun in his left hand was so familiar._

 

\--

 

Kenma continues flicking through the channels and ignores the knocking at the door. Most are static, though he’s already come across a frequency claimed by one of the covens. He knows the police channels in the city, too, but he bypasses those entirely. He finds another useable one and jots it down.

“Suga!” Kuro crows from the doorway. Kenma can’t help but feel disappointed. Tadashi is already here, with Tsukishima (who is currently out on another run for supplies), and Morisuke was the first to track Kenma down. “Holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

“That’s nothing new,” Morisuke snarks from the back of the small couch.

Lev still hasn’t responded or appeared, so Morisuke’s in a mood. True, it’s still before sunrise, but Kenma knows for a fact he keeps his ringer on through the night.

Kuro helps Daichi lay Sugawara out on the couch with one leg propped up with the few pillows they have. The hotel room has already been cleared for working, and the connected room is under construction by Bokuto and Tadashi. It’s the same hotel with the remains of his things in the angel-saturated room; they’re half a hallway down, in the closest empty room Kenma could find. He’s been sending Akaashi back and forth to retrieve things, since neither he nor Kuro can go near it.

“He’s been shot,” Daichi says in a hard voice.

Kenma sighs. “Did the bullet go through him?” he asks, but his question is lost in Tadashi’s panicked shout. He’s ignored in the ensuing fretting, but that’s fine. He has three headsets to work with and a pair of earbuds he thinks he can hook up to the same spell. Communication is going to be key for whatever happens next, so he needs to secure a channel for them now.

“Hey, you shouldn’t be moving,” Kuro says in an offensively gentle voice.

“We only _walked_ here,” Daichi points out.

“Kenma—” It’s the first time Sugawara has spoken, and Kenma obligingly peers back over his shoulder. His face is paler than usual, and shiny with sweat. Both he and Daichi are in the ruined remains of formalwear, and Suga’s bloody leg stands out all the more for it. “I’m going to tell you what I learned, and then I’m going to pass out.”

“Talk fast, then,” Akaashi dryly advises.

Suga flops back with a shaky wheeze. “Auditory distortion increases with proximity, and muting spells only partially work. You can’t look at it without—shit happening. Bad shit. I think it’s upright, but it can change shape and size. N-Not to the degree of any shapeshifter, but just…”

“Weren’t you there, too?” Akaashi asks Daichi, “What else happened?”

“It… sprouted a bunch of tentacles, and there was an argument. They dropped a building on it.”

Kenma could probably dig the bullet out if it’s still in him, and he could at least cauterize the wound. Who knows how well Sugawara could walk afterwards, though, with Kenma’s less than stellar healing magic. Akaashi is clearly uncomfortable, honorbound to help the bleeding man but unable to. If the situation worsens, Tadashi will be even more of a nervous wreck, and who knows how badly Daichi will take it.

The gaming headset crackles. Kenma puts it up to one ear, tentative, and hears someone speaking. Looks like he found another coven frequency. It doesn’t matter to him whose it is, only that it is in use. “—like Atsumu got roughed up, but Osamu is leading the negation at the site. Nothing has popped out that justifies how—fuckin’ scared everyone—”

It fizzles out on its own without Kenma changing it.

“Hitoka isn’t here,” Tadashi mutters.

“He hasn’t bled to death yet,” Morisuke replies. “A lot of it has already dried. He won’t be able to throw himself headfirst into any fights, but he won’t drop off suddenly.”

“He needs to get to a _hospital_ ,” Daichi says. “But he said we had to tell you…”

“If we’re trapped in the same realm as a god, I’d like to be aware of how it works,” Akaashi mildly interrupts.

“Hey, I _have_ been trapped in the same realm as a god,” Daichi snaps back. “I’ve seen what that thing was like, and it wasn’t pretty. I’m sorry. I can try and play twenty questions with everyone, but Suga needs to get checked out. I don’t care if he… if he comes back or whatever…”

 _Wouldn’t it be easier to just kill him and let him reanimate?_ Kenma doesn’t know the details of Sugawara’s condition, and it’s frustrating. He’s about done with at least something basic, something to keep them off the radar but allow them to stay in contact. He weaves together the frequencies he’s deemed safe and makes sure they’ll alternate on their own. There’s no time to do anything other than flat rotation, but that should be fine.

His phone beeps to let him know he’s dipped out of service again. That makes three times since they’ve gotten to the hotel.

“Test this for me,” he tosses it in Tadashi’s direction.

Tadashi’s voice comes through clearly when he offers a distracted, “H-Hi?” into the mic. That’s good news. Kenma doesn’t have that many headsets, yet he _somehow_ has a lot of people flocking to him.

Another knock on the door. Tsukishima ducks in with Yuuki in tow. Yuuki’s folded ears are nearly lost in his black hair, and his tail has been stuffed up into his borrowed coat. He looks very much like a tiny human child. A tiny human child who’s been given _all_ the bags to carry.

Tadashi shoots Tsukishima a Look. Tsukishima shrugs, “He’s older and stronger than I am. Also, do you know how hard it was to find unscented dish soap? We had to walk forever so we didn’t end up robbing some cute old mom and pop store. Even I have some sense of morality.”

“Also, you can’t jump into banks. Did you know that, Morisuke?” Yuuki asks brightly. “They’re warded, even though they’re human!”

“You… tried to rob a _bank_?” Kuro asks.

“To pay for the cute old mom and pop stores.” Tsukishima adds, “You can’t walk through bank walls, either.”

“So you were going to steal money, but not dish soap?”

“Can we talk less about the morality of looting and more about why Koushi is bleeding out on the couch?”

“He’s not bleeding out,” Akaashi sighs. “It’s just a leg wound.”

“Yamaguchi almost bled out from a leg wound.”

“He needs a hospital,” Daichi breaks back in with admirable calm.

“We need to know what we’re up against,” Akaashi points out.

“He looks unconscious to me,” Tsukishima leans briefly over the couch, before walking over to deposit Yuuki in front of Kenma. “I’m not surprised he’s unconscious and bloody _or_ seems to have all the answers, but it’s not helping us right now. You have your supplies. Let’s continue with what we do know.”

Mild dish soap, sugar, lighters, a couple of sports drinks, a package of sponges, several long and thin candles in both black and yellow—one of which is snapped in half. Kenma pulls out one of the black candles. It has a label of _Black Sea_. The yellow ones have _Kitchen-Clean Lemon_.

How can he scrub down a cursed mirror without getting cursed? Kuro can’t touch it, and personally, Kenma would rather not risk the tengu, either. Tsukishima would be a poor idea, as would the bakeneko. Someone with less magic would be ideal, but that means…

“What are you staring at me for?” Daichi asks in obvious confusion.

“Tadashi, go check on Bokuto. Akaashi, I’m going to need the last of my candles from the other room now, anything that isn’t burned halfway down. Tsukishima and Yuuki, I want you two to test the range of these for me. …Sawamura, I need you to wash a mirror.” Kenma isn’t uncomfortable giving orders, but he is uncomfortable speaking to people he doesn’t know.

“No, I’ll answer questions and then I’m calling an ambulance.”

“You probably don’t want to do that right now. This is a magical event, and that means the covens are going to lock down transportation, hospitals, and the local government first.”

“Covens, like… witches? I thought Suga’s friends with witches.”

Oh, he does not have the patience for this right now. He passes one of the headsets over to Yuuki; the little bakeneko happily clicks the on/off button on the headset. Wincing at the static, Kenma reaches over and just hits it on for him. “I told you what I need from you. I know you’re worried, but Tadashi knows a healer. As soon as we can, we can contact her.” It’s not _technically_ a lie, but it’s close enough that Tadashi shoots him a dirty look.

“He’s friendly with Foxglove. Kiyoko’s old coven—Hitoka’s. _They’ll_ help.”

“ _We’re_ not friendly with them,” Kuro points out. “Or have you forgotten what they like to do to demons?”

“We _need_ medical help!” Daichi exclaims. “I don’t care for all the politics of this magic bullshit, but if we get to a hospital, they’re not going to throw him out on the street.”

“We’re in the middle of a city-wide magical catastrophe of unknown origin and magic. Would _you_ invite a dying zombie into your hospital?” Kuro flatly asks.

“He’s not a zombie!” Tadashi bursts out, startling even Daichi. Daichi unclenches his fists, and Kenma decides he’ll wash the damned mirror himself. He wants the man _out_.

But he can’t risk losing Tadashi, too.

The argument instantly de-escalates when the makeshift walkie in Kenma’s hands crackles to life. “Whose channel is this?” the voice in the headset asks, sounding annoyed.

Kenma crosses this frequency off his list and scratches it from the spell.

“Hey, you, jumper! Stop that, you’re interfering with _our_ cross-frequency spell!”

“Don’t say anything.” Kenma gestures for Tadashi to step away from Daichi, grabs the headset back from Yuuki, and flips off the mic.

“—a second, that’s—” the headset says, then another voice takes over. “Two things, jumper. One, you’re gonna have to get off our frequencies. Two, I think I know that voice, and I don’t think the person I’m thinking of would appreciate me sayin’ his name over this.”

Kenma thinks he knows that voice, too. He takes the risk. “Do you remember where we first met?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Can you get there?”

“It’ll take a bit, but yeah.” There’s some scuffling sounds barely audible behind his voice.

“Akaashi, I need you to pick someone up and bring him here.”

“How many people are you going to cram into this room?” Kuro asks, an attempt at a joke. “Kenma, who was that?”

“We needed a healer.” He drops the headset. “I got us one.”

 

\--

 

_Kiyoko briefly enjoys the sunlight coming in through her window. She gets to sleep in today, and she’s going to enjoy herself, damn it. The shop doesn’t open for another three hours, there are no appointments until the late afternoon, and she hasn’t heard of any trouble for Saeko to take care of._

_She rolls over, to allow the sunlight to fall over the backs of her bare legs, and finds herself in another place._

_Two figures are only barely visible in the gloom. “_ It is no matter to bring life back from death _,” an insidious voice croons, coming from everywhere at once._

_“A specific life,” comes a man’s voice. “I want a specific life brought back from the dead. I want her life extended, and protected, and tied into mine.”_

_“_ This remains no matter if you can truly do what you say you can for me _,” the nowhere voice replies._

_One of the figures shifts, perhaps uncomfortably._

_“_ Your blood will be your contract with me, yhafh’drnn _,” it continues, “_ and you will pledge your lives to bringing me unto shugg _.”_

 _“We will figure out the price_ specifically _,” the man replies. “Swear to us.”_

 _“_ Your lives are nothing to me, and your desires are nothing for me. You will have whatever your price _.”_

_Kiyoko blinks at the clock on her stand. The sunlight doesn’t feel so warm anymore._

 

\--

 

“Oh good, you’re alive again,” Shirabu says with a flicker right in Wakatoshi’s face.

He doesn’t _feel_ alive, but surely feeling at all is proof enough. His head pounds, sharp and unrelenting, and he finds it difficult to breathe. “Where’s—” Athena is deposited on his chest, and even her slight weight is enough to cause a twinge.

Wakatoshi lets his head drop back. Considering how cold he feels, he assumes the softness behind his head is his own coat. But, after another peer down at Athena—just to make sure—he finds his own peacoat still on.

Tendou leans over into his limited field of vision. “Welcome back to the land of the living!”

“I already said that,” Shirabu says.

“I said it better.”

“Is it always like this?” Taichi asks from somewhere behind him. He sounds about as tired as Wakatoshi feels. Wakatoshi hadn’t expected to brush with a god and come out perfectly fine, but he’d also expected to be able to banish Northot.

“I rushed things,” Wakatoshi forces out, “and I’m deeply sorry for that. My spell failed because of my own shortcomings.”

“…As it stands, you saved me from getting eaten, so I’m not complaining,” Taichi replies uncomfortably. “Too much, anyway. Uh, thanks. For that.”

“Thank you,” Shirabu adds, too serious.

“Get a baby bird, save a deer, doom the world. Seems like a fair trade,” Tendou forces out a laugh.

Wakatoshi wishes he could parse out the tension in his voice. He hopes it’s still not because of Athena.

“Shapeshifting deer—”

“We are _not_ deer!”

“How much time has passed?” Wakatoshi asks.

“Maybe an hour. We pissed off your old coven, but we’re safe for now,” Tendou replies. “And you’re alive again! That’s a great big gold star in my book. Which, brings me to the fact that all _my_ gold is now buried under a building with a pissy god. Less happy about that, Toshi.”

Wakatoshi doesn’t wish to waste his breath reminding Tendou that he can make gold of his own. “Northot’s power is weak here. It needs to regain it, and that will take time.”

“So it’s time for Plan B?” Tendou eagerly asks.

“What’s Plan B? Does it involve more witches?”

“No, we got the idea from a tengu, actually. Your favorite spirits, I know,” Tendou affectionately pats Taichi’s hair. “But we need to make friends with a psychic and another shapeshifter, who kinda hate us right now.”

Taichi frowns, just slightly. “Why do you need another shapeshifter?”

“For starters, I thought you two would have high-tailed it out of here already.” Shirabu gives a guilty little flicker, and somehow, Taichi looks _more_ wearied. “As a secondary and more important point, we need someone who can make a realm door if we get him mad enough! And then, the world’s biggest lock. Then that antlered fuck can be someone else’s problem.”

 

\--

 

_With their hands laced under the table, Yui’s head resting on Kiyoko’s shoulder, and the extra large milkshake with two straws with an obscene amount of toppings before them, they paint a rather cute picture. “Poster children,” Yui had sighed against Kiyoko’s hair. “We’re so fucking cute.”_

_Being on a double date doesn’t necessarily make this a competition._

_Being on a double date with Tooru and Suga, however,_ does _. Kiyoko generally tries not to get caught up in their weird competitions, especially when other psychics are involved, but one can only say no to Michimiya Yui so many times. Kiyoko had foolishly wasted her quota on refusing to be the one to bathe Sunshine. The cat bath would have been better._

_But they’re probably winning. Tooru’s eyes narrow a fraction, perhaps gleaning some thought from her head, so Kiyoko spares him the hint of a smile and sips at her horrifically sugary concoction._

_Instead of in a cafe, she finds herself in a familiar bathroom._

_The clawed foot tub is overflowing, leaving an inch or so on the floor, and the mirror is fogged up. There’s blood in the water. Tooru stands in the tub, wet up to his thighs, nose pouring blood and eyes black as pitch. “_ Shuggoth, this need not end in death. Give me the egg _,” Tooru says, and there are responding hisses of pain to the first word._

_“Give him back,” comes Suga’s voice, from off to the side somewhere._

_A man Kiyoko doesn’t recognize, shirtless and tattooed and dripping blood from one hand, steps forward with a_ smack _of his bare foot. “Give him back,” the man repeats in an animalistic growl. In his other hand, he holds a pelt of scales and claws._

 _“_ Stop this, yhri. Give me the egg, and come back to me. _”_

_“I sure hope you have a plan,” Suga says._

_The man pulls on the mass of scales as if pulling on a robe. His hands turn to claws. Tooru drips more blood down his chin, and his coal eyes widen._

_Kiyoko comes back to herself when she pokes herself in the nose with the straw._

_She leans back, rubbing her nose, too distracted to be embarrassed, despite the way Yui and Suga both giggle. Tooru eyes her coolly over the thick rims of his glasses. She briefly wishes she could read minds; how much of that had he seen, did he_ understand _?_

_Blood drips from his nose onto the collar of his nice sweater._

 

\--

 

Admittedly, Iwaizumi panicked. And admittedly, he’s not any happier or more comfortable here.

They’d been sleeping—actually sleeping—with Miyanoshita gently guiding their dreams away from each other. Iwaizumi had missed that sun-warmed desert. For what seemed like the first time in far too long, they had a moment of peace; he had a moment to himself.

He’d been jarred out of it by the rough, otherworldly magic he recognized _immediately_.

When they’d both jerked awake, with Tooru coughing on his own blood and thrashing like his body didn’t belong to him, Iwaizumi’s only instinct was to put as much distance between the psychic and the intruding god as possible.

That meant an entire realm.

The Dreamlands twinkles around them, surprisingly quiet. Tooru is unconscious, but his face is smeared with scarlet and his breathing is scarily shallow. Miyanoshita looks like she’s been shot.

“You.” Her voice makes the grass beneath them turn hard as diamond. Iwaizumi scoops Tooru up and begins petting him before things get too goopy. “Y-You… You just tossed us in here. You pulled us—back _here_!”

“Tooru is a magnet for possession,” he replies, more defensively than he ought, “and that much taint in the air was going to kill him.”

“This place sure as hell is going to kill him just as fast!”

The portal wavers before them like ripples in a pond. Tooru’s bedroom lays innocently on the other side. “You can go back.” At least this solved the issue of whether or not the portal could remain open with either of them through it. He doesn’t want to test whether or not he can open another on this side.

With Tooru out cold, his effect on the Dreamlands isn’t as severe, so Iwaizumi can exert his own pressure to keep things stable. They’re going to attract attention, and who knows what will happen when Tooru wakes up, but for the time being, he can handle this.

Iwaizumi glances at the portal again before settling into a gently curved stone he pulls from the grass. It’s almost warm. Miyanoshita floats suspiciously over them while Iwaizumi gently wipes as much of the blood from Tooru’s face as he can. “Can you check on him?” he quietly asks.

“He’s unconscious, not asleep. And I can really only affect dreams, not so much…” She gestures with both hands.

“You can go back.”

“…And what will you do?” she asks in a small voice.

“Wait it out.”

“Time passes differently here.”

Oh, he knows.

“How will you know what’s going on at home? What if this place gets worse?” She asks with the conviction that it _will_ get worse. “Not to mention he’s worse off than last time—he needs medical attention, probably. I don’t think there’s too many healers in the Dreamlands.”

He knows that, too. But he doesn’t feel angry. Iwaizumi just feels tired. “I’ll wait here.”

“What if he gets worse? What if you get into a fight with something?”

“We’ll just have to handle it!” Iwaizumi exclaims, without heat but only desperation. “You haven’t been near one, not really. Memories don’t compare. It’s… overwhelming. You can acclimate, and it helps if the god likes you, but if it’s angry with you, or if it’s _trying_ to kill you… you don’t stand a chance. Especially not someone with the mental defense of tissue paper.”

“He could die here,” Miyanoshita says in a near-whisper. The Dreamlands echo her words back in the form of fog pressing in around them. Cocooned, it almost feels safe.

“He’ll die a hell of a lot slower here than over there right now.”

She doesn’t respond, and disappears back through the realm portal with a flick of her tail.

 

\--

 

 _Kiyoko presses her fingers to her mouth, hard, trying to keep any more sobs from escaping. She has cried so much. Her entire body aches, both with the raw, physical pain of grief, and the tatters her heart is in. They’re both dead. They’re_ dead _—it’s not fair, she had seen them in visions—_

_Kiyoko takes a shuddering breath. Her throat constricts painfully, but she does not let out any noise._

_Very rarely has she tried to induce visions. It can be done, though she herself has only managed it once before, and it had been with half a coven at her back. So many other times, she has failed, but now, she needs to try again. She had_ seen them _. She had seen Yui. Visions both light and dark, frivolous and serious, heartwarming and never, ever heartrending._

 _Visions come more frequently to her when she knows a person. She has been having visions of Yui and her future for almost a decade. Kiyoko has seen so much of her future, her future that_ must exist _. It cannot be gone, cold and still and dead. Yui cannot be gone. Kiyoko had never, in all those years, seen a single hint as to what had transpired in that apartment._

_With shaking fingers, she lights the candles, and tries her best to calm her breathing again. She has already had so much eyebright tea in the past ten hours that she cannot stomach anything else. Her magic forcibly calms her, and Kiyoko closes her eyes._

_She sits in the circle of candles and waits. She sits for many hours, for a vision of the future she wants to still believe in._

_When it comes, it comes not as the storm of many others, but a whisper of a breeze._

_The room is drenched in sunlight so strong it’s nearly tangible. Red and orange leaves, damp and over-bright in the way that means it has just rained, are plastered on the ground outside the open window, with a few stuck to the glass as well._

_Yachi Hitoka is leaning halfway out the window, bracing herself on the sill. Her hair and dress flutter in the autumn breeze. She ducks back inside after a moment, and her smile is blindingly bright, warm and sincere and naive to any evil in the world. “It doesn’t look like it will rain again today,” she says, happily, “so we can go for a walk later!”_

_A hand comes to cup her jaw, brushing over the softness of her cheek. “I’d love to,” comes a voice both alien and_ terrifyingly _familiar._

_Hitoka’s smile dips into something more private. Smaller, now, but more intimate. It is the smile of a woman in love and unafraid of it. “I’m glad we can finally get you out of the shop once in awhile. With everything that’s going on—”_

_Kiyoko, in a cold sweat, reopens her eyes to the dimly-lit room that smells too strongly of rosemary._

_She herself has never appeared in a vision before. These visions have never been_ hers _before._

_But she—with Hitoka—with all of that warmth and joy surrounding them—_

_Kiyoko curls into herself, wracked with fresh sobs._

 

\--

 

Kenma tentatively trusts Taketora. He only asked for information in payment for healing Sugawara, and he and Kenma exchanged a list of frequencies to stay off of each other’s makeshift channels. Kuro is pointedly gone, but Akaashi keeps a close eye on things. Tora doesn’t get too nosy about anything; he seems busy. Kenma likes it when he’s a little distracted.

From the couch, he hears, “Alright, you’re awake. Good, because your information has just been sold to pay for your healing.”

“About what?” Suga sounds only a little dazed.

“Whatever the fuck we’re digging out of that building.”

“It’s an old god from another plane.”

“Yeah, we _heard_ that. But what’s that actually mean, here and now?”

Tadashi helps him sit up and sip at some water.

“So…” As he sips, Suga scans the room, and Kenma makes sure to avoid eye contact. “Auditory and visual impairment that increases with proximity to the… thing. Atmospheric magical density increases, too. A _lot_.”

If Taketora is surprised, he doesn’t show it. “What kind of impairment?”

“It was like my ears were ringing,” Daichi offers.

“But muting spells worked until we were pretty close,” Suga adds. “I have _no_ fucking idea what kind of blocks you could use for looking at it, though. It was… bad? Physical pain plus mental shit. I think hallucinations— _hope_ hallucinations. When it spoke, it was just as bad as that language, too. Also, touching it curses you, if you hadn’t already noticed.” He holds up his hands, and after a beat, Daichi sheepishly rolls up his sleeves to show his. It looks like it’s already spread, on both of them.

Heedless of the curse, Taketora grabs his wrist and turns it over “Looks nasty, but nothing I can see that’s different about it. So, a god shot ya?”

“Ushijima shot me, and you fucking knew that,” Suga bites out. Taketora doesn’t seem surprised by the accusation. Kenma wanted _less_ fighting in his room, not more.

“What happened down there?”

“Ushijima tried to banish it himself, and it didn’t fully work. The man might still be possessed, or some shade of it. I really doubt burying it in rubble will really slow down that _thing_.”

“Ushijima did?” Taketora scowls and glances over his shoulder at Kenma. Kenma ensures he’s quite involved in scrubbing the mirror in a bucket of soapy water. “That’s… not something Eyebright knew. Everyone’s still digging shit out, and I know there’s a couple of commandeered hospitals closer to ground zero. You two can get dropped off there. I’m sure someone will come up with a way to fix this kinda curse, especially if we’ll get more cases. There’re enough things shoved into this hotel, I’m sure Kenma can spare someone to escort ya both.”

Kenma’s shoulders hunch. “I need everyone here.”

“Yeah, I’m being _so_ useful right now,” Tsukishima snarks. It’s offset by the fact that he’s sitting cross-legged in the corner with two cats in his lap.

“I’m going to need you to help with the angel,” Kenma wearily reminds them.

“…What angel?” Suga asks.

“Told you he’d get huffy,” Tsukishima mutters.

Kenma continues scrubbing as he replies, “It’s the power source for a spell I’m casting. It won’t banish this thing, but it’ll buy everyone else time. I thought you had a plan to stop this?”

“Kiyoko does,” Suga automatically corrects. He pats himself down for his phone. “Has anyone spoken to her?”

“I called people when I could,” Tadashi adds, “but service is spotty and no one’s gotten back.”

“We can’t get hold of Lev, either,” Kenma mutters. “Fixed the communication issue, kind of. Nothing else is fixed.” The mirror _should_ be clean by now, clean enough to hold something else, but even with two and a half luck spirits in the room, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving anything to chance.

“Nothing from Tooru, either?”

“No, nothing. Everyone we could contact is in this room,” Tadashi replies.

 _Kenma_ had contacted everyone in the room. Not that Kenma wants the attention, but this is his plan, and he expects to be the one actually in charge of it. Who knows what Kiyoko or Tooru are up to, or any of Suga’s numerous hunter friends. The less people with their noses in his business, the better. Even if that’s _still_ a hell of a lot of people.

“Kenma, the painting is all done!” Bokuto pops back into the room from the adjoining one, splattered with pinkish paint. Kenma cringes inwardly; he knows what went into that mixture. “Hey hey, Suga’s awake! Figured out how everything’s getting stopped now?”

After the long, guilty pause of everyone present, Bokuto wilts.

“We’re in the process of it,” Akaashi offers.

Midna toddles in after Bokuto, still trying to declare her dominance over him. She, blessedly, is free of paint.

If Bokuto’s done painting the circles, then Kenma should be ready to summon an angel—after necessary corrections. Witch runes aren’t an easy language for anyone to learn, much less tengu with their own set, and hopefully there aren’t any tiny paw prints anywhere. Kenma had wanted to look it over with Lev and Kuro, since they had both seen his original circle, but like hell he’d let Lev know he’d be useful as a summoner.

Now, he’d sing Lev’s praises to everyone here if he could just _hear from him_. It’s not like him to vanish like this, and Morisuke said his apartment was empty. He hadn’t responded even before the cell phones went shitty. It’s not exactly how Lev normally operates.

“Kiyoko has a plan,” Suga mutters. “She’s going to do something to stop this.”

Kuro scoffs from Kenma’s shadow. “ _She_ has a plan? The only plans I’ve seen from her almost involved getting us eaten. I’d rather trust the nebulous other covens to see what they come up with.”

“Eaten?” both Tadashi and Suga echo. Tsukishima looks noticeably uncomfortable, and Tora scowls in Kenma’s shadow’s direction.

“Was that really Kiyoko’s fault, though?” Bokuto asks, also looking particularly uncomfortable. “I thought it was—”

“I don’t think that’s really relevant right now,” Tsukishima breaks in. “No one’s heard from her or anyone else. We could be on our own, and I think we need to focus on whatever the hell Kozume thinks he’s doing right now.”

Kenma holds no love for Kiyoko or whatever she’s up to, and he doesn’t give a damn about keeping her secrets for her at this point. But as helpful as Taketora has been, he’s still an Eyebright attack dog, and this is nothing the covens need to know about. Same with Kenma’s plan. He’s share enough to get them off his back.

The mirror is clean enough by now.

“Kiyoko isn’t that bad,” Morisuke mutters with an annoyed swipe of his long tail. Yuuki tracks the movement. Kenma still hasn’t figured out if he’s just young or utterly unattached. “But she did ask Lev for help with something. Maybe they’re together?”

“What would Kiyoko need help from a newbie summoner for?” Kuro jokes, tiny claws on Kenma’s knee, but the words dump ice water down Kenma’s spine.

“Lev’s with _Kiyoko_?” No, no he couldn’t be. Lev isn’t that stupid.

Except Lev plays nice with everyone and he’s optimistic to a fault. Kenma can’t even say Lev should know better, because it’s not like he’s told Lev much of anything, so how could he?

Kiyoko already stole one of Kenma’s spells, from a future where he used it himself. What about the summoning circle sitting in the other room right now? It’s the second time he’s built it. He had taken such pains to ensure she hadn’t seen it the first time, but he hadn’t realized she didn’t need to see it herself.

And she can start with an archangel battery.

Kenma is unaware he’s hyperventilating until Kuro arches up out of his shadow to place a hand on either side of his face. “Kenma, what’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

Kiyoko has Lev, and she has power and his spell. Lev is practically her hostage, probably to force Kenma not to intervene.

Kiyoko is going to summon up the chain until she gets something big enough to put a stop to this.

Kiyoko is going to unleash something just as bad as Ushijima did.

Kiyoko has _Lev_. Lev is going to be in the exact middle of all of this.

“Kenma, breathe!” Kuro pulls him up so he’s not curled over. Less pressure on his chest, but his breathing still stutters.

And Kenma can do nothing about it. Kenma catches a flash of movement as Morisuke disappears and Sugawara struggles to get upright. “What’s going on? What’s so bad about this?” Tadashi asks with an arm out to steady Suga.

“Some people get skittish around certain other people,” Tsukishima dryly responds.

Kuro glares at him. “And you think you have some grand reason for trusting her? If you knew what we’ve been through—”

“We’ve had run-ins with the archangel, too, yes,” Tsukishima replies.

“…What archangel?” Tadashi asks in a very small voice.

“Considering we sold our memories of the archangel to her for luck, I’m not sure I would trust the woman, either. But I’m not having a fit over it. She likes to avoid bloodshed by any means necessary,” Tsukishima says, lip curled, just as venomous as any snake. “Silencing someone isn’t her style. Don’t get distracted.”

“Wait, Tsukki,” Tadashi says, with growing desperation, “What? We did— _what_?”

“She would’ve let Yui eat us in order to keep her damned secret!” Kuro snarls.

Kenma only hears a murmur before it’s drowned out by a heavy _whump_. Tora yelps, and Kenma only turns in time to see Suga throw open the door and rush out.

Daichi, unconscious, is sprawled in Tora’s arms, and Tadashi’s arm has been bound to his leg. Tora drags Daichi forward in order to dump him on the couch.

“…If Sugawara thinks it’s that much of an emergency,” Akaashi says, as tactfully as possible, which isn’t tactful at all.

“Should we go after him?” Bokuto holds himself with the nervous energy of a spirit totally lost, and Kenma isn’t certain where he should turn it. He doesn’t even know what he can do himself.

Well, he knows nothing.

Morisuke appears again with a dark expression, now in a humanoid form. “Her shop is closed up and warded. I can’t get in. Kenma, what’s going on with Kiyoko and Lev?”

Kenma’s throat feels as if it’s closed up, and it’s only Kuro’s hand on his shoulder that allows him to stay grounded. Two steps into a panic attack isn’t a full one, at least.

“Wait, wait,” Tadashi gasps, finally freeing himself, and he pops up to his feet. “I’m fifty shades of fucking lost. Why does everyone know more than me right now, and _what’s_ going on? Kiyoko’s not the bad guy here!”

“Then why did she lock me out?” Morisuke snaps back.

“Y’know, just sayin’, she does have a track record of ends justifying means,” Tora offers, but he’s glared down by Tadashi immediately. “I’m not picking fights with anything that ain’t an otherworldly abomination. But this is something others need to be aware of. Kenma, you’re sure something else is going down?”

“She could be doing something. Who knows. Not everyone can be a master of stealth like Ushijima when it comes to plans,” Tsukishima deadpans.

“Are you going to offer anything important, or are you just going to snark and not care?”

“I’d rather snark and not care.”

The conversation is sounding farther and farther away to Kenma. Kuro increases pressure in an effort to ground him, but he’s probably just short of bloodshed. There are too many people saying too many things. He’s supposed to be prepping his spell, but his thoughts have ground down into nothing.

Morisuke leaps into his narrow field of vision, and Kenma reflexively pulls the mirror away to prevent him from stepping on it. “Kenma, we have to go find out what’s going on.”

“Kenma has to work on his spell,” Akaashi rebukes with a calm that fools no one.

“With what target?” Morisuke shoots back, tail lashing. “There’s nothing going on right now—except Lev is missing and everyone is losing their heads over Kiyoko. Even Sugawara thinks something is happening. But I can’t get in alone, so I need Kenma to come with me, and frankly, I’m shocked you’re not already doing something.”

“Don’t dump your guilt on him.”

“ _My_ guilt?”

“Weren’t you the one watching over him?” Akaashi asks with all the calculation of a sniper.

But Kenma is the one who dragged him into the world of magic, and he was Kenma’s first friend here. It’s certainly not Morisuke’s guilt that gnaws at him now. “I,” Kenma croaks, “h-have to stay here.”

“It’s kind of important that we do this,” Bokuto adds in a small voice.

Kenma can’t believe he’s finally been talked into this greater good bullshit only now—at the cost of something he actually cares about.

Even if he trusted Tora to handle the spell, it has to be the spellwriter who originally casts a spell, and he can’t talk someone else through the process of set up this deep into it, either.

“I can’t,” he repeats. Anyone else who could help Morisuke—anyone who wouldn’t get blocked by wards against higher spirits—are the ones Kenma either needs or doesn’t trust.

“I can’t believe you’re still so scared,” Morisuke says, lip curled, and Kenma hunches into himself. Tears and anxiety prickle at him.

“Hey! Stop that!” Kuro is a shield of shadow and ichor and good intentions.

“Don’t—” Morisuke starts, but Kuro grabs him and swings him away from Kenma.

“I’ll go with you.”

Morisuke stares at him.

Kuro comes up between them, still half a step from a puddle, but solid enough to gesture properly when he makes his case. “I won’t get caught by the same nets as you, right? I can see you’re worried about the idiot Russian, and I know Kenma is, but he’s busy right now. Don’t tell him off for being a good person for once.”

“And why would I,” asks Morisuke flatly, “trust a demon with that?”

“Because I do,” Kenma replies.

Kuro twists, surprised, then crinkle-eyed with tenderness.

The truly shocking thing is that Morisuke relents. Kenma isn’t certain if he’s touched or desperate, but he attempts to pull Kuro from Kenma’s shadow. “Alright, so then up! You’re going to have to pretend not to be a man-eating monster for a few minutes. The last thing we need is another panicked witch. So c’mon, up, let’s do your good deed for your lifetime.”

“If I can’t get in, either, then we’ll come back for someone else. Get some step done so you free up someone, okay? Like Tsukki, he looks bored over there.” With effort enough to make Kenma cringe, Kuro shifts into a more human form. He can’t quite fix his legs, and he still has a tail ended with little claws, but from a distance, he won’t be attacked.

Kenma returns to his spellwork.

 

\--

 

_Visions come to her like locusts in a plague. It seems by inducing that vision of herself she has opened some new level of hell. She lets Madoka know only two months after it starts. Despite having formally left the coven, Kiyoko still relies on them. She knows no one else; they had been her family. They still are._

_Visions are valuable. Kiyoko sells them when they’re useful, but the lines between useful and uselessly ominous are blurring. Usually she can pick out the bad apples, but she’s becoming aware of growing trends in what she can see. Her friends are beginning to resemble who she sees in her visions. She wonders how many years they have left until… whatever this is._

_Kiyoko turns the corner into the kitchen of the main coven house, brushing elbows with the guests from other covens, and instead comes out on the rooftop of a building._

_She herself is not in this vision, it seems. Kiyoko is relieved. The ones where she is present still feel unnatural._

_Icy wind whips at Tanaka Saeko’s short hair. Her scarf stands out behind her like a flag, and looks down the scope of her rifle, finger on the guard. The building is tall, tall enough to dwarf the surrounding buildings, though not the tallest in the area. It’s a good vantage point._

_Saeko lays on the cold concrete and rests her sniper rifle on the edge of the building for stability. Even with that pixie spell of hers, Saeko cannot work miracles, and it’s clear that she would need a miracle to hit anything in this weather._

_A hideously_ wrong _thing made of radiance and many branching, antler-like limbs boils up over the edge of the building. Saeko scrambles back, mouth open, and the monster rears up like a snake aiming to strike._

_Saeko shoots it anyway. It writhes and curls away from her, bullet wound sizzling in the frigid air, and Saeko makes a mad dash for the edge of the building. She throws herself off instead of facing whatever horror pursues her._

_Kiyoko nearly collides with a kitchen counter._

_A strong hand catches her arm before she can bump into anything else, and Kiyoko blinks a few times to reorient herself. There are many witches milling around, guests from other covens here for the meeting, but few seem to have noticed her daze._

_Kiyoko looks up at the man who caught her, unused to seeing men in Foxglove spaces, and she realizes she recognizes his tall, imposing figure. “Are you alright?” he asks in a voice that has become as familiar to her as her own._

_Kiyoko nods. She doesn’t know what else to do._

 

\--

 

Yachi Madoka does not like the swarm of spirits crowding what should be a secure perimeter. She likes their exuberance even less.

“Quit rubbernecking and _clear out_ , I said!” Like most spirits, they pay little attention to her. Being the head of a coven used to _mean_ something. Now, it just means she has to plan big parties and spends most of her time trying to figure out where funding for a legally nonexistent organization can come from.

“It’s so rare to see witches _not_ fighting amongst themselves,” a weather spirit says behind the coy fan of his fingers. Two water sprites near his shoulder laugh like he’s told the best joke in the world.

Miya Osamu ignores them better than Madoka does, but the real kicker is that they’re both doing better than Naoi. Foxglove, Eyebright, and Alkanet are the largest covens in the city, so it means these are the other heads that Madoka gets to butt against to try to get anything done. Plus all of the curious spirits.

“The goblin door is trying to shut still,” Mai tells her, at her elbow, “and there’s just as many spirits out of there in order to see what’s going on. A lot of offers of help.”

“Help for what? Excavation?” Madoka scoffs. They’ve placed a negation field and have been largely successful with keeping anyone away from the ruined building.

“There’s something still in there giving off all this magic,” Naoi retorts. The tabby cat around his neck yawns, apparently in agreement. “I’m not letting anything near it until we figure out what it is, exactly, and what happened leading up to this.”

“Oh, gee, I _wonder_ what happened,” Madoka replies with a scathing look in Miya’s direction. He ignores her.

Mai falls behind, still on her headset, but Madoka strides on ahead. Some part of her is glad Hitoka missed all of this, but she could use the extra help about now.

The wreckage of the building has half a dozen witches floating over it, carefully lifting hunks of concrete from afar. A pile has been made, but every time something in the debris shifts, everyone scatters like a gun went off. Nothing has been uncovered yet, much less the source of the foul magic or any of Wakatoshi’s handiwork. Madoka cannot _wait_ until she finds the noose to hang him.

An entire building downtown demolished, sirens going off, not to mention the mild quake itself when it happened—they’re already fielding media contacts and too many are invested in keeping nonmagical personnel at bay. Buffer wards have been set up, but it’s not going to help against crowds. Madoka doesn’t think any visual spells have been set up to hide the rubble yet.

It’s beyond a nightmare. Depending on whatever they find under there, it could be a full-on catastrophe, and the only reason she looks forward to it is so she can be _done_ with it.

“Madoka—!” Mai is suddenly at her elbow again, nearly making her stumble. “It’s your daughter! She’s been dropped off at a hospital south of here—”

Just as she’s processing the fact that her daughter is A: not in another realm as she should be, and B: in a hospital for unknown reasons, the rubble of the building shifts of its own volition.

Something winds up out of the broken concrete like a plant unfurling in search of the sun. The ringing in Madoka’s ears gets worse the higher it goes, until it must be at least fifty feet in the air, kinked and dripping and painful to look at.

Madoka tries to remind everyone not to approach until they have an idea of what that thing could be, but she cannot hear anything over the tinnitus. It sounds like sirens in her eardrums.

She glances at the thing as best she can, determined to keep an eye on it, and reaches for Mai. Mai drops to her knees, just out of her reach. Madoka finds she cannot turn from the towering thing. It pulls at her vision, tingeing everything red, and despite how her eyes ache in their sockets, she has stopped being able to look away.

“I̷ ҉a̕m fre͜ed̨,” says a voice, and beneath the screeching, she hears others cry out in pain at the sound of it.

The nosy weather spirit behind her is speared through his open mouth.

Madoka hadn’t even seen the tall thing move. She still doesn’t, not until it’s dragging the screaming spirit toward it. The scene erupts in panic, witches and spirits scrambling every way. Madoka turns to start barking orders about confinement and protection, but Mai is still motionless.

She turns back and hauls her up beneath her arms. Mai moves like a lead weight. There’s blood streaming from her eyes and nose and her body twitches. With her tongue like thick wool in her mouth, Madoka doesn’t bother trying to say anything, and pushes her magic into a _mute-blind-quiet_ chain.

Mai sags in her arms like a puppet with the strings cut. Others collapse around them, their screams barely audible beneath the thing’s ringing.

 _Get away_ , her instincts scream at her. _Get away. Drop her and run. Run run RUN_.

The tall, skinny thing curls back down toward the ground. It swells, a bulbous, ugly weight, and sprouts another spindle as it nears the rubble—Madoka realizes it’s a leg, or something close to it, as it uses the protrusion to pull itself toward the speared weather spirit.

Without a recognizable body, Madoka doesn’t realize what’s happening when it splits open again, not until it hauls the spirit toward it and chomps down with a _crunch_ and squelch of blood.

More needle-like limbs shoot out at the scattering spirits. Those still able to move are running, some hauling others behind them, others jumping into empty space or trying to beg witches for their brooms. Madoka drags Mai in the opposite direction of the thing, not caring about anything else other than putting distance between them. Her body feels tired and stiff, but she forces herself through it with Hitoka gnawing at her thoughts. _Have to get away, have to stop this, have to protect her._ It’s an easy mantra to follow, in line with her shrieking instincts.

When Madoka stoops to pick Mai up bridal style, she catches sight of Miya limping his way toward them with a pair of tanuki at his heels.

Behind them, the thing from beneath the concrete touches down. It shifts upright, less a nightmarish spider now, but doesn’t abandon its many limbs. It turns to Madoka with what she only knows is a head due to the antlers crowning it.

Her knees buckle and she goes down.

 

\--

 

_There is a poltergeist down on Cherry Street that needs to be taken care of, and Kiyoko has two appointments tomorrow that she hasn’t started the potions for. One really ought to steep overnight, but it’s four in the morning, and she can’t stand the smell of lavender for a single second more. Kiyoko gives herself one night of irresponsibility and actual sleep—after texting Suga to see if he could take care of the poltergeist._

_She falls asleep with her phone still in her hand._

_She does not wake, but becomes aware of something playing out in her mind’s eye. It’s a gentler start to a vision than she’s used to._

_A cat slinks down from the topmost shelf, with gleaming, tan fur and an overly long tail. The bell on its collar_ dings _as it lands lightly on the countertop. The cat sits, then puts up one paw in a beckoning gesture. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done this for someone?” the cat asks in a male voice laced with humor._

_“Maybe if you put the proper paw up,” the Kiyoko in this future replies._

_The cat swipes his tail around his hind paws. “You don’t want more customers? Maybe I’m inviting a friend in.”_

_“Luck, if you’d please. I’m fully booked on appointments for the moment.”_

_The cat makes one more gesture with his paw, then delicately shakes it, sprinkling golden luck everywhere. “Luck is a funny thing, sometimes.”_

_The bell on the door tinkles as a customer, a young boy with a freckled face and scared eyes, pokes his head in. The cat jumps down to the floor, and just as he disappears between that Kiyoko’s feet, Kiyoko slides gently back into true dreams._

_She dreams of soft touches, softer smiles, and lips against her own._

_She wakes the next morning with the thought of_ luck.

 

\--

 

“What’s going on?” Mako demands as she stomps after Saeko.

“How the hell should I know?” she shoots back over her shoulder.

“Because you came in with a coven leader’s daughter, and I know you’re one of Kiyoko’s friends!”

Saeko whirls around on the doctor, baring her teeth. “Don’t you _dare_ call me that woman’s friend.”

Mako stares down at her, unmoved. “What happened,” she asks, voice barely restrained.

Saeko is _done_ keeping secrets for her. It didn’t stop Ushijima, it didn’t stop the apocalypse, it didn’t stop Kiyoko. Suga is going to break when he finds out about Yui, and Saeko has that qilin’s blood on her hands, and now Hitoka is another casualty in Kiyoko’s games. “Kiyoko, she— _that’s_ her fault, and then she—” None of it comes out, not as well as she wants, even with the anger bubbling up her throat. “She played us. She betrayed us.” _She betrayed_ me.

“What’s wrong with Hitoka?”

“Her memories were tampered with, and I think she’s started remembering shit.” Saeko shoves both hands back through her hair. She doesn’t know magic, or healing, or even anything past basic first aid. She feels useless, and she hates feeling useless. “Kiyoko pulled everything about them. To protect her own ass, because she’s—with Yui— _fuck_ , I have to go.”

“Wait, Tanaka—!” Mako tries to grab her arm, but Saeko shakes her off with too much force. “I know you’re angry, but the Kiyoko I know would never endanger anyone, much less those she cares about.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Saeko bitterly replies, and storms out the wing.

Goshiki snaps to attention from where he sits in the waiting room.

“No, you’re staying here.”

“Is she okay? This is a hospital, right? She’ll be taken care of?” He follows her like he wants to bounce into the air.

“You’re staying _here_. You’re her bodyguard, remember?”

Goshiki skitters to a nervous stop. “What are you going to go do?”

“It’s more important that you stay with the healer, okay? She needs to be okay, and then, taken to her mother. She’s the head of a coven, and she’ll keep you both safe.”

“I’m not here to be kept safe!” His talons dig furrows into the tile.

“Then you’ll be more help to the covens! And if you want information, then witches are always the ones holding all the cards!” Saeko doesn’t care about her volume, and she doesn’t care about leaning up into the face of a tengu almost twice her size. “I don’t care what you do, kid! I have enough on my conscience, so just don’t get killed before you get back to Ukai!”

This time, Goshiki doesn’t try to follow her.

She pulls out her phone and finds a single bar of signal. It’s been beeping on and off all night, and she knows it’s a short window of opportunity. Thankfully, Yuu’s always been on speed dial. She looks at Hitoka’s blood smeared on the inside of her helmet while she waits.

It cuts out twice before she can make it to his voicemail. “Noya, it’s Sae. It’s go time, so grab your guns. On my way over.”

 

\--

 

_“Truth or dare!” Yuu only narrowly avoids slopping his wine over the rim of his glass. “Since Oikawa isn’t here, there can’t be any cheating!”_

_Their group is smaller this year. Kiyoko is nearly used to the absence of Yui at her side, but Tooru had politely ducked out to allow Suga the night. Kiyoko misses him; she doesn’t believe in friend divorce._

_When it comes to her turn, Kiyoko primly sips at her juice, allowing a solemn moment before she answers, “Truth.”_

_There are groans from the others, but Suga’s eyes glint. “Have you ever had a vision about one of us jacking off?”_

_There are whoops from Certain Parties about the prospect of oh so proper Shimizu Kiyoko answering something so lewd, but honestly, she’s disappointed. “Sex, no. Masturbation, yes,” she replies, to an even greater volume of shouts._

_The noise dies away suddenly, leaving the quiet, grief-stricken sound of sobbing in its wake._

_“R-Ryuu, no, no no_ no _!”_

_“Sae, we have to go!”_

_“No—not him, please,_ not him _!”_

_Yuu suddenly dashes by, shotgun in hand and rifle slung sloppily across his back. In his other hand, he drags Saeko. She is in an uncharacteristic state of emotional vulnerability, mascara streaked down her cheeks, cutting through grime as well as caked blood. Her expression is fierce and desperate._

_Yuu stumbles over the uneven ground, inadvertently yanking her down, and she raises her rifle to shoot at something unseen._

_Kiyoko comes back to herself when Suga dabs at her hand with a napkin. She has spilled her glass, and she hastily sets it down to help him clean up the mess._

_“What’d you see?” Saeko asks curiously._

_Kiyoko hesitates, just for a moment, and hides it in the patting dry of her dress. Not even Suga notices the hitch. “Ryuunosuke masturbating,” Kiyoko says, and receives a grieved wail of a much different kind._

 

\--

 

“Why would he run?” Tadashi murmurs, fretting over Daichi laid out on the couch. “What’s Kiyoko doing?”

Kei stays silent. With Kenma poised to snap, no one’s really spoken since the mohawk guy left. The radio’s been quiet since they sorted out different channels.

The fact that Suga would just run worries Tadashi more than he can articulate. He hadn’t said a word to anyone. Tadashi liked to think he and Suga had something, were _friends_ at least, but no explanation. Certainly nothing for Daichi.

Tadashi glances at his phone again. No one’s gotten back to him, and Suga hasn’t answered.

“Tsukki,” he says, softly, but Kei jumps like he’d shouted. “What’s Kiyoko doing?”

“You think I know?”

“You said… she took our memories.” Tadashi is aware of Akaashi watching them like a hawk.

“We sold them to her, as far as I can remember,” Kei’s also glaring down at his phone. “All of our memories about Yui.”

“She was scared about Sugawara finding out, wasn’t she?” Akaashi asks, and both boys jump.

“I guess so?” Tadashi guesses with a sideways glance at Kei. “But why does Suga knowing matter? I get that this was a secret, but they’re friends.”

“Maybe that’s why. You don’t always want the people you care about know what you’re up to,” Kei mutters.

“Or it’s something else. How are necromancy and archangels connected?” Akaashi asks.

Kenma comes back into the room with a flat, “They’re not. It’s ready.”

Tadashi moves after him on autopilot, though he feels like he’s just gaping stupidly the entire way. The connected room has been cleared for a set of circles painted on the floor; Tadashi recognizes the outer one as a confinement circle. A strong one.

Kenma has already talked him through this, and he goes through it again while Kenma mutely prepares the rest. Bokuto hovers nearby, ignoring both Tadashi and Kei.

The outermost circle is the one that keeps them safe and separated from the thing they’re going to summon. The next one is a statis circle; Kenma explained that when an angel’s grace is taken, they snap back temporarily into a human ghost. The stasis spell should keep the ghost in that form long enough for Tadashi to either talk them through their Door, or outright banish them.

He hopes it’ll be the former. He hasn’t had to banish any ghosts yet, and he’s not totally certain he could.

The innermost circle is the actual summoning circle, the one painted with the angel blood Kenma couldn’t touch. Tadashi only recognizes two runes in the entire thing. Kei studies it just as carefully as he does, but as far as Tadashi is aware, he knows even less magic.

Tadashi is the one who’s going to activate the spell. There are rejuvenation potions nearby for him to chug, but Kenma didn’t seem overly worried about the magical cost.

Then there will be the period while they talk the ghost into their Door, and Tadashi puts the angel’s grace in the cursed mirror.

Why does he remember Kiyoko with hands aflame and something else about an archangel?

 _Why did we sell our memories?_ He knows he shouldn’t be distracted. This is kind of a big deal, a big enough deal that Suga freaked the fuck out and Kenma’s two steps from a breakdown. The kind of big deal that makes Kiyoko go mysterious and potentially kidnap-y.

“If there’s an emergency, Bokuto or Akaashi can step in,” Kenma’s voice is too dull to be reassuring. “Concentrate on securing the spell. You won’t get hurt.”

“Right,” Tadashi makes an attempt at a grin. If Kenma won’t act reassuring, then he will at least try.

Kenma waits in the other room with the door shut and warded. Akaashi is in there with him, but Bokuto sits perched in the far corner, looking far too much like a gargoyle.

Tadashi takes a few deep breaths and tries to push everything out of his mind. Things are a little easier when Kei reaches over to take his hand.

“No big deal, just a huge spell that could backfire and eat us.”

“Yeah, Tsukki. No big deal.”

“You’ll both be fine! I’m here, and you guys killed a _dragon_. An angel is nothing!” Bokuto exclaims.

Tadashi’s grin is less strained now. Right. He’s kinda good at magic, and if Kenma trusts him with this, then that says something, too. He can do this.

The confinement circle is the easiest, even if it’s built for something bulky. It’s familiar. The stasis circle is a little unwieldy, but still dormant, and Kenma had prepped it as much as he could. Easy peasy.

Kenma was right about the fact that it would run on autopilot once it got enough power; it pulls at Tadashi’s magic, greedy and demanding, but then it relaxes. The magic feels wild and alien, but it’s stuck inside the circles and it doesn’t knock him out.

Kei is handing him a rejuvenation potion when the angel’s blood bursts into white fire.

The flames grow like the most terrifying flower in existence and bloom into limbs. First an arm, then two, and a head that swivels and turns on them. The figure pulls itself up and out, until it’s a being of light and pale fire and dark, dark eyes. Magic sparks around the paint on the floor as the confinement circle battles against it.

Tadashi knows he’s seen something like this before.

He falters and the angel crashes against the wall of the circle. “Hey, hey!” Bokuto says, and Tadashi jumps into action. He grabs the mirror, cloth wrapped around his hand, and places it in its own tiny circle. Bokuto stands beside them, feathers rustling in agitation, and the angel claws at the magic separating them.

Taking an angel’s grace from an angel is uncomfortable, even a step removed. It’s like trying to pull something out that’s too big to fit through the hole, and it’s writhing and burning the entire time. Sweat sticks to Tadashi’s face, and his hands begin shaking before anything appears to happen to the angel.

One of its claws catches in a chink in the circle, and the magic cracks like glass in front of it.

Kei backpedals, dragging Tadashi with him, and Bokuto steps up with a snarl.

The spell pulls itself free with a pop Tadashi feels in his bones. The mirror glows white hot, and they all skitter away, only to be blinded by a flash from inside the circle. A ghost stands where the archangel had just been.

Tadashi sinks into Bokuto’s arms, dizzy and sweating, and Kei drops the potion he tries to hand over.

“…Akiteru?” Kei asks.

Well, isn’t that _lucky_.

 

\--

 

_“Happy birthday, guys!”_

_Kiyoko doesn’t mind sharing a birthday party with Asahi. It’s preferable that not all of the attention is on her. She smiles warmly at Asahi, floating across from her, and inclines her head toward the cake. He’s been a ghost long enough to know how to manipulate some things now, so he takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, and tries to blow out the candles._

_Kiyoko crooks her finger underneath the table and creates a tiny gust of wind. Most of the candles blow out._

_Yuu yelps a sincere-enough “Holy shit!”_

_Asahi tries to keep Yuu from shouting in the middle of the restaurant, but Suga eggs them both on._

_Kiyoko hadn’t invited Hitoka, too cowardly to think of how to broach the topic. She doesn’t feel as if she deserves Hitoka’s cheer, and she’s probably busy anyway since school starts up again next week._

_Kiyoko blows out the last of the candles, and gives her friends a smile. “Thank you for setting this up tonight,” she says, and means to say more, but she can’t._

_She is suddenly watching a man with short, black hair, missing a jacket and tie, swinging with inhuman strength at a well-dressed Ushijima Wakatoshi. There’s another man with dip-dyed hair and a shocked expression behind him. Wakatoshi intercepts the punch with a murmur of_ might-strength _and saves the blow from his companion._

_“You’re causing a scene,” Wakatoshi says, utterly composed._

_“Stay the_ hell _away from Oikawa!” the mystery man snarls._

_“Why aren’t you turning into a dragon this time?”_

_“Should you be baiting the guy who can_ turn into a dragon _?” the pale-haired man says with a surprisingly sharp voice._

_Wakatoshi swings the other man around and into the wall behind him, cracking it._

_“_ Stop _fighting!” the pale-haired man cries, and both of them freeze with teeth still bared. “_ Bon sang _, you’re_ both _causing a scene. This is what you were trying to avoid!” He circles around both of them, movements unusually fluid and certainly not human. “Alright, so a shapeshifter. Are those normally spirits? You could save Tendou the trouble of risking his tail for you.”_ [2]

_Wakatoshi suddenly slumps, then adjusts his tie as if nothing happened. “I’m not certain he’s a spirit. And I had meant to speak with Oikawa about his involvement with—”_

_“_ What _do you think you’re doing?” interrupts another voice, silky and dangerous. The speaker does not become apparent until the last moment: a barn owl tengu, in full, immaculate formalwear._

_Then it’s the restaurant again, and Kiyoko is looking down at a slice of cake on a plate for her. Red velvet, her favorite._

_She eats without tasting anything._

 

\--

 

Hinata’s mother pets Tobio like a housecat. He does the same to Kasa. He’s not particularly happy with either, he’s too happy to have his familiar back back to voice any complaints. “I didn’t know the tengu realm _had_ any common area.”

They’re treating him like some special ambassador. Shouyou acts the same way, grinding his teeth at the edge of his mother’s flight feathers. Natsu is on her other side, though her eyes are only for Kasa.

“You left our son out there!” a beautiful swan tengu with waist-length black hair screeches.

“My grandson left his mate out there,” the elder Ukai retorts. As far as Tobio knows, he’s as close as the crows come to having a single leader. Politics usually go in one ear and out the other, except when he’s given front row seats to a debacle. “There are at least eleven tengu from all clans unaccounted for. We’re all feeling this.”

“He locked him out!” the swan exclaims. Both she and her mate point at the younger Ukai.

“You’re the ones who locked the doors,” Tobio points out.

“Yeah! You could unlock ‘em right now! Let’s go _help_ and get our people back too!” Shouyou exclaims, bouncing into the air. His mother tugs him back down by the tail.

“The humans did this to themselves,” a grumpy old barn owl tengu says.

“The _humans_ made you lock your own child out?” a pretty robin shoots back.

“ _I_ know the burden of guarding the realm doors. I know better than most how important it is to secure our own safety without taking needless risks!”

“No, let’s go back to the part where you locked out _my_ child too,” a screech owl says, flapping closer, and two dove tengu in guard uniform hastily intervene to pull them apart.

“The question we have to tackle now is whether or not we’re going to reopen the doors!” Ukai barks, and most fall silent. “We could take in refugees, and help with whatever is going on. There are things we could do.”

“What has humanity ever done for _us_? Aside from chase us into empty space,” another crow says, sneering.

“You should at least take volunteers for anyone who wants to help them!” Shouyou says. “You can shut the doors again afterward! We can even use the side door in the church!”

Most of the non-crow tengu turn to glare at the elder Ukai. “That’s still open?”

“You’ve known damn well it’s been open. We’ve guarded that door with our lives, and no harm has ever come of it.”

“Except you’ve grown soft with the humans,” one of the swans says with a dirty look for Tobio. He has little issue glaring back.

“Taking volunteers would just be throwing away lives. And we’re certainly not sending children,” Shouyou’s mother tugs him back down again. “We don’t even know what the humans have done.”

“And how are we supposed to know if all the doors are shut?”

“Are we just going to reopen them after time passes?”

“Well, we’d reopen the goblin markets first, of course. The ones furthest away.”

Tengu were loud. No surprise, but this is his first experience with so many of them, in such a cramped place. It’s been too long of a night for this.

“What if we sent non-tengu volunteers?” a new voice asks, and Tobio reluctantly opens an eye to find that valkyrie back again. She’s still half-dressed from the Old Moon Ball.

Tobio avoids all of the eyes looking at him.

“We’re not sending children,” Shouyou’s mother repeats, even more firmly.

“We can trade him for one of our own who didn’t volunteer to get locked out!”

“This isn’t a hostage situation!” Ukai exclaims. “We’re discussing our options right now. That means refugees, volunteers, and duration of this stubborn retreat.”

“The last time we didn’t pull back in time, humans almost slaughtered us all,” one of the swans mutters, dark as her hair, “so forgive me if I don’t think we owe them much kindness.”

“What about volunteers to go out and try to save those who’ve been shut out?” the younger Ukai points out.

“I volun— _oomph_!” Shouyou is, again, dragged out of the air by his mother.

“Hinata and I have an agreement,” Tobio points out, “and we were going to stop this together.”

“Good job, kid,” Ukai grunts.

“But I still know how Ushijima operates, and I’m going back to help,” Tobio continues. Shouyou nods along, even if his mother keeps a stern hand on his shoulder. Kasa chirps her agreement. “This is my fault, too. I think you should let the ones who aren’t afraid go back to help. I don’t care if you slam the door shut again after we leave, but Hinata and I are going to do something while you’re all cowering and arguing here in the dark.”

In hindsight, insulting the collective courage of a large group of already agitated tengu could have been a bad idea.

 

\--

 

_The witch with sage in his ponytail and ice in his eyes checks over the circle beneath his bare feet. The suit he wears is ill-fitting and unflattering, with sleeves and pant legs both rolled up, and tie hanging loose from his neck. Candles flicker with every bit of magic in the room._

_The circle beneath him has several layers, all convoluted, and all strange. The mish-mash of runes and styles indicates he is a spellwriter._

_The candles gutter with a stronger wave of magic, and the witch steps back as the spell begins. The limited light in the room dims further, and all of the shadows coalesce into the middle of the circle, pooling until a figure begins to emerge. It blinks a few times, bright spots of white for eyes the only contrast in its black form._

_“There’s no contract here,” the demon croaks, confused._

_“Because I don’t need one.”_

_The demon shrieks as the secondary circle lights up, and black blood splatters against the invisible wall of the confinement circle. It claws at the circle walls, screeching, until it’s eaten by the magic beneath it._

_All of the light blooms into another figure. An angel._

_Its eyes are dark as pitch, and it doesn’t blink as it regards the witch. Instead of speaking, it reaches up with one long limb, and places its claws against the confinement circle. The magic begins to crack._

_The witch startles, but with a gesture, he activates more magic. Magic and fire drip off of the angel when it pushes further, and again the circle cracks. The witch activates even more magic, but now he’s at his limit. His face is pale and the sweat on his skin gives him a sickly sheen in the colorless light of the angel. For the first time, he appears scared._

_While the last spell cracks between them, the angel can’t break through. It presses, inches from the witch, claws scratching fruitlessly._

_The witch and angel stare at one another, and the witch almost smiles._

_Kiyoko wakes with a pounding headache and a too-sharp memory of the strange circles the unknown witch had used._

 

\--

 

“Aki,” Kei repeats numbly.

The ghost in the confinement circle sinks to his knees. His white robe is spotless. His hair is neater now than it had usually been in life, but his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “Kei,” Akiteru chokes out.

“Wait, wait, you _know_ each other?” Bokuto asks. Tadashi is blinking back his own tears, but Kei manages to stumble towards the outer circle before he falls to his knees. “Wow, you do look pretty alike. Who is this…?”

“That’s my brother,” Kei puts his hand—clawed and blackened—against the confinement circle. It keeps him out just as well as it kept the angel in. _That’s my brother_. It’s been almost a year since he last saw him, and now, here they are. He wishes he had had some sort of preparation outside of the end of the fucking world.

Akiteru pushes weakly against the confinement circle, tears running freely down his cheeks, and he breaks into sobs as he exclaims, “Y-You’re _alive_!”

“You big crybaby.” Kei pushes his glasses back so he can wipe at his own eyes.

Bokuto deposits a weeping Tadashi next to Kei, and Akiteru starts crying impossibly harder. He can’t even get Tadashi’s name out, but he knocks against the circle in his direction. When his brother raises his head, Kei can see that even with all of the tears, he’s grinning ear to ear.

Kei struggles to hide his tears in his sleeve. His brother—again. His brother, his witch brother who died trying to save him, trying to _resurrect_ him, who disappeared after he’d died. The man who’d practically raised him; Kei’s only real family.

It hadn’t hit him until right now, but he’d given up all hope of ever seeing his brother again. He hadn’t shown up at the Danse, and knowing how the city treated demons and rogue spirits, he had feared putting too much thought into it.

Kei is not religious, never has been, and going through life after death hasn’t persuaded him into it, but he would thank anything right now for seeing his brother again.

“I-I don’t understand,” Akiteru says, as soon as he has something resembling a normal breathing rhythm again. “I don’t—okay, f-first off, I want a goddamn medal for knowing how good you two would be as friends.”

Tadashi leans against him with a watery kind of laugh. “A little more than friends, actually.” This kind of reunion has no room for embarrassment or put-off confessions.

Akiteru collapses into wet, happy laughter all over again. He’s nearly flat on the floor, messy tears everywhere. It reminds Kei of how he’d used to get when drunk and shown pictures of baby ferrets. Then, he’d been putting on a show to make Kei laugh. Now, everything is raw, nearly hysterical with joy and sorrow.

“You’re alive, you’re alive,” he gasps over and over. His fingers catch against the crack in the confinement circle. “God, th-thank god, you’re alive again, Kei… But how?”

His eyes find Kei’s clawed hand, hovering so close to his own.

“He’s basically a luck spirit now!” Tadashi says.

“It’s complicated,” Kei corrects, and clenches his hand against the magic separating them. “I’m not sure myself about a lot of things.”

“Yeah, magic can be like that…” Akiteru’s attention remains on his hand.

“You were a witch.” Kei doesn’t _mean_ for it to come out accusatory. To try to soften it, to soothe the way his brother winces, he says, “You’ve known about magic for… how long? Why didn’t you ever tell me? I only found out after I haunted you, Aki. Why didn’t you tell me you were a witch?”

Akiteru scans the room. “Where’s Sadie?”

“A bakeneko almost ate her,” Kei replies, and Akiteru starts, abruptly looking ready to fight. “She’s fine, Aki. We got her adopted to a little boy. But I think she’s just a pet now.”

“Wait a second,” Tadashi says, with dawning realization, “then that pet ferret you always gushed about to me was your familiar?”

Akiteru rubs the back of his head sheepishly. It’s another in a long list of painfully familiar behaviors that makes Kei’s heart clench. “Hey, I told you me an’ her had something special!”

“Why’d you keep it a secret?” Kei asks, quieter this time.

“To try to keep you safe, if you can believe that,” Akiteru replies with a bitter smile, and settles in against the confinement circle. Without entirely meaning, Kei seeks out Tadashi’s hand—some proxy contact for his brother. “Magic opens a lot of doors, but it can paint a target on your back, too. I didn’t want to—I didn’t know how to navigate us both through that. I was scared. Pretty shitty reason, huh?”

Akiteru looks around with a forced casual air, still scratching at his hair. It’s a little shorter than Kei remembered it. “You did the best you could,” Tadashi says and squeezes Kei’s hand at the same time.

Kei suddenly wishes he were alone with Akiteru. Despite all that Tadashi means to him, this is something separate.

 _His best still meant I died. Magic didn’t do shit for either of us_.

“You have your sour face on. You blame me, don’t you?” Akiteru asks without an ounce of cruelty. Kei glares harder at the far wall. It’s not as if Akiteru didn’t try for him. He’d tried so hard he ended up killing himself in the process.

 _You left me_ , Kei realizes he wants to say.

“You look like Tsukishima,” comes an unimpressed voice behind him. Both Kei and Tadashi jump, and Akiteru makes a sniffly kind of gasp.

Kenma stands on Tadashi’s other side, mask up over his face. Bokuto stands behind him, worriedly glancing between them.

Kei and Tadashi hurriedly scrub at their wet eyes. Akiteru doesn’t bother. “Are you Kei’s friends?” he asks with unabashed joy.

Kenma ignores the ghost, and stares at Kei. Kei knows the family resemblance. It’s why he keeps insisting on wearing glasses he doesn’t need, and why he never tries to tame his unruly hair. “Bokuto,” Kenma says quietly, “can you carry the mirror out for me?”

Bokuto looks between them all. He’s hesitant to leave Kenma, but he picks up the glowing mirror and ducks out of the room.

“Wait,” Tadashi exclaims as Kenma turns to follow him out. “What are we supposed to do?”

Akiteru does the magical math faster. “This is a stasis field inside the confinement circle, isn’t it?” He doesn’t sound accusatory. “What’s it for? What is it stopping here?”

Kenma only hesitates a moment. “You. If you leave that circle, you’ll become an archangel.”

“He wouldn’t hurt us!” Tadashi says at once.

Akiteru looks uneasy. Kei knows that expression, just as well as his brother knows any of his own; Akiteru is thinking through something unpleasant, and Kei isn’t going to like the answer. “How long will this last?”

“Ask Tadashi,” Kenma replies. The door clicks shut with finality and a promise of privacy.

Tadashi hastens to gulp down the rest of the rejuvenation potion. Kei has seen him with many different shades of fear or panic, but none of them can compare to the desperate determination he wears now.

Kei feels like he’s adrift in something unstoppably larger than he is.

“Whatever you do, do _not_ let down these spells,” Akiteru says, quiet but stern. “It’s really surreal to see you both here like this, and I don’t know how much either of you actually _know_ , but you can’t fool around with powerful magic. That witch is right to be cautious.”

“You’re not a threat to us,” Tadashi replies.

“I may not be, but an archangel would be.”

 _We fought a dragon_. _We fought Ushijima and Shirabu and Tendou and luck and death._

“Looks like you two are mired in something big. I always knew you were going places, Kei, but I’m proud of you both! I think.” Akiteru pauses and it takes Kei a moment to realize he’s sniffing the air. “Well, a witch and a tengu, and you’re dealing with angels… It smells like some kind of dead black magic in here, too. First rule, neither of you two are allowed to die, okay? I worked with enough necromancy to know how to kick your ass even from death, okay!”

“Why are we getting scolded?” Kei asks on reflex.

“You know how to do that?” Tadashi asks in a whisper.

“He was exaggerating.”

Akiteru grins, but somehow, that’s not reassuring. “You know, it’s easier to go through the five stages when you’re already on the other side. We have to continue with our business!”

“And then what?” Kei asks.

Akiteru looks over to Tadashi. “I don’t want to put any stress on your magic. It looks like you got what you needed from me. What else can I do to help?”

Tadashi nudges Kei with his shoulder, but what the hell is Kei supposed to do? He’s afraid he’ll start crying again if he thinks too much about this. “That’s… all, I think. I mean, I have some questions about magic and what you were doing and what… you think of…” They both look down at Kei’s hands, and he tugs down his sleeves ineffectually.

“What exactly happened after I died?” Akiteru makes a gesture toward his neck, and it takes Kei a moment to understand what he means.

“The bakeneko I ran into helped me. You were always going on about using luck, and trying to do that, so… I thought it was a good idea to try,” Kei admits with nonchalance he knows doesn’t fool his brother. “Didn’t work for very long, but I can make my own now. We’ve been dealing with that.”

Akiteru smiles a little wider, at his use of ‘we’, but he’s still tinged with sorrow. “I never wanted you to become a demon. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Kei mutters.

“I tried so hard to keep you from turning into a monster. You probably know by now to avoid covens, but I can… I guess I can’t call in too many favors, but I still know some people, they can help you—”

“Demons aren’t monsters,” Kei breaks in. Akiteru blinks at him. Kei’s eyes used to be that color, too. “I know a demon, and he’s not a bad person. I’m not going to become a demon, but I’m not—” He takes a breath to collect himself. “I’m a chimera now. I’m never going to be fixed. But I’m still around, and I think I’m kind of alive again, and this probably beats cancer.”

Akiteru, predictably, bursts into tears.

This kind of emotional honesty has never come easily to Kei, and the awkwardness grows when Tadashi throws an arm around him with a snotty sniffle. “I still can’t eat what I want, though,” Kei grumbles in some misaimed effort to salvage his dignity.

Tadashi quiets quickly. He’s waiting on Kei, for hints of how to progress, but Kei has nothing for him. He doesn’t know magic. He doesn’t know ghosts, outside of personal experience, and that had been hell and a half.

“I didn’t want this if it meant losing you. I didn’t ask—for _any_ of this, Aki! I didn’t ask for you to do any of this, but I didn’t ask you to die for me! I don’t care what I was, but I wanted you there.”

“You found Tadashi,” Akiteru replies, sad and weak and pathetic.

“Months later!”

“I’m so sorry, Kei. I’m _so sorry_ —”

“You left me alone! I was alone, and scared, and I had no idea what—what anything was—” Now _he’s_ crying again. Just great. Kei angrily rubs at his eyes, glasses shoved back, and Tadashi’s weight against him is both a comfort and another point of frustration.

“You’re alive now. You have friends,” Akiteru gently points out. Kei’s shoulders hunch further. “I’m so sorry, Kei. I know nothing I can do could ever fix— _this_ —but I tried. I’ll do whatever you want me to now. I can leave, or—”

A Door bursts into existence behind him, bright and beautiful, and Kei throws himself against the circle in a reflexive panic. “ _Don’t_!”

His claws hook onto the same crack Akiteru made. Tadashi yanks him away, and Akiteru stares at the faint shimmer of broken magic. “You can’t just leave again,” Tadashi says, face pressed into his shoulder.

“There’s a time limit to this,” Akiteru tells them. As if they don’t fucking know. “I can’t exhaust you if you’re needed elsewhere. I won’t put either of you in danger, and I don’t—hypocritical of me, I know, but I don’t want to turn into anything right now.”

“Ushijima summoned some god,” Tadashi offers.

“That’s Eyebright for you. God. Listen, you two, here’s what we’re going to do.”

Both boys sit up a little straighter despite themselves.

“It shouldn’t have been touched, but I had a storage unit on the north end of town. It’s where I put most of our stuff when I moved out when Kei…” Akiteru trails off with a thick voice. “It’s under my name.”

Tadashi opens up the notes on his phone, and Akiteru walks him through where it is, a rough outline of what’s in it, and how to get the key from some old friend. Kei sits stunned. He remembers watching his brother move into a shitty little studio apartment and turn the entire thing into a black magic research nest. He hadn’t thought much about the move at the time, having been too baffled by finding out about magic. He hadn’t thought about being able to reclaim any of his old things.

Akiteru has quite the hoard of magical items, things they could sell or use. “There should be a bit of money, too, and I think there might be some furniture. Who’s even taking care of you two?”

“We live together,” Tadashi replies as he types. “And I’m not a minor anymore.”

“How are you affording that? Kei, do you have a _job_?” Akiteru looks teary at the prospect of his baby brother growing into some kind of afterlife career path. If he were still alive, Kei would worry about dehydration.

“We, um, help banish spirits and stuff.” Tadashi tries to hide his reddening face with his hair. “I’m learning from a couple of people, and they’ve been taking care of us. It’s not that bad.”

“So you were brought in to exorcise whatever was left in the circle.”

“And then we got lucky,” Kei replies grimly. The Door glimmers behind his brother.

Tadashi pockets his phone, determined. “Okay, I know what we’re going to do.”

The Tsukishima brothers stare at him, reflecting each other’s bafflement. This was going to go absolutely great or absolutely terribly.

“I’m going to go help Kenma—”

“You can’t leave the circle, especially not if you’re still feeding it magic,” Akiteru objects immediately.

“—and once you two have had some time to talk things out, I’m going to let the circle die—”

“ _No_! That’s stupid, and suicidal, and I’m not letting you do that!”

“—and then you two are going to hug it out before Akiteru goes through his Door,” Tadashi finishes. Without listening to any more arguments, he stands on wobbly legs and leaves them alone.

“This is really dark,” and Akiteru sounds proud, “but I’m glad he has a spine when he’s not in mourning.”

“He’s really cool, and he knows how to keep things together even when things get dark.” There’s been enough tears and emotions that Kei already feels scrubbed raw. He wants this to end but he knows what an ending will mean.

“I’m glad you found someone. Found people. You were always such a surly kid.” Akiteru places his palm against the circle. Kei longs to reach out, to mirror it or touch him, but he can’t settle with his emotions running haywire. “I forgot what a cute kid you were! It feels kind of like I just woke up from a really long, weird dream, but it’s been… How long has it been?”

“Almost a year.”

“I don’t know much about chimeras, but I know demons and most spirits don’t visibly age much. Ghosts appear how they want. You might have to manually age yourself if you don’t want that baby face forever.”

Kei, who has walk himself through respiratory, mental, and bodily functions in the process of gaining a semi-living body again, sighs heavily at adding another to the list.

“Oh, wait! Halloween!”

“We know about the _Danse._ ” Kei can’t help but sound amused, even if bitterness gnaws at him for how fruitlessly he searched for his brother last October.

“Then you know this isn’t goodbye forever.” Akiteru’s smile has gotten wistful and half-sad again.

The confinement circle between them flickers.

Tadashi is escorted back inside the room by an aggressively neutral Akaashi. They make sure not to look in Akiteru’s direction, and push Tadashi down beside Kei. “Hurry it up,” they mutter before they depart again.

“So, um,” Tadashi says with a jerky shudder. “My magic’s running out, and Lev still isn’t back, so Kuroo and Morisuke aren’t back, so we’re still waiting. And I guess Kenma can’t really work until he has less to worry about.”

“That was a lot of names,” Akiteru says blankly. “You seem to have quite the setup here. And that was a different tengu.”

“Apocalypses bring people together,” Kei deadpans.

“Even dead ones.” Kei had almost forgotten that Akiteru’s sense of humor could run just as dry. “Sounds like it’s time for me to get out of your hair.”

Tadashi is making all of the ugly faces that Kei is feeling on the inside. “I’m sorry—!”

“Hey, no, it’s okay! You’ve already done a lot, you know?” Akiteru presses against the circle, and both Kei and Tadashi follow him. “You two must make a hell of a team. Tadashi, next Halloween, we’ll catch up, alright?”

“Yeah, of course!”

The confinement circle flickers again, and Tadashi’s hand nearly goes through. He pulls back, then presses forward again a moment later. Kei and Akiteru remain separated, but Tadashi slips through.

Akiteru crows in delight and goes to hug him. He slips right through, and judging from his expression, he hadn’t made the connection of what exactly being a ghost entailed.

All of those months of being unable to interact with anything. Unseen, unheard, and unable to touch anyone. Even after Tadashi started taking that potion, there was no contact for months.

Akiteru schools his expression back into something not heartbroken by the time he turns back to Kei. “W-Well.”

Tadashi looks around at the inside of the circle, like it would help him. “I don’t really know how to shut off one without turning off the other. Kenma helped, but I kind of just powered them all. I can try easing back.”

“The confinement circle should fall first. It has the least drain on your magic.”

The circle gutters like a candle, and it doesn’t quite restart itself. Kei finds himself reaching forward into that chink before he can stop himself. Magic shimmers and falls away, and this time his brother doesn’t go through anything.

Kei falls into his brother’s arms and he’s already crying. Damn Akiteru for being so contagious with his tears.

His brother is still shorter than him, but he’s solid and here and for the moment, they can both pretend it’s okay. It’s been far too long since he’s gotten to do this. Even before he died, before his life ended and his afterlife began and everything went to shit, it was hospital beds and painful visits. He buries his face into Akiteru’s hair to try to muffle his sob.

Akiteru hugs back with years’ worth of love and determination and apology. Kei has no idea what his heart is doing, but he tries to convey something back. He doesn’t have anything together enough to know what.

This is the goodbye that was denied both of them the first time, and it isn’t enough.

Akiteru holds Kei at arm’s length, and with the world’s wobbliest smile and tears still everywhere says, “I love you, Kei. I’m so happy and proud to get to see you grow up.”

Kei pulls him into another hug, unable to help himself. “I-I love you too,” he mumbles into his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, for everything, Aki.”

Akiteru pulls him down to his level to place a kiss on his forehead, and then a second one. “For Tadashi. Both of you, thank you. Only human spirits get to pass on, so this is a second chance. Thank you both.”

His shoulders are shaking when he turns to face his Door. Kei wants to pull him back toward the living realm, even for another few moments—but Tadashi is looking woozier by the second. It’s probably only luck that’s kept his magic from exhausting.

Akiteru offers them both a salute before opening his Door. “See you both at Halloween! Make sure you bring me some good stories then. Love you both, and don’t die for a long while!” He steps through his Door, and it vanishes.

The magic dies with a tangible snap, and Tadashi pitches backward.

Kei is left alone.

 

\--

 

_A building falls like a waterfall, tons of concrete and glass and metal coming down with slow motion grace. There are less people screaming now. Dust and debris fly up ahead of anything else, and in the smoke of the ruined building, a figure stands, radiant and untouched._

_It turns its antlered head and reaches for the nearest building, a hundred stories tall, already damaged from the first one’s collapse. The figure raises up on too many limbs like stairs. It flows with liquid grace and leaves spears of off-color, cursed body behind to melt._

_Humans, spirits, anything still moving all run without looking back. The thing climbing the tower like a centipede doesn’t turn, but it spears flying spirits and pulls them, still screaming, to eat with a mouth too large for its body. There are too many teeth. It hurts to look at it, especially the manner in which it moves and chews and searches for more._

_The second building comes down, but beneath the horrible crashing sound comes rumbling laughter, deeper than the earth itself._

_The potion explodes in the pot, ruining Kiyoko’s kitchen wall and splattering her face and hair with disgusting goop._

_It had been a potion for silencing a neighbor’s noisy dog. Kiyoko supposes this is karma of some sort._

 

\--

 

Tobio stumbles out into the goblin market ahead of Suzumeda. The crowd parts before them—before the valkyrie and angry tengu, at least. Shouyou clenches his fists as he watches, helpless. Sure, she’s a spirit of justice, but he doesn’t know her, and she isn’t here to help anyone. He doesn’t even know if she knows what’s going on.

He’s got to time this right. Thankfully, he’s always been fast.

Tobio wipes his mouth with his sleeve and holds Kasa protectively against him. All things considered, it’s surprising he has all his limbs. He can even still walk. Shouyou’s mother had intervened on his behalf, but tengu don’t even listen to each other well when they’re mad.

They let a few of the clustered people into their realm, but only the tengu. A mother and chick are prioritized, but that makes a pair of hawks begin to bicker loudly. Causing a scene is the last thing anyone wants with an open door.

Right after the owl guards make room for someone, he zips out the open door, only barely clipping his wings on the door frame. There are several shouts—his mother’s and Tobio’s both ring out—and someone snags a handful of his tail feathers, but he kicks off. Some are broken, some are ripped out, but he zips free.

“Meet me where we last fought Ushijima!” Shouyou shouts as he jumps to the nearest market door.

He dives into the crowd, thankful of his small stature for once, and wedges his way through. He hears more shouting behind him, but no one follows him out into the human realm. More trouble than he’s worth, probably.

Shouyou jumps into the Inbetween and _pops_ near the alleyway where Tobio had almost died. It’s empty and eerie in the predawn light, and the magic in the air makes him gag. He doesn’t think whatever’s going on is near, but it’s worse than how it was at the church.

He finds a rooftop corner that’s sheltered from view by a large sign. He hunkers down, legs folded beneath him, and fluffs up his feathers a bit for warmth. How long could it take a witch to cross the city?

Twenty minutes in, Shouyou decides any time is too long. Far too long to be left alone with thoughts of evil matagot and deals to save his life. _We were careless_. Miserable and shivering, he creates a little flame between his fingers to try to distract himself. Saeko saved them, but if what she said about Kiyoko was true…

Kiyoko was supposed to be one of the good guys.

Shouyou fluffs up further and keeps waiting.

 

\--

 

_Kiyoko sighs in utter bliss. Madoka has let her stay over in one of the coven houses, and she likes a good bath. The tub in this place is spacious enough to allow her to recline comfortably and completely stretch out her legs. She has to heat the water herself, since target practice gone wrong blew up the water heater last month, but she’ll gladly spare some magic. It’s a rare treat, this kind of relaxation._

_Naturally, it cannot last._

_She is still herself; It’s the uncomfortable sensation of trying on wet clothes that_ should _fit, but_ don’t _. She’s seated with her back against cold concrete. Her right leg is bloody and badly broken. Kiyoko does not register pain as she stares at the wreckage of her leg._

_Hitoka kneels at her side, tears dripping down her cheeks and nose, and tries to mend flesh and bone. “J-Just hold still, I can still… manage something…” Her voice is faint, but as determined as ever. Her entire frame trembles._

_As a passenger in her own body, Kiyoko can only watch as someone steps up behind Hitoka and presses a gun against her golden hair._

_Kiyoko wishes she could scream. No sound escapes her, even when the trigger is pulled._

_Blood and worse splatter all over Kiyoko. Hitoka’s body slumps forward over her broken leg, expression erased by the exit wound and the delicate way her hair falls over her face._

_The gun turns on her. She sees the empty black eyes of the possessed, and bruise-like curses curving up over the exposed face of Ushijima Wakatoshi. He pulls the trigger again._

_Kiyoko finds herself in the bath again and jerks upward, splashing excess water from the tub. This is her first time experiencing her own death. She’s never seen Hitoka’s death before. Bile rises in her throat, and she fights it back down long enough to make it to the toilet._

_She cries over the toilet bowl as the air grows cold around her._

 

\--

 

“That’s Lev’s coat,” Tadashi says as he limps out of the connected room. Kenma looks up at him, expression carefully distant. “Morisuke and Kuro aren’t back yet. I can find him.”

“You’re barely standing,” Bokuto points out.

“But I’m not needed anymore.”

Kenma turns from him again. “Take the coat.”

“Kenma,” Akaashi is near scolding, but a glare over the witch’s shoulder silences them temporarily.

He shrugs off the coat and throws it in Tadashi’s direction. “Potions can’t keep you going forever.”

Tadashi’s bigger than Kenma, but the coat still dwarfs him. Pulling magic into his magnetic bracelet makes his head swim, but he’s got to be doing something. If he can’t help Kei right now, then at least he can help Kenma.

He tries not to make a face at how many times it takes for his magic to catch. He wants to cry out of sheer frustration, but his pride won’t take it. When Tadashi shuffles toward the door, he catches Bokuto watching him, worry clear on his face. It only makes him feel worse. “Um, Tsukki’s probably not feeling too well. Maybe don’t bother him for a-a bit? Please?”

“Unless something is attacking the hotel, I don’t see any reason to bother him,” Akaashi replies.

Guilt and sorrow churning in his belly, Tadashi leaves, following the hook of the tracking magic. It’s feeble, even for his own lack of energy.

Considering how long the other two have been gone, that doesn’t bode well. _Kiyoko isn’t a bad guy_. He likes and trusts Suga, but the man does tend to over-panic and over-worry. _I’m sure it’s a coincidence. Who knows what all this magic in the atmosphere is doing to other stuff._

Tadashi manages to make it two blocks away before he ducks down into an empty alley to have a private cry. What right does he have to cry when Kei had just lost his brother—again?

When he can breathe normally again, he reignites his finding magic and treks back out. It’s still dark, but it’s growing lighter. There are strained echoes of a few far-off sirens, but there aren’t cops swarming the streets. News helicopters aren’t swooping overhead. The apocalypse isn’t even trending on twitter.

There had been the initial push, but Tadashi wonders if maybe nonmagical people can’t notice this. Maybe they had chalked up the ground quaking to trains or construction or maybe they had slept through it.

He wishes he could sleep through this.

Tadashi makes it all the way to the nearest station before realizing the trains have stopped running. All he finds is a generic apology post on the public transit facebook.

The buses are stopped for the next three hours and two taxi companies have shut down for the day. Tadashi allows himself the luxury of hitting his head against the nearest brick wall. “Of course. Of fucking course.” No one’s that lucky. Maybe they’d just used up all their luck getting to see Akiteru again. Maybe they were using up luck keeping Lev alive.

Tadashi trudges off towards Kiyoko’s shop while glaring at the sporadic witches he sees. Most aren’t even trying to hide themselves. Not his problem. Probably not anyone’s problem right now.

He shakes the collar wrapped around his other wrist a few times, jingling the bell, but Morisuke doesn’t answer. Hopefully not distracted fighting with Kuroo. Hopefully not distracted fighting Kiyoko.

Lev’s coat comes down almost to his knees, and the sleeves are drooping, but at least he’s warm. He wouldn’t have minded gloves or another potion, but he knows the dangers of relying too heavily on potions.

Tadashi shuts off his magic and walks the rest of the way by hazy memory.

It takes well over an hour. The sun comes up, making everything pink and even less defined. The entire city might as well be some otherworldly dimension.

Despite the danger and despite the cold, people are waking up. He passes more than one person swearing at how their car won’t start. The few that can chug along with unnatural noises and worried drivers. Streetlights flicker overhead. It’s not quite light enough for most of them to be turning off, but they die one by one.

Tadashi hears Morisuke and Kuroo long before he sees them.

“Look, I spent time in there, too! I’m saying we can break a wall or two. The whole place can’t be warded!”

“We break a wall, and what if it does break her wards? What if that’s the only thing standing between them and this archangel?”

Morisuke is wreathed in fire and humanoid. His eyes blaze and his long tail is bottlebrushed. Kuroo doesn’t back down, even when the bakeneko floats over him to gain height. They’re nose to nose when Tadashi ambles up, and neither notice him until he clears his throat.

“Um,” Tadashi says, cowing.

“It’s not just warded against realm jumping and higher spirits,” Kuroo flaps a hand at the innocent storefront. “But I personally doubt the entire building is.”

“I know how Kiyoko’s magic works,” Morisuke hisses, “and everything is layered, like all witch magic. If we take down one thing, the entire thing could collapse, and who knows where that’d leave anyone.”

“If you’re both locked out, why didn’t you come back?” Tadashi asks.

“Like hell I’m coming back empty-handed,” Kuroo mutters.

Morisuke peers down at Tadashi. “Have you ever tried walking through any warded walls?”

Tadashi shakes his head. Maybe by accident, but nothing strong enough to keep higher spirits out. “She’s not answering us, and we can’t hear anything from inside. The place reeks of magic, though.”

“Because that’s a big difference.”

“I thought you wanted to help, demon.”

“I do! So don’t bite my head off because I’m as useless as you are!”

“I’m not—”

“Where’s Suga?” Tadashi interrupts with no small amount of desperation. Both Morisuke and Kuroo turn to him, with Morisuke looking affronted that it even matters right now. “He took off before you guys, and he seemed to know where Kiyoko was.”

Morisuke glares daggers at the innocently locked door. “So Sugawara’s ignoring us, too?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kuroo sounds surprised at his own words. He scratches at his chest. His frown at the door is less frustrated, and more thoughtful. “I don’t think Suga’s in there? It’s hard to tell now, so this is a lot less like some totally hypothetical demonic contract and a lot more like a guess, but I think it might be a bit of an educated guess.”

“I thought you were contracted to Kenma,” Tadashi says. Kuroo shrugs. “Okay, well, no offense to you two, but Suga won’t ignore me if he’s here. Or, uh, I guess there’s a lower chance.”

Kuroo steps aside with an invitational gesture toward the door. Morisuke shifts into a cat, and sniffs suspiciously at the frame. Tadashi knocks on the door, but there’s no response. He calls, as friendly as he can, “Suga? Kiyoko? It’s Tadashi!”

He can’t hear anything from inside. Tadashi knocks again, louder, and even kicks it for good measure.

“If they’re in there, they’re being awfully quiet,” Kuroo mutters. “And maybe it’s just me, but I don’t really think Lev is capable of being that quiet.”

“Unless he can’t talk,” Morisuke hisses.

“Wouldn’t you smell more magic if they were up to something?” Tadashi asks.

Morisuke shakes his head. “We can’t smell or hear anything, not even ingredients or potions. I originally thought it was just to keep out random spirits…”

“If the spell isn’t new, then it’s just security,” Tadashi knocks so hard his knuckles hurt. Still quiet inside. “Maybe I could try to—” He reaches for the doorknob, and the door swings open.

They all stare.

“Did either of you… try to open the door?” Tadashi asks as neutrally as he can manage.

Morisuke, ears laid flat, bumps up against the air just in front of the door frame. Kuroo tries the same, but is also rebuffed. “So it’s not warded against humans. Makes sense, if she needed to come and go.”

“Makes sense if she were relying on Kenma’s cowardice to prevent him from coming himself.”

“Hey, he’s busy right now, trying to save more than a single person? For once in his life? If you snap at him again we’re going to have a disagreement, cat.”

“It must’ve been my mistake if I thought he cared about anyone who isn’t a demon waiting to devour him.”

“Hey—”

Tadashi walks through the open door. _Let them bicker outside_.

The last time Tadashi snuck into a quiet building, he almost got killed for it, but Kiyoko’s shop is familiar and seemingly safe. It’s a mess, far messier than he’s ever seen it before. There was a fight here recently, and only sloppily cleaned up. Using his otherwise useless phone as a flashlight, Tadashi stumbles around until he finds a light switch.

The main shop is empty. Glass jars filled with various potions and ingredients twinkle back at him. He’s never heard it this quiet before. Usually Kiyoko plays music, plus the amiable chatter of herself and any other patrons.

Morisuke and Kuroo stare at him through the doorway, waiting. No pressure then.

He turns on lights as he goes, unable to stand the darkness and the silence. The kitchen is empty, with the clocks on the stove and microwave blinking from an earlier power outage. He doesn’t really know the layout of anything aside from the main shop, so he tries doors as he goes. He doesn’t hear anything upstairs.

He’s on the last door of this floor when he finds a back room with a pile of blankets set up in it. The weirdness suddenly doesn’t matter, since Tadashi finds one Haiba Lev in the middle of it.

His long limbs are uncomfortably sprawled, like he hasn’t moved since getting dumped here. There’s no blood, and when Tadashi falls to his knees to check on his face, Lev lets out a loud snore.

“Are you fucking serious,” Tadashi hisses, and shoves at his shoulder to wake him. It takes a bit of jostling, but Lev is soon blinking blearily up at him, blanket indents on his face, and hair a staticky mess. “Are you serious?”

“Tadashi?” Lev asks, voice raspy with sleep. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“Looking for you! We all were!”

“What time is it?” Lev pats around for his phone. He doesn’t find anything, despite a really long search time, so Tadashi shows him his phone. Lev flops dramatically against the blankets again. “It’s so early!”

Tadashi has no pity. “You were just sleeping. We’ve been trying to contact you! Kenma and Morisuke are worried sick!”

“I don’t know where my phone is,” Lev replies, defensive and still tired.

“You need to wake back up. There’s a lot of stuff happening and we need you to come back to—”

“Lev!” Morisuke yowls from the doorway. “Get your ass out here if you’re still in one piece!”

Lev bolts upright, only just avoiding knocking into Tadashi’s chin. “Yaku!”

“He was really worried, you know,” Tadashi says, wryly.

“Why?” Lev pats down all the blankets for his phone again, and comes up with nothing. “You’re starting to sound all ominous like he does. I was just helping Kiyoko, he knew that!”

“…Helping Kiyoko with what?”

Lev makes a frustrated noise at his lack of phone, but he doesn’t let it stop him from yanking on his boots and running out the door.

Tadashi makes one last cursory check of the room, but there’s nothing there.

Lev stands in his pajamas and winter boots, hugging Morisuke with all his might. The shocking part is not that Morisuke allows it; the shocking part is that he’s hugging back even tighter.

“Aw,” Kuroo coos, cheek cupped in his claws. “He _is_ still in one piece. What a happy ending.” Gold eyes slide sideways, searching. “So, where’s Kiyoko and Suga?”

“Not here.”

“Why is everyone so upset? And what is that smell?” Lev asks. “No, stop wiggling! Go back to hugging me.”

“We’re worried because an old god got summoned and you were missing, you asshole. Kenma and I thought you were…” Morisuke hugs Lev all that much tighter again. “You’re a very dumb human, you know. It’d be just like you to wander into the apocalypse without a clue.”

Tadashi would expect Lev to enjoy all of the attention, but his eyes are wide, and his mouth is twisted into utter horror. “Something got _summoned_?”

“We know it wasn’t you!” Kuroo hastily tells him, but Lev shakes his head.

Still stricken, fingers digging into Morisuke’s coat like he’s afraid to let go, Lev says, “I got asked for a favor from Kiyoko last night, that’s why I was out. I helped her write a summoning circle.”

 

\--

 

 _A young man, familiar and angry and wearing thick leather gloves, tries to shove the yowling bakeneko into the circle. The cat spirit is restrained with bands of metal that sizzle against his golden fur. “What kind of idiots_ are _you?” The metal containing him begins to glow dull red._

 _The young man trips and nearly drops the cat. He hooks one of his fingers in between fur and hot metal, and the glove begins sizzling, too. “Why are we doing this with a_ luck _spirit?”_

_Wakatoshi stoops to pick the cat up. “We don’t have time,” he flatly replies, and shoves his captive into the circle. The metal melts off, but the circle is already active._

_He’s trapped._

_The temperature continues to rise. The young man sits back on his haunches and peels off his burnt gloves. “We have everything we need?”_

_“We should. Is the ghost still sealed? We’ll need him, too, but quickly. They’ll be here any moment.”_

_When his younger compatriot returns again, he’s escorting a far tamer captive, even if the ghost has several inches on him. The cat in the circle lets out a sad sound, and the ghost turns from him. He looks even younger than the surly witch shoving him forward._

_Wakatoshi gestures them both into the circle, and helps pull the witch away before the cat spirit can pounce. Instead, the cat spirit jumps up into the ghost’s arms, and his body language shifts away from rage and into sorrow. “Please,” the cat says, quietly. “Not him.”_

_“What’s the point if the entire city is going to get eaten within the hour?” the ghost mutters._

_“I won’t let that happen,” Wakatoshi says, and activates the magic that swallows them up._

_Kiyoko wakes with blood on her pillow and a migraine that stops her from leaving bed for another hour and a half. The only thing she accomplishes is halfhearted scribbling in her notebook. “_ Potential panic. Ghost and bakeneko this time. Acts with brashness rather than caution. _”_

 

\--

 

“This is so awkward,” Shirabu’s voice is muffled by gritted teeth and the thick fabric of Wakatoshi’s coat.

“It’s fortunate you’re strong enough for this,” Wakatoshi replies. Athena gives a soft peep from where she’s stashed in his pocket.

Tendou can’t see any of them, but they’re easy enough to follow. Shirabu has always had that _clomp_ of his hooves if he isn’t being careful, and Taichi’s still limping badly and trying to hide it.

Wakatoshi is being carried by Shirabu to become invisible as well. “Don’t forget how strong I am,” Shirabu warns, then mutters, “though of course I’m strong enough to carry a man…”

“I’m heavier,” Taichi’s voice is flat, yet conveys both smugness and teasing. Tendou likes him.

“You don’t come with a case of contact invisibility,” Tendou points out. Taichi doesn’t flicker on every other step. Shapeshifter _and_ invisible. They could’ve done a lot if they’d sprung him earlier. “Sure you guys will find Monsieur Dragon-Man and The Amazing Nosebleed Wonder? I can’t help but notice you’re moving awfully slow.”

“I can find anything,” Shirabu growls.

“Provided we move on foot. He’s a very good tracker,” Taichi adds.

Shirabu flickers again, and Tendou catches Wakatoshi watching him from over Shirabu’s broken antler. “You guys are all unseen, but you know what you’re not? Silent. How long do you think it’ll take for you to find the Dreamland fucks?”

“I’m not a timer,” Shirabu replies.

“We’re going to have to ensure Northot doesn’t cause undue damage while we’re finding them,” Wakatoshi says.

Tendou’s already nodding, though he’s not pleased about this part. “I know, I know, I have to go make friends. If I get shot again, I’m quitting, though.”

Wakatoshi leans up in Shirabu’s arms, making them both quiver. “If they shoot at you—”

“It’ll be fine! It was a joke. Not that I want to get shot again, but you have bigger things to worry about than a single matagot right now.” It probably wasn’t a joke, but Wakatoshi doesn’t need to know that.

“I was under the impression,” Taichi says pointedly, “that you two were together.”

The silence between Wakatoshi and Tendou is weighty.

Tendou _really_ doesn’t like being the only visible one. “Well, you know how apocalypse plans are. You grow close, you cry over each other, you bleed for each other, you kiss sometimes, and then you raise an old god together. It’s hardly a marriage.”

Wakatoshi remains quiet. Athena peeps again. They’ve both gotten paid already. The pair of strong, cervine, and invisible kids should’ve cut out awhile ago. Tendou was supposed to cut out awhile ago. He doesn’t really want to, but he hasn’t had the time to discuss that with Wakatoshi, and he doesn’t want to do it with an audience.

Maybe stopping a rogue deity is more important than Feelings-slash-Future Talk.

“Ah, well, looks like I should get going, on that note. I’m sure putting down an old god is like a proposal, right?” Tendou says, uncharacteristically awkward, and backs away from them.

Before he disappears, he hears Taichi mutter, “You’re really weird.”

Fair point, but Tendou also doesn’t think he deserved that when he so nobly sprung Taichi from feathery hell. Those two will keep Wakatoshi out of sight, and maybe he’ll find a way to meet up with them again later. All of the unknowns in this make his fur itch.

He has to go figure out if Wakatoshi has any friends left. If not, the enemy of his enemy ought to be his friend. They’ve got a lot to offer against Northot, after all.

Tendou first goes to grab the remains of Wakatoshi’s little arsenal. He thinks about saving a gun for himself, but he’d rather avoid fighting altogether, so he shoves what he can into the backpack by the side of the bed. Wakatoshi has enough for what he has on him—less, after their mad scramble out of the building—so the rest of the bullets are now Tendou’s personal bartering chips.

It takes a little while of hopping along to different points in the city before he finds anyone worthwhile: a pair of witches and someone who is definitely not a witch, perched on a rooftop corner and crowded around a single walkie talkie. Tendou floats above them curiously.

“Still haven’t heard anything from your leader?” the lady witch asks. She taps out a nervous beat on the handle of her broom.

“No, you?”

“Nothing. I have no idea what happened to any of them…”

The not-witch snaps his head around to stare up at him. Tendou can’t see anything that could be a glamor, and he’s largely human in appearance, but Tendou still knows something’s up. Still, he puts on a happy smile and holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hi there!”

Both witches startle. “Wh-Who are you?!”

“Your friendly neighborhood fox, here to outfit anyone who’s fighting the good fight against evil gods.”

To his surprise, lady witch doesn’t regard him with suspicion or chase him off. Instead, he gets a _very_ sincere, “You should get out of here! It’s not safe. That _thing_ is eating up spirits!”

“Spirits? I think we’re all in trouble here,” Tendou replies, with a sidelong glance at the not-witch.

“It’s killed people—er, witches,” the guy witch tells him, “but it’s targeting spirits. It’s eating them. The working theory is that it’s absorbing their magic or power or life or something…”

“I guess we are higher up on the food chain,” Tendou admits, chin in hand.

“The goblin market door is still a mess, but you and any other friends you have should leave town for the time being. It’s not safe here. I’m sure some sort of message will be put out when this is taken care of—”

“Oh no,” Tendou grins, as nicely as he can, but the two witches still balk. “I’d much rather stay here and help out if I could. Think you could point me in the direction of anyone who needs some firepower, if you aren’t volunteering?”

The witches exchange a glance. “Didn’t Ushijima have a fox spirit with him?” one of them whispers—but not quite quiet enough for Tendou to miss.

That sounds like his cue to leave. Tendou spares them a cheeky salute before vanishing again, and popping out above another rooftop in another part of the city. Based on the skyscrapers, he’s probably downtown. Tendou shivers against the winter wind this high up.

So _The Thing That Should Not Be_ is definitely Being, and it’s developed a taste for spirit flesh. Tendou, who is Definitely Not A Fighter, is running around the city half-blind. Perfect. “At least I won’t need to worry about getting shot again.”

He’s not all that close to where they’d summoned that thing, but he can see a clear line Northot has already carved through the city. Melted roads, broken buildings, scattered cars and streetlights like toys thrown aside. He’s too high up to see any bodies, or even people on the ground.

A gunshot rings out and Tendou feels it zip by his tail. He yips and whirls around, backpack banging into his hip. It takes him a precious moment, but he soon spots two humans on the next rooftop over, both of them holding rifles. He rolls out of the way from another shot.

He’s about to jump away when he realizes he recognizes that blonde hair. “Ah, shit,” he grumbles and dodges another shot by the angry hunter with the gun. “Weren’t we friends when you handed over that qilin?”

The Saeko woman shouts something back, lost to the wind but no doubt very explicit.

“Guess not then.” Tendou pulls out two boxes of ammo, and chucks them at the figure of the woman and the short man beside her. They stop shooting long enough to scramble out of the way. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he yells, “Aim at that god monster next time! Enemy of my enemy is my friend!”

He doesn’t stick around long enough for an answer, worried it’d come in the form of another bullet.

 

\--

 

 _Purges always make her stomach churn, but Kiyoko has never protested their need. She has seen far too much to argue against such measures. Demons are dangerous. Sentient summons are illegal for a_ reason _, a reason she has seen time and time again as she struggles to sleep._

_She isn’t a combatant and she makes sure Madoka knows this for every one she attends. She’ll donate her time and services to preserving the peace of the city, but she will not be the one to hold the gun._

_The magic negation spell has just been laid when the world around her fuzzes out._

_Wakatoshi marches forward on a bad leg, with a blade of especially dark blood clutched in his left hand. At his side, another, shorter man strides forward with the same grim determination, a silvery sword held tight in his right hand. Before them lays a bloated, incandescent figure. Its light is painful to look at and has an oily sheen._

_Kiyoko recognizes this monster from her many other visions and nightmares, despite how large it’s become._

_“_ So you have come to face me yourself, yhafh’drn. You have brought this all upon yourself. Your death will satisfy me as no one else may _.”_

 _With a combination_ push-speed-jump _spell, the two men rush forward, blades drawn back. The glowing, antlered mass allows them to get close, then idly spears Wakatoshi through the chest with a lightning-quick spike._

_He digs his blade into what he can reach, and the second man connects with his sword._

_The beast shrieks in pain, writhing like an injured snake, body sizzling from both points of contact. The metal sword begins to sing as it heats up, but still the man pushes forward. Wakatoshi pulls ichor from the thing as his blood blade evaporates in his hands._

_He’s dropped, but Wakatoshi leaps forward again, with a new blade of radiant blood in his burning hands._

_The figure, still screaming higher and higher, swings around with an attack of its own._

_It bites clean through Wakatoshi’s neck without a hitch. The second man turns, eyes wide, and the limb cleaves his head from his body as well._

_The monster pries the weapons off, scream dying off into a hiss, and ignores the headless bodies lying at its many feet._

_Kiyoko is jarred back into the present by a rough push on her shoulder. Suga collapses on top of her, eyes wide. “You were nearly eaten just now! I thought you don’t tend to get visions when you’re doing stuff?”_

_She sees the demon that must have gotten free of the confinement circle behind them, dispatched by Madoka, who pretends not to be concerned. “I thought so, too.”_

 

\--

 

“Where’s Suga?” Suga’s lover is sitting up on the couch. Kenma hums discontentedly, but his eyes dart up to Daichi, too. Koutarou wonders if the man fought through the sleep spell with sheer stubbornness, but most of what he’s heard of this guy paints him as comparatively average.

“We believe Suga went to Kiyoko,” Keiji answers, keeping a careful distance.

“So where’s Kiyoko?”

“Isn’t that the question of the hour,” Keiji mutters. “We don’t know. Sugawara knew, or had a very good guess, but who knows where he is by now.”

Koutarou doesn’t think a nice man like Daichi deserves to look so lost. He also probably didn’t deserve to get knocked out by his lover and subsequently ditched. “You can help us, though!” Koutarou offers sincerely, though Kenma’s expression shutters and Keiji loudly clears their throat. “What?”

“No, I—I need to find Suga,” Daichi replies, though he makes no move to get up.

Koutarou wishes he could help, but Kenma laces another loop of magic around his claws, literally tethering him to the spell. He hasn’t been able to do much so far, just act as a framework for Kenma to build upon, and the lack of action is making him antsy. It doesn’t help that he can’t read witch magic.

“Tadashi has that tracking magic, doesn’t he?”

“Do you have something of Sugawara’s?” Keiji returns.

Daichi shakes his head, but that’s enough to shake him from his stupor. With clenched fists, he rolls off of the couch. Sugawara’s blood is still staining his hands.

“Suga left that bag of his,” Keiji offers, “but Tadashi left to help Tetsurou and Yaku. We don’t know when they’ll return.”

“No, this is great. This will work!” Daichi rifles through the bag. Koutarou wrinkles his nose at the smell of weird magic, but Kenma lowers his attention again, weaving more magic between them.

No one stops Daichi as he grabs a coat and leaves with a quiet, “Thank you.”

The room is silent. Koutarou can’t hear anything from Tsukishima next door, and Kenma isn’t voicing any of his magic for the moment. Koutarou glares at Keiji. “You didn’t even try to stop him. It’s dangerous out there!”

“You didn’t, either,” Keiji wearily replies.

“I know you’d both snap at me if I did! I have to be the helpful one—well, to Kenma at least—and if I start wiggling around then I won’t stop, and you’re better friends with Suga, anyway. He’s gonna be pissed if you went and got his mate killed. He’s tengu friend, y’know. One of the ones you haven’t chased off.”

Keiji quietly yet pointedly lets out an aggravated noise. “Your charity extends beyond your sense, Koutarou. This is more important right now. I’m not going to babysit a human I don’t know and leave you two here alone.”

“We have Tsukki,” Koutarou grumbles. He wishes he could do _something_.

He tries to Do More with the spellwriting help, but he mostly just sits there in front of Kenma and offers up little bits of magic. It’s exhausting doing nothing when everyone else has been doing so much. Koutarou glowers down at the unreadable runes.

He’s never seen the full spell laid out. This is also the first time Kenma will weave another type of magic in, rather than just their earlier practice run. They’re actually going to cast a huge awesome spell together. Probably save the day, become heroes, win enough respect for both council and coven to get off their asses. It’ll be great. He’ll get to Do Something.

So why does this feel _off_?

Kenma is quieter than usual, but he hasn’t spoken of the angel they’d summoned, or risen to any of Keiji’s barbing. He knows he’s worried. Koutarou is worried. He’s worried about what Suga is up to, and he’s worried about Lev, and he’s worried about how much Tsukishima and Tadashi were crying. There’s also the god rampaging somewhere in the city.

Maybe, on some level, Koutarou still expects to be able to retreat home.

Kenma grabs his hand, and with gentleness coming from detachment, guides him into adding more magic to protection charms than the phase-changing ones he’d stumbled over earlier.

It clicks for Koutarou.

“This isn’t the same spell!” he snatches his hand away, and his claws catch Kenma’s palm, drawing a bright red line. Kenma hisses and dampens the magic to prevent blood from getting onto any of their artifacts, but doesn’t seem concerned about pain. “Sorry, I’m sorry, but—this is different—! Why?”

“What do you mean this is a different spell?” Keiji asks thinly.

Kenma stares down at his bleeding hand. He’s the one drawing back, and additional panic heaps upon Koutarou’s chest. He hadn’t messed up the spell, had he? No, Kenma was conducting most of it. Who knew what witch blood could do, and he hadn’t meant to hurt him—

The hotel room bangs open without flourish or knocking. “Look what we found!” Kuroo happily calls, dragging in a snowy Lev and exhausted Tadashi. The bakeneko is curled, purring loudly, in Lev’s arms.

“Kenma!” Lev almost drops Morisuke in the process of throwing himself at Kenma.

Kenma ducks out from under Lev’s embrace, and Lev nearly faceplants in Koutarou’s lap. He catches him while Kenma calmly moves some of the magical items out of the way.

“This isn’t the joyous reunion I was kinda expecting,” Kuroo admits, shaking out snow from his hair.

“For the best, considering what news we’re bringing,” Morisuke points out.

“What is it now,” Keiji sighs.

Lev, still halfway sprawled against Koutarou, peers down at the runes scrawled between them. “Kiyoko’s summoning something big,” he leans further in until his nose is nearly brushing the carpet. “Kenma, what are these for?”

“Kiyoko’s… what? This is confirmed?” Keiji’s eyes are narrowed to suspicious slits.

“We already knew this.” Kenma reaches out with a shaking hand, to clasp Lev’s shoulder. Lev jumps as though burned, but breaks into a bright grin at the touch. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! I mean, I wasn’t hurt or threatened or anything, she just took my phone. I’m not going to think about being an accessory to world-ending monster summons! So, aside from that, I’m fine. You look tired, though. Everyone’s tired, huh?”

“So we have confirmation,” Keiji repeats, “that Kiyoko is working on something. Sugawara has gone to help or hinder, and Kiyoko did not eat Lev.”

“Where’s Daichi?” Tadashi is swaying on his feet from looking around. His complexion is ashy and he’s trembling noticeably.

“He left,” Kenma replies shortly, “but we haven’t heard from Tsukishima since you left. Would you check on him?”

“He… what?” Tadashi’s reflexes are worryingly slow. If Koutarou could get up to help him, he would, but Lev is still here and the spell is still wrong.

Koutarou makes eyes at Keiji, but they’re not enthusiastic about guiding Tadashi toward the connecting door. The kid’s barely upright under his own power.

Lev still peers curiously down at the circle, and he mouths runes as he recognizes them. Kenma avoids eye contact, but he doesn’t try to hide himself or his magic, either. Keiji steps closer to break the tension.

“Kenma, what are you doing?” Kuroo asks, utterly toneless.

“Magic.”

“That’s your protection spell.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Protection spell?” Keiji asks, deflating from their suspicion just the smallest bit. Koutarou cocks his head to the side. Protection spell sounds damn good right now. Granted, they haven’t seen anything but panic and weird atmospheric magic so far, but it’s only a matter of time.

Kuroo doesn’t sound happy about it, though, and Koutarou generally trusts him. Kind of more than he trusts Kenma.

“Kenma, is this the same one that…?” Lev trails off, awkward, and raises his head to try to seek out Kenma’s eyes. Kenma turns from him, and shrugs a little. “Is that what your plan is? Okay.”

“I was under the impression that we were going to phase the god out of our realm,” Keiji says.

Lev lets out a loud, incredibly impressed noise. Koutarou doesn’t think it’d been a word.

Kenma doesn’t flush under the praise, or try to correct any of the technicalities. “Plans changed—”

Kuroo hauls him up by the back of his hoodie. Midna squeals and bats at Kuroo’s boot, utterly ignored, and Kenma hangs limply in Kuroo’s grasp.

“Hey, hey, be gentle! We’re working with a lot of sensitive magic here!” Koutarou says, double-checking to make sure nothing’s about to explode.

“What did he do?” Keiji asks.

“What’s wrong with the protection spell?” Lev asks.

Kuroo ignores all of them, angry now. Holding the unraveling tendrils of magic as best he can, Koutarou doesn’t know what he should do. If anything. Sometimes doing nothing is best, but those times are the hardest.

Kenma sighs. “This is the safer option.”

“This is the _you’re scared_ option!” Kuroo snarls. “This is a retreat, Kenma.”

“With enough magic, we could protect the whole building, perhaps more. It’d hold even against this thing—”

“And leave everyone else to die out there?!”

“We weren’t stopping it either way.”

“At least we were helping—stalling, saving others while they can work on something,” Kuroo says, disgusted, and drops Kenma. “…This isn’t a bad plan, but I thought you’d changed.”

“You always thought I was better than I am,” Kenma murmurs as he settles back down across from Koutarou.

“Gonna go check on the kids,” Kuroo mutters. The connecting door doesn’t slam behind him, but it’s louder than it should’ve been.

Kenma works silently, pulling sticky tendrils of stubborn magic back up into life, and begins winding it between Koutarou’s claws as if nothing has changed. Koutarou tries to stare at him, but Kenma’s an expert in avoiding eye contact.

Akaashi Keiji is an expert in forcing avoidant people to confront their issues. They sit next to them both, with the air of someone preparing to deliver a sentence, and Koutarou flinches away proactively.

Kenma loops another facet of the spell around his thumb. Koutarou feels rather like a captive audience.

“Tetsurou thinks very highly of you,” Keiji begins, “And I had been under the impression that we were going with our initial plan.”

“Our?” Kenma echoes.

“You two,” Koutarou groans. “C’mon!”

“You know I want to help. I’ve long wanted to help you. _We_ have. But you insist on throwing away every chance you get—”

“I didn’t ask for it!”

“Actually, you did,” Koutarou butts in. “You asked for tengu help. We’re very happy to give it!”

Kenma levels such a dark look at him, Koutarou almost feels ashamed.

“Anyway, I’d like to avoid an argument when we’re holding this much magic,” he continues, despite Kenma’s expression. “And _I_ want to save the realm, even if we can’t do it directly. So either we go back to the first plan and you stop being such a downfeathered coward about this, or you get to try to work with _Keiji_.”

“Why am I the punishment?” Keiji demands.

 _Because of the way Kenma is scowling_. With a scrunched nose and a fierce scowl, he glowers down at the magic stretched between them. Koutarou makes a show of flicking it off his fingers. Kenma grabs for him, holding his hands still, and his scowl impossibly deepens.

He spares Keiji a sidelong glance.

Keiji frowns darkly.

Kenma doesn’t say anything, but apparently he’s had enough dressing downs, because when he begins again, the magic between them takes on a different feel.

Koutarou grins. “We practiced at this one, so it’ll be fine! Besides, I didn’t get locked out of home not to save the human world. It seems like something we ought to be helping with.”

Kenma doesn’t respond.

 

\--

 

_Concrete, rebar, and twisted metal litter the ruined, uneven ground. The light is weak through all of the dust and smoke. The scene is still and empty until someone stumbles through, tripping over jagged edges of fallen buildings and a broken streetlight. He’s young, both in appearance and how he carries his fear. The boy’s dark hair is ash-colored now, and his clothes are both torn and stained. He carries a handgun in shaking hands._

_He coughs, a couple times, before calling in a hoarse voice, “Hello?”_

_There is movement, far-off in the dust, and he jogs toward it as quickly as he can manage._

_A figure leaps out of the thick air and lands on him._

_The gun goes off, but it doesn’t deter his assailant. The figure is glowing, pure white, but this isn’t the same unearthly monster from her other visions. Several wings, one full pair and a smaller pair half that size, flare out from its back._

_The only color in the scene is the red of the blood that splatters from the archangel’s claws._

_It’s quiet and still again. The wings curl around the fallen figure as if in a protective gesture._

_Kiyoko slides into the waking world without feeling as if she’d slept. Dried blood dots her pillow, itchy on her face, but she seems fine for the moment._

Archangel?

 

\--

 

Few basic wards can stand up to significant amounts of dead man’s blood. The ones Suga cuts through now were a front at best.

Kiyoko knows him, just as much as he knows her. He knows she wouldn’t return to her shop to work. She always performs big, complicated spellwork in a particular rarely used coven house closer to the suburbs. She long ago confessed it was her favorite for the seclusion, and the big, open living room with the bright windows she’s always loved.

Weak dawn light comes through the windows, illuminating the confinement circle that takes up the bulk of the room. While the wards on the house had been perfunctory, this magic is secure and strong and complicated. Suga would have to bleed himself dry to get through all of its layers.

He doesn’t try. He doesn’t step into the room at all. He locks eyes with the figure within the circle, and his knees grow weak. The archangel is only half settled, but while her hair is wild and several shades lighter, it’s still a noticeable brown, as are her eyes. Small wings flap in agitation from her back.

The archangel bares sharp teeth at him and throws herself at the wall of the confinement circle. Her cheeks shine with tears and she claws at the magic separating them with inhuman desperation.

“Yui,” Suga says, and falls to his knees before her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( curious about the new chapter count? curious about early updates? [this is a handy dandy link for you then](https://www.patreon.com/posts/bbac-update-no-12887204)! uh, otherwise, i dunno. i don't have much snark here that isn't spoilers or related to how many tears were cried in this chapter. thanks for sticking with me, guys.
> 
> 1Au revoir! = "Goodbye!" [ return ]  
> 2Bon sang. = "Damn it." [ return ] ))


	25. Tengu Are Comprised Solely Of Pride And Magic

Kiyoko reads over the spellwork again. Just because she successfully pulled one spell from a vision before does not mean she will slack off now.

“I don’t understand,” Suga says from where he is slumped by the doorway.

Kiyoko’s heart clenches. She keeps her back to him and Yui both. “Hello, Koushi.”

“Kiyoko, I don’t _understand_ ,” he desperately repeats.

She startles as soon as she sees his leg soaked in blood. “What happened?” His grief still hurts her. Her magic is prepared, but her heart is not.

“Fighting—risking my _life_ and Daichi’s against Ushijima! Trying to _stop_ this! And you’ve been here, doing _what_ , Kiyoko? H-Holed up with… with _that_ …” Yui throws herself against the circle again. “That’s Yui, isn’t it?” Suga adds in a small, wrecked whisper.

“Yes, it is. What she’s become.”

“Why the hell didn’t you _tell me_?”

“Because you’d stop us.”

 

\--

 

“They really stepped in it this time, huh,” Suguru says amicably.

“I’m freezing,” Kuguri replies from where he’s looped around Suguru’s neck. Mika huffs a little laugh above them, and Suguru scoots forward on the broom as gently as he can so Kuguri is happily nestled between them.

“I can’t believe he got away with it,” Suguru continues.

Beneath them, other witches remain poised on brooms, with the occasional spirit scattered amongst them. On the ground, a brightly shining figure leaves a trail of destruction in its wake. It hurts to look at it, like staring into the sun, but it’s not _too_ bad at this distance.

But they’ll have to get closer soon.

Mika stands in front of him with Suguru and Kuguri both wrapped around one of her legs to brace her. She’s been pulling water from remnants of the fog and all of the slush she can reach, and forming a growing bubble of water behind them. _Apsara are remarkable_ , he thinks, fondly, and rests his cheek against her thigh.

“Don’t jostle me,” Mika snaps without heat. “This is getting heavy.”

The plan is this: dump a shitton of water on this thing, freeze it immediately, and lord it over the coven witches for eternity. Plans rarely go off so easily, to be sure, but apsara are water spirits and they’re in the middle of a dreary winter day in the middle of a slushy, disgusting city. Water isn’t the hard part. Moving the water is, and freezing it fast enough. Suguru halfheartedly hopes that others will join in once they realize what’s going on, but he sure as sin isn’t going to _ask_ for their help.

“What if gods run hot?” Kuguri tonelessly asks.

“That’s what the cold _magic_ is for, Nao darling,” Mika replies.

“It’s Kuguri,” the cobra sighs. He nestles in a little closer to Suguru’s chest in a bid for warmth.

“You could have turned into something warm-blooded,” Suguru tells him, “or you could have flown yourself.”

“That takes _effort_.”

“Homeostasis or flying?”

Kuguri sighs, preemptively exhausted.

As they descend, the glowing dot beneath them is closer now, but it’s not moving quite so quickly. Maybe it had never been fast at all. The covens sure haven’t been able to do shit, what a shock.

“You ready for this, dear?” Suguru asks with another press against Mika’s thigh.

“I’m not,” Kuguri volunteers.

“We could get more water, but this much is probably enough to stop _something_ ,” she reasons. The bubble of water behind them is almost wide enough to be a problem taking between skyscrapers.

Suguru whistles appreciatively. “Have I ever told you that I’m both in awe of and madly in love with you?”

“You could stand to say it more,” Mika happily replies.

The incandescent figure below them isn’t a dot anymore. It’s also not so far beneath them.

“It’s—it’s coming up!” Kuguri realizes, and they backpedal as quickly as they can. He hears the splash of the water behind them losing some of itself.

The figure stretches—no, it doesn’t thin, it keeps growing like an unending snake unfurling itself. It isn’t moving fast, but it’s gaining distance towards them.

Other flying figures scatter, and none swoop over to help. Of course.

“Mika, can you move that water around fast enough to dunk it now?”

“I’m doing more than dunking it, and it requires some finesse—”

“ _Mika_!”

“Yes, but you have to stop moving for a second!”

“I’m not sure we have a second,” Kuguri replies. The thing beneath them, bringing with it a static-like pressure on their ears, begins sprouting what definitely don’t look like hands but are _absolutely_ hands all the same. There are too many of them, and they’re growing even faster than the main body.

They either zip up and gain height and lose their weapon, or they sit still and be really dumb heroes.

Suguru tightens his hold on Mika’s leg and brings the broom up smooth as he can. She growls at him as more water splashes out, breaking windows on the nearer building. “Sugu—” she begins, but he halts at a point just over the building’s roof and freezes perfectly.

“Move it fast, dear. Kuguri, can you cast magic as a snake?”

“Does it look like I have hands?”

Suguru sighs through his nose. “I better get a goddamn statue for being such a selfless hero.”

The hardest part is not moving the broom. Any pushback from magic could jostle them. Suguru isn’t the most talented witch around, no explosive power or finely tuned control, but he’s good at a variety of spells that help with absolutely _nothing_ like this. Kuguri can’t shift back into a human form without completely upending them both, and none of the other flying figures offer to help.

“You’re going to sit there and watch us get killed trying to save your asses?” Suguru shouts at the sky.

No answer comes from their spectators, but there is one from below: a deep, rumbling noise that is undeniably a chuckle.

“I hate being a bodyguard,” Kuguri says quietly, “but thanks for the job, I guess. Didn’t last very long.” He slithers off the broom.

Suguru clamps his hands down on the handle to prevent the shift in weight from throwing them both off. “You shit!” Suguru yells, perhaps terrible last words to someone.

Kuguri catches himself two stories down on batlike wings, and slowly shapeshifts from there. He lazily dodges the first two hands that reach for him.

The mass of water arches, casting strange shadows in the dim morning light. Suguru aims a magic arrow down at a tendril reaching for Kuguri, but he can only hit so many at a time. “You have to save enough magic to freeze this as fast as possible,” Mika growls.

“I _know_ that, but I don’t like letting others do my work for me.” He picks off another limb about to grab Kuguri’s wing, but he almost hits Kuguri. “ETA, babe!”

“Another minute!”

If the water weren’t directly over them, he’d tell her to drop it, but they can’t freeze shit if they’re splattered on the asphalt seventy stories below.

Suguru doesn’t do the disservice of looking away as the first hand grabs Kuguri. The figure’s body is opening like a flower sprouting, edged with jagged teeth. Kuguri kicks, shifts, tries to slither his way out in any number of forms. The water will still kill them if they drop it now, even if it’s to help him.

A monstrous wolf the size of a bear leaps off the neighboring building with a roar.

It catches both Kuguri and the deity in its jaws, ripping and thrashing, splattering raw magic like acid. Kuguri cries out, but the radiant figure draws away from the beast.

“You better have a fucking plan, because that’s a real fucking short term fix!” a voice calls down to them.

It takes Suguru a long moment to place the man glaring down at them from the adjacent rooftop: Kyoutani Kentarou. Suguru likes anyone willing to buck the rules, even if he normally plays nice with the covens. Right now, he likes heroes even more. 

“Mika,” Suguru says, and she makes an affirmative noise. Up to Kentarou, he shouts, “Shoot any magic you can at that thing, and when I say go, pull your puppy back!”

Kentarou doesn‘t have much magic, but he does have a pretty nice crossbow. Whatever the guy is shooting, it certainly gets the attention of the horror beneath them. Hands shoot up at them, one knocking Kentarou back from the roof’s edge. Suguru slices at the nearest one with wind magic. He’s not going to have enough left in him to freeze this much water, but he’s going to have to try either way.

Both dog spirit and shapeshifter tear at the monstrosity. Kuguri has shifted through several sets of wings to prevent further dismemberment. They don’t have much more time.

“Pull back, now!” he shouts, and nudges Mika’s leg. “Drop it.”

“But we’re—”

“We can get out of the way! C’mon, I’m not that rusty on a broom, am I?”

Mika gives him a disapproving look, but she halts the water above them. “Nao, _move it_!”

“Shigeru, let go of that thing and get out of there!” Kentarou yells. It’s not going to make him a popular person, but Suguru is not going to wait around for a rage spirit to let go of its prey. If Kentarou weren’t so busy shooting the hands crawling up towards him, Suguru may be facing the business end of that crossbow himself.

“Better hurry it up, puppy!”

“Shigeru, get your ass back here, _now_!”

Even Kuguri tries to pull the rage spirit away, but he can’t carry weight with shredded wings, and the thing isn’t making it easy on them. It’s close enough Suguru can’t even look directly at it.

“Drop it.”

“But,” Mika starts, and does not finish. She waits a painful moment, waiting for the others to pull back, before dropping several tons of cold water.

Suguru zips backward as fast as he can, but the water still catches the front half of the broom. Mika is pulled off, and the shift in weight sends him flying. He has no idea if either Kuguri or the inugami got away below.

He makes a desperate grab for the broom with a _pull_ spell, and nearly smacks himself in the face with it. He catches himself with his hands, hanging from his broom thirty stories above the ground. Half the block is covered in ice, inches thick and mostly opaque.

 _He_ certainly hadn’t done that.

“Ah, I think this is yours,” comes a voice from above.

Suguru is both overjoyed and disgusted to see Mika safe, if only because she is seated on Kinoshita Hisashi’s broom. As he helps her over, Suguru tells him, “You’re not getting credit for this.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask for it.” Hisashi looks down at all of the ice with a tenuous smile. Even the god below is frozen, a glowing ice sculpture twisted upward in the middle of a city block. “But we can maintain this. …Uh, thanks, Daishou, for helping us.”

Getting thanked, however uncomfortably, by an admittedly pleasant but admittedly loyal coven lapdog is nothing compared to the lack of a lazy cobra on his broom. Suguru peers over Mika’s shoulder at the mess of ice. He wraps his arms around her waist and mutters, “You better make sure that was worth it.”

There’s movement in the ice. A figure pops out, quadrupedal and shining with flames. At least Kentarou won’t kill them now. A second figure, matching the first, climbs out of the hole and collapses with such familiar exhaustion that Suguru can’t help but laugh.

Unfortunately, ice thin enough for two inugami to melt their way through isn’t strong enough to hold a demigod for long.

 

\--

 

Not only is Suga’s emergency grab bag not under his bed, and not only is the damned cat missing too, but Suga’s phone has been turned off completely. Daichi doesn’t know how many messages he’s left, but he is now left with nothing but the ugly realization that Suga has stranded him in the middle of a truly _remarkable_ amount of magical bullshit.

He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. He still has a headache leftover from his first run-in with that thing.

Suga left him. Suga _knocked him out_ and left him. He hadn’t told anyone anything—big surprise—and now Daichi has ditched the only other people he really knows in this mess.

He’s _so_ tired.

He has a magic-eating sword that works well enough, but he doesn’t know how to use a sword any more than a baseball bat. He needs a weapon he’s familiar with. He needs to know what the hell to do.

Daichi gives up on calling Suga.

He has limited contact with other known magical people, but he might not be totally alone up shit creek. Tadashi is still an option, even if Daichi has Opinions about asking a kid for help fighting evil, but he comes across _Tanaka Ryuunosuke_ first in his phone. He hits send before he can even think of how to approach this conversation.

He worries for a moment that his signal won’t hold, but Ryuu picks up after a single ring. The connection is scratchy but understandable. “What the fuck!” Or as understandable as Ryuu ever is.

“Alright, so I’m hoping you know what the hell is going on, because I’m lost, and I need—”

“No, you tell _me_ what’s going on!” Ryuu shouts with a crackle of static. “I’m headed back now, but all I’ve gotten are weird-ass news reports and a fucking cryptic text from Tora!”

“Ushijima summoned whatever it is that has everyone so scared, and that thing almost ate us. Everyone’s freaking out. Suga is—” Daichi swallows. “Suga’s gone. I don’t know where he is, or what’s going on, but he’s spooked and everyone else is spooked. Something to do with Kiyoko.”

Ryuu lets out a long list of expletives. The call cuts out before he finishes.

Daichi swears himself, and redials. It cuts out before it can go through, but his second try connects again. “Talk faster this time.”

“On my way back, ETA still an hour and a half. Tora mentioned a perimeter, so who the fuck knows how long it’ll take to get through that kinda shitstorm. You gotta contact Sae, man, she’ll know what’s going on and what to do.”

Daichi is in the middle of a shitty neighborhood, at dawn, running on zero sleep, and still in ruined formalwear. He wants to go shower, change clothes, and sleep. “Give me her number and address. I’m on my way to your apartment now. Where do you keep your spare key and spare guns?”

Ryuu doesn’t hesitate in giving him either. This time the signal dies for good.

The morning is frigid, and the air feels weirdly heavy. Not to the extent of that parking garage, but getting there. Daichi feels better when he makes it inside Ryuunosuke’s tiny apartment and into some temporary heat.

He feels a little guilty for borrowing clothes, but he needs something he can move in. He’ll pay him back later. He’s going to owe him drinks for the next year.

Ryuunosuke really owns a lot of guns.

There’s a shotgun in a case beneath the bed, two rifles in the closet, and a truly concerning amount of handguns stashed throughout the small apartment. Apparently, there are more locked in the safe in the utility closet, but Daichi doesn’t want to know what warrants being kept in a safe. Daichi takes more firepower than perhaps politely necessary, but it makes him feel better.

Though he knows it’s dumb, he does everything from restarting to shaking his phone to try to get it to work. He has Saeko’s address, but he needs his GPS—he only vaguely knows what direction she’s in from here. No calls will connect, and his battery seems to be dying faster than it should. Daichi puts it on power saver mode, pockets it, and heads in the approximate direction of Tanaka Saeko.

He hopes.

Every so often, he sees people zip around overhead. Some are on brooms, others look fairly nonhuman. Everyone seems to be in a rush, and none stop to offer help. In the cold morning, the city is eerily quiet. Daichi is used to early mornings, but not like this.

By the time his nose has gone numb and Daichi is sorely wishing he had doubled back for his car, the  phone signal has died for good, and the action is definitely heading away from him. He doesn’t see so many flying people anymore. More people are awake now, able to sense something off even without knowing what’s going on, and more than a few are angrily trying to start dead cars as Daichi passes.

A pair of cop cars shoot past on the icy street, lights flashing but sirens off, but that only brings to attention the fact that he hasn’t really seen any other kinds of emergency response. Surely even mundane officials have figured out something’s going on now, right?

Daichi starts reading street signs more carefully, and hopes his luck will hold out. But the closer he gets, the more he fears he’ll find an empty apartment and no more leads.

“We’re far enough that we shouldn’t run into anyone else who’ll recognize you,” Daichi hears from down the street.

He slows, and turns curiously, just in time to see a bulky man appear out of thin air. He’s quickly followed by another man with antlers, and the bulky man stretches with a familiar scowl.

As if the deer guy didn’t give it away, Daichi recognizes Ushijima.

“I have some bad news,” Deer Guy nods down the block to Daichi.

Daichi is partially hidden by a car near the corner, but he’s upwind. Still shocked, and still frustrated by his inability to do much else, Daichi reaches into his dogtags.

He doesn’t mean to pull out the shotgun, but it certainly makes for a strong statement.

“Kenjirou,” Deer Guy begins, but Ushijima raises an arm, and even the faint shimmer in the air behind him freezes.

At this range, the shotgun’s not the best, but it’ll also make a hell of a mess. In a voice so calm he even surprises himself, Daichi asks, “Do you have a backup plan?”

Silence.

Daichi, grinds his teeth, “You were trying to stop the god thing, right? Do you have _another plan_?”

“Yes,” Ushijima replies.

If he’s going to be fighting magical bullshit, he’d rather have magical bullshit on his side too, and the deathless man built like a brick seems like a pretty good runner-up to Suga. Most of the magical bullshit is going to be centered on the man who caused it, and Suga is definitely going to throw himself into the biggest mess he can find.

Daichi lowers the gun. “Tell me what you plan on doing, and how I can help.”

 

\--

 

“‘m starting t’get good at this,” Tooru slurs against his shoulder. He has carefully shorn away the sunshine yellow stone into a deep bowl, away from the howling wind and thorny vines above. The portal is still barely visible over the top of their hole, shimmering like a mirage.

“Yes, you are,” Iwaizumi tonelessly replies.

Tooru’s blood is all over his hands. His pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird; his heartbeat seems loud enough to echo off the strange stone. He can maintain consciousness now, and as long as he’s focusing on doing _something_ to the environment, it doesn’t seem so bad. Iwaizumi has already adjusted, and hasn’t strayed from Tooru’s side for an instant, even when the world began to shatter around them.

Now it’s quiet. The wind and creatures are far above them and Tooru has stopped shaking. He sits in Iwaizumi’s lap, legs draped over Iwaizumi’s thighs, chest-to-chest and head tucked somewhat awkwardly under his chin. He’s too tall to be like this, but Iwaizumi allows it, rubbing his back. His shirt is ruined with too much of Tooru’s blood.

“Gotta go back,” Tooru says wetly.

“You’ll die,” Iwaizumi replies.

“‘n I won’t here?”

Iwaizumi clings to him harder. “You’re getting used to it,” he says—means to say firmly, but it comes out as a weak sort of whisper. “You already survived this, remember? You’re not allowed to die now.”

“You told Miyanoshita…” Tooru trails off with a sigh. He turns another chunk of stone into fine sand, and extends his legs. “It’s okay, Iwa-chan. S’okay. S’okay to be scared.”

“You can’t take the psychic trauma of being put near a god again,” Iwaizumi tightens his grip. He wonders who is clinging to who for stability. “And I’m not leaving you.”

“‘m not mad.”

“You _should_ be mad about dying. _I’m_ mad about you dying.”

“You’re scared of me dying.”

“…Yeah. Terrified out of my mind, actually.”

“But you’re not exploding the Dreamlands around us.” Tooru pets clumsily at Iwaizumi’s back. “Neither ‘m I, anymore… Lookit how good we are, Iwa-chan.”

“Not good enough to put you on the same physical plane as a god.”

“Shouldn’t run away. Unbecoming of my bodyguard.” Tooru curls further into Iwaizumi. He’s still running cold. “Koushi will’ve already figured out a way to muffle this. Or—Or someone has, ‘kay? You can go ask them for help. We should go help.”

“We don’t know what will happen if we’re on opposite sides of that portal.”

“Can’t sit here on our hands.”

“I would prefer it if you did, actually.”

“Can’t keep my big, strong dragon bodyguard from helping.”

Iwaizumi goes back to rubbing circles along his spine. “Do you think dragon scales would work to help block everything from your mind?”

 

\--

 

Hitoka’s fingers shake. Her entire body is shaking. She may not _know_ how much rejuvenation potion it takes to overdose, but she thinks she’s approaching it.

But she’s upright under her own power, conscious, and no longer bleeding. She feels like she’s a superhero; she’s invincible, able to brush off anything that may happen to her, so long as her over-pumped magic holds out.

“Your nose is bleeding again,” Goshiki flatly points out.

Hitoka wipes it off on her sleeve, and continues her newborn fawn march. Goshiki dubiously follows. His talons make little _click-click-click_ sounds against the tile of the hospital. “We h-have to find my mother.” Hitoka eyes the handrail with envy. Goshiki guides her over to it. She still counts this as Upright Under Her Own Power. “Mom will know what’s going on. She’ll know what they did to me, and who, and wh-what I can do… Where I’m needed.”

“You know, when you asked me to knock out that doctor woman, I’d thought you had more of a plan than skittering down a hallway in the wrong direction.”

“What wrong direction? These elevators are nearer.”

“There were big windows back there.”

“I can’t fly,” Hitoka stresses, though she feels like she has enough magic to make anything possible. She wishes she had her bag, but that’s probably in some storage room, if not dissected to pull supplies from. Who knows, maybe she had stolen her own potions. Maybe her own potions had been stolen. Who even knows what kind of person she had been prior to… whatever happened.

Her head pounds and more wetness slides down her chin. Hitoka takes a break to press her fingers to her temple. She knows how to battle the symptoms—headache, dizziness, maybe some mild bleeding—but without more information, she doesn’t know what else to do. It’s not as if she’s a brain surgeon. Or memory surgeon? Or magical memory brain surgeon? Hitoka isn’t even done with medical school, how is she supposed to cut open her own skull to fix her brain?

One leg gives out beneath her, but Goshiki scoops her up. “You weren’t this bad earlier. What’s wrong?”

“I could be hemorrhaging and I’m not a magical memory brain surgeon!”

“What?”

Fear grips at Hitoka. This is not like her usual runaway trains of anxiety or worry. This is gripping at slick blood and facing her own mortality. This is half-stolen memories of desperately trying to keep Tobio from bleeding out beneath her. This is the faintest whisper of familiar smiles, and warm affection, and white wings. This is the terrifying realization that she can remember the feeling of a heart stopping its beating beneath her fingertips.

She knows she shouldn’t be chasing the rabbit down that rabbit hole, but her brain demands its gaps to be filled. “I can’t—make me think of other things! I have to reach my mother and you’ll have to take me and I need to keep going.”

“Yeah.” Goshiki seems uncertain, he also seems happy to get moving, and while Hitoka fears the situation as well as the prospect of the window he’s walking toward, she knows this is for the best. Probably.

 _Aren’t you supposed to_ not _move people when you’re unsure?_ She squeezes her eyes shut, then covers them with her hands for good measure, when Goshiki kicks out the glass like it was nothing. “Don’t drop me.”

Goshiki’s sneer deepens. “You’re already lucky enough to get _me_ playing bodyguard for you, and you think I’ll drop you?”

“How much practice have you had flying with a passenger? A-An injured passenger, no less! I’m losing blood, and while I can stop that, it really means you should be going very carefully! And what if there are other things flying about? There could be archdemons unleashed, or maybe this thing has wings, or maybe there will be mind-controlled witches and they’ll shoot us out of the sky and—”

Goshiki ducks out the broken window and into open air.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have much practice flying with a passenger, but terror at six stories up at least drowns out the memories clawing at her attention.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean,” Suga says, as strongly as he can manage. “Wh-What do you mean, stop you.”

Kiyoko puts her back to him. It’s a familiar tactic, from the rare times they’d argued in the past. It always ends up being these explosive, huge things. “You and I both know you over-worry and tend to believe in… alternative measures.”

Suga throws himself at the circle.

He honestly expects to sink through the magic, to be able to touch Yui and reassure himself that it’s _her_ , she’s alive against all odds, she’s _here_ again. Holding her again would ground him instead of sending him further down this slide into hysterics.

But he bounces off like it’s made of glass.

“If you break my circle, or attempt to, I’m going to have to stop you.” Kiyoko’s shoulders are a rigid line, her entire frame tense. “Please, don’t make me stop you.”

“Why can’t I go through it?” Suga is no spirit, and this isn’t a circle made to keep out living or dead things. He studies the runes at their feet. “This is… what is this, Kiyoko? I know what you’re—no, actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know what this magic is, or what you think you’re doing—or why the fuck _Yui_ is here and you didn’t—you didn’t _tell_ me—”

He sags against the barrier, wrung out, dry-eyed and exhausted and still wishing to curl up in a ball and make this disappear.

To his shock, Yui kneels in front of him. These are not the movements of a monster trying to get at him. Suga stares at her, trying to search out any familiarity in her too-bright features.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoko says, “but the circle is made to confine angels. That means both ways, Koushi.”

It doesn’t sting as much as it could.

But what does hurt is when Yui echoes, “Koushi,” and places a hand gently against the space where Suga’s fist is.

“She’s still herself,” Suga realizes aloud. “Kiyoko, she’s still—!”

“I have had to fight her and put her down, both as herself and as a feral beast,” Kiyoko calmly interrupts. “I have had to hide her, and save her, and confine her, Koushi. I know who she is, and yes, so does she… at times.”

“Then what are you doing, locking her in this thing? What are you doing, keeping _me_ out of all of this?! Ushijima caused this mess, and you’re trying to make it _worse_?” Suga’s knuckles are white and Yui pets at the space between them, as if to soothe him.

“Koushi, Koushi.”

“Why did you keep this from me?” Suga quietly asks. “At what point did I lose you?”

“You’d stop us,” Yui replies.

Suga’s throat closes up, and he bows his head, resting it against the confinement circle. Yui makes a soft sound, meaning to comfort, but it only hurts more.

“Are you actually Yui?”

“Most of the time,” Yui replies with something near humor. Familiar, self-depreciating humor. “The one and only, unfortunately. Even if you smell kind of like a steak right now, and even if I still want to—to just fight my way out of here and—”

The glow has lessened, enough to where he can see the tears shining on her cheeks. That starts him crying in earnest again. They’ve always been able to make each other cry at the drop of a hat.

“This is the only way, Koushi,” Yui tells him through her sniffles. She rubs clawed hands against her eyes to try to stem the tears. It doesn’t work. “I wanted to help. Oh, god, I wanted to help _so much_ , even if it meant all of this. I’m a monster now, but I can—I can still help Kiyoko—but I wanted to see you _so bad_.”

“I’m sorry, Koushi,” Kiyoko repeats.

“What would I have stopped you from? Why couldn’t you have just told me? I came back—everyone thought I was a monster, but I came back, and I still have a life here. Kenma summoned a demon and he’s living fine here. Kei is a chimera, but he hasn’t been caught yet. We could have figured out a way together!”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Yui says.

“We know the way out,” Kiyoko adds, “but you would have stopped us.”

“Of course I would!” Suga exclaims, rage overtaking the sorrow and fueling him. “Are you two—okay, Kenma said that you were going to…”

Yui saves him the trouble of trying to say it. “Yeah,” she replies with a gleaming smile. “It’s okay, Koushi. This is our plan, and it’s going to work. Kiyoko’s got this, right?”

“She’s going to sacrifice you,” Suga says.

Yui nods.

Kiyoko, across the room, sinks to her knees with a choked sob.

 

\--

 

They need blood for the targeting parameters of the spell. It wouldn’t do to phase out half the city, or get anyone else caught in the crossfire, and the magic will last longer if it is only affecting a specific thing. All good reasons, but it still means that they have to go fetch the blood of a god.

With Kenma and Bokuto tied up with the actual spellwork, and Morisuke unwilling to leave Lev and Tsukishima, and Tadashi taking a well-deserved rest (read: he passed out), _and_ considering the fact that they still have a rather restless tengu who wants to burn off some energy, it’s an easy pick as to who will do it.

Tetsurou volunteers, too. It’s not like he’s helping, after all.

It takes Kenma talking Tetsurou through talking Keiji through how the radio works and Morisuke shedding luck and tying a scarf too-tight around Tetsurou’s neck before Kenma stops glaring at Keiji like they’re making a personal theft of Kenma’s demon. Tetsurou halfheartedly wishes the protective feelings would manifest as something else, but mostly, he’s annoyed.

Kenma tried to run away again, and it hadn’t been Tetsurou who dragged him back. It stings.

Keiji awkwardly thrusts their fingers through Tetsurou’s, tugging him toward them. “Are you going to freak out when we fly?” The corner of their mouth quirks up when they see Tetsurou gulp. “Shadow or in my arms. Don’t freak out either way.”

Tetsurou has never actually _tried_ being someone else’s shadow, but he’d much prefer the absolute minimum amount of flight. He curls up around Keiji’s talons, and it’s only after they’re in the stairwell to the roof that he realizes their goodbyes were lackluster.

“Keiji?” He hates the small voice. “Can you tamp down your tengu arrogance for a moment and be straight with me? Do you think this might be a bad idea?”

“We need blood of a god, don’t we?” Keiji replies. They open the door to the roof, and the wind whips at them. Keiji shivers against it, but they take a deep breath of fresh air and allow themselves a smile. “We aren’t meaning to subdue or kill. It’ll be fine.”

“I can hear you,” comes Kenma’s voice over the headset. Keiji grimaces and tries to mess with the volume until it’s at a more reasonable level. Tetsurou hears Kenma say something else, and Keiji’s smile vanishes.

“Commanding even from afar,” Keiji grumbles, and flaps into the air. Tetsurou clings a little harder to their leg. Maybe flying this way had been a bad idea. He concentrates on not looking down, instead burying what face he has into the light-colored feathers on Keiji’s thigh. “I’m going to draw this thing’s attention upward, and you’re going to sneak along the ground until you can reach it. Once you do, I’ll attack. Your job is to fill that vial with blood.”

Tetsurou winds his way up to Keiji’s hip and flicks the little vial hooked onto their skirt. “I’ve worked with enough blood, at least.”

“I suppose we should hope it’s not corrosive to demons.”

Kenma’s voice is clearly annoyed in the headset. Keiji looks as if they _greatly_ regret putting it on.

They see it from afar: a radiant dot in the wreckage of several collapsed buildings. This high, the thinner air doesn’t taste so foul, but just looking at that thing sets Tetsurou’s teeth on edge.

“Are you feeling as grossed out about that as I am?”

“I think so.” Keiji jostles in midair when Keiji adjusts the headset, and Tetsurou clings harder with a curse. “Yes, we see it. No, it doesn’t see us. Are you going to be interrupting us the entire time?”

Tetsurou wishes he could have been the one to have the headset and hear Kenma’s voice. At least as a shadow, no one can see him pouting. “Tell Kenma we can take care of ourselves.”

“Tetsurou says you need to keep quiet and let us work, since you’re too busy to prepare what you need for the spell yourself.”

“That’s _not_ what I said!” Tetsurou tightens his hold on Keiji until they wince, even if they look incredibly pleased at the same time. “Why did I want to help you? Ugh.”

Tetsurou can’t help but watch their descent—as much as his heart hammers at the view of the ground so far below. Other figures hang cautiously in the air around them.

Closer, the pressure rings in Tetsurou’s ears. A terrifying amount of ice encases most of a city block, but it looks as if something has already carved its way out. Tetsurou would take a wild guess and say that something is the same something that is crawling up a building half a block down.

It trails limbs and bits of itself like it’s melting, though it doesn’t slow. Each arm has too many joints, making it look like a monstrous spider. Its many-antlered head swivels around on a long stalk as they near. Tetsurou cannot see any eyes or mouth or defining features, but he feels its gaze on them.

Tetsurou gets as far as opening his mouth to warn Keiji before the thing shoots a spear-like limb up at them.

Keiji veers hard. It goes through their flight feathers, missing flesh by inches.

“What the _hell_?” Tetsurou shifts around to Keiji’s other side. “How the hell did it see us already?!”

“I’m dropping you off. Circle around,” Keiji swoops under another attack, and pulls Tetsurou off with one of their feet.

He didn’t think they meant dropping literally, but with little remorse, Keiji does just that. “ _Keiji_ —!” Tetsurou shouts, climbing out into a settled form—just in time to see the flash of white feathers as Keiji disappears over the far edge of the roof. “Oh, god. That asshole. I can’t fly!”

He looks over the edge of the building. Ice reaches halfway up in a jagged slope, and the monstrous thing is two buildings down, still taking shots at Keiji. At least the distraction part is easy enough. He doesn’t understand why it’s so keen on Keiji, except maybe viewing them as the biggest threat, but it works in their favor.

Ears ringing, avoiding looking at the ground, Tetsurou hauls himself down. The ice makes a decent ladder, strong enough to easily support his weight.

With a huge _crunch_ , the colorless, antlered monster shoves several of its sharp limbs through the building it’s on. Walls crumble and the building groans. Tetsurou thinks he hears shouts of a few of the nearer useless watchers. The building tilts precariously. The deity _crunches_ through another section of wall, then slithers up around the far side of the building and out of sight. Now missing too much wall, the building tips forward past the point of return. Concrete and metal crash downward, and Tetsurou watches until he realizes it’s coming a little too close.

He races down the ice, using it as a shield between himself and the building, but he’s losing ground. It’s too high and too sharp to just jump, but Tetsurou is beginning to seriously consider that option—when someone zips underneath the falling building on a broom and catches him around the waist. They pull back up as the building crashes down onto the mountain of ice, dust blowing up everywhere. Coughing, Tetsurou twists around to look at his savior, but he doesn’t know this person.

“Hey—thanks,” Tetsurou forces out between dry hacking.

The witch peers over at him, then her eyes go wide. She scoots back to the very end of her broom. “D-Demon! You’re a demon!”

“Did the tail give it away, or the claws?”

Tetsurou easily curls away from her kicks, but the broom twists in the air and he’s left clinging to the little stick like a frightened cat. “Who the hell summoned a demon when we have this to deal with?” the witch snarls, haloed in lightning.

Behind her, Tetsurou sees Keiji pelting down toward them, talons extended.

There’s only so much room on a broom, and Tetsurou’s body locks up when the witch arcs the electricity between her hands and onto him. He can’t even scream, though it feels as if every nerve is on fire.

They tumble over in the air from the force of Keiji’s attack, but they right again before Tetsurou can fall off.

The witch, still clutching her broom, stares down in horror at the talons poking through her chest. With practiced ease, Keiji rips her off one foot, and and catches the broom with their other. “Are you okay?”

Tetsurou stares down at where the witch had fallen. He could have warned her.

“Tetsurou is fine,” Keiji says into the headset. “Yes, I have him. I have a broom for you, too, if you’d stop squawking in my ear so much.”

Tetsurou can hear Kenma still speaking, but Keiji makes a disgusted sound and turns the volume down again. “He’s worried,” Tetsurou croaks, defensive for both of them. Keiji casts a judgmental eye on him, but Tetsurou _not_ afraid of Keiji’s temperament right now. “C’mon, let’s go get that blood before anything else decides to have an opinion about you.”

“I have an opinion about you,” Keiji grumbles. Still holding the broom, they gently descend.

“Oh yeah?” Tetsurou asks as he scans the ruin below for any sign of the god thing.

“You need to be more careful.”

“I’ll remember that, next time I’m running for my life from a building.”

“Kenma says he did not survive the contract ending just to become a widower now, but I’d like to point out that you two are not married. He is also very aggravated that I used this terminology.” Keiji rolls their eyes. “He’s worried.”

It kind of makes him feel a tiny bit better. A very tiny bit.

What _greatly_ makes him feel better is when Keiji lets him land on blessedly solid ground. Dust and ash still hang in the air with that unearthly fog, but there’s nothing huge here to drop on them at a moment’s notice. Then again, no god thing, either. Tetsurou sniffs the air, but his nose stings from all of the gross magic.

“Stay settled, if you can. I’ll find it and draw it back this way,” Keiji says, then takes back to the air.

The thing is smaller now. It stands, thin and crooked, and it might only be ten feet tall at this point. The only sign of its massive earlier self is the cracked concrete from where it must have landed. It moves in jerky twitches, looking with what must be a head, for all of its antlers. It curls with each new angle it searches out.

It stops looking around when it sees them.

“Y̵̨a҉̡͟ ͢k̸͝a̧d̨͜i͏s̡h͘̕͢t҉̨u̶͏.”

Tetsurou had no clue it actually _spoke_ , even if he doesn’t understand it. Though he can’t look directly at it, and its voice is indescribable for how empty it is, he has the distinct impression that it’s _smiling_.

“I ̕k̶no͢w ͞y҉ou.”

“Go,” Keiji hisses at him, and Tetsurou sinks into their shadow without a second thought. It dampens the overwhelming atmosphere just enough for Tetsurou to collect himself.

He slithers away, intending to circle around and sneak up on whatever behind is for this kind of thing, but he hardly gets a dozen paces.

Tetsurou doesn’t register Keiji’s shout until he is being pried upward with a hook through his chest. It pumps magic into him, foul and alien and agonizing, and forces Tetsurou out of anything he tries to hide himself in. Shadows, settled form—Tetsurou is left writhing as a mass of blackness and tendrils. It hauls Tetsurou into the air as if he weighs nothing.

“You̢ we͘re ͟th̛e̷ first ̨tǫ k̸i̧ll̡ y̶ha̷͢͡f͞h’̵͠d̕͏r̕͟n͏,̨” it says just as Tetsurou cuts off of the spike impaling him.

Despite the adrenaline and fear, he can hardly stand, much less run. The god beside him is a bright spot pressing against his brain, worming its way into his thoughts. Tetsurou can’t move, even when it raises another limb to strike again.

Keiji swoops in to drag him into the air. Tetsurou can’t feel anything except the faintest of pinpricks where Keiji’s talons dig into him. “Are you alright?” Keiji demands, then a moment later, into the headset, “ _Yes_ , he’s still in one piece, he’s just unresponsive.”

“‘m fine,” Tetsurou croaks. Not even the spike of fear from the ground falling away behind them can snap him out of this. “Keiji, ‘m not fine.”

“That was quick.” Keiji swings around in the air, and hangs high above the bright speck beneath them.

They can look at it now without feeling as if their eyes are melting. It stretches up below, a thin and kinked line of radiance as it branches upward. _It’s still smiling_. Keiji doesn’t fly away, and Tetsurou fearfully wonders if they’re dangling him like bait. He’s going to be fed to this thing, a sacrifice to its unearthly hunger.

 _“Such͠ a ̧sm̧al̨l͢, weak m̧n̕҉a̴͏͘h̷̶͘n̸'͜ ͝s͜h̴̡o̧͝g͘g̡͠o͘t̴h̷̡͞_.” As the voice and the being beneath him reach for him, he feels its tendrils in his brain. Its body peels apart, revealing row after impossible row of needle-like teeth.

Tetsurou is abruptly yanked into the air, and after a sharp slap to the head, finds himself staring into furious steely eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Keiji demands with worry thick in their voice.

The thing is far below them again. It has not moved, and Tetsurou is no longer dangling and dripping from Keiji’s talons, but held securely. Protectively.

“Are you okay?” Keiji asks. Their headset crackles with Kenma’s surprisingly loud concern. “Tetsurou, look at me. Look at _me_. Don’t look at that thing again. I’m taking you back.”

“I—the blood, though?”

Keiji scoffs, shaking their head. “To hell with that, we underestimated this. That thing remembers me, and we can figure out another way. You’re compromised.”

Anger snaps Tetsurou back into something that feels a little more like himself. “I’m _fine_ now! Just bleeding a little, but that’s never stopped anyone, has it? We need that blood, otherwise that spell won’t work.” _And Kenma will go back to the protection spell_.

It wouldn’t be so bad to get the building safe, especially if that unholy monster remembers Keiji. But Kenma would use up the angel’s grace, and it would take too much time. It would be a loss for Kenma to go back to that.

“This isn’t an argument. We’ll go back, and—”

Neither of them notice the thing snaking its way up to them until an oily tendril wraps itself around Keiji’s ankle.

It whips them both out of the sky in an instant.

Keiji breaks most of their fall, and they slice away the deity’s hold on them. Blood splatters over them both, oily and hot, and Tetsurou almost laughs. Too bad they need that in a vial.

The monster crashes toward them with the _crunch_ of concrete and more broken buildings, and goes through Tetsurou to get to Keiji.

He’s known that demons are durable for spirits, but he does _not_ want to push the boundaries of exactly how much he can take. Tetsurou kicks at the shaft stuck through his chest and hip, but the god doesn’t even notice.

Keiji almost manages to get into the air again, but it wraps around their leg up to the thigh this time, and squeezes. Tetsurou can hear the bones snapping even from where he hangs. Keiji curls around their broken leg, teeth gritted in pain, but they _glare_ at the god, and hack off the limb with a slice of wind magic. Tetsurou can see their mouth moving, speaking into the headset, and he thinks he sees his name amongst the words, but his ears are ringing too much.

Yet, he still hears it speak. “O͜r̵r͠'e͞og̶ ̕s̵̸͞y̢̕͢h̕a'̵̧h, y͠ou ҉wil͠l s͘uf͘fer͟ no͡w f̧or̨ t͜he̸ ͝p͝a̶st p̴a̵ins y͜o҉u͜ ha̸ve inf̧licte͟d.” It lifts Tetsurou above it, daring Keiji to come closer. Tetsurou shakes his head wildly, but unsettled, he doesn’t know how much body language carries over. “T͘he̷n,̧ I ͠wi̧l͏l ͘ta͞k҉e your li͘f̕e f͜or ̶mys͝elf.”

Feeling its hooks in him and dripping black blood down onto its shining body, Tetsurou knows it is not a hallucination this time. The thing peels into a many-sided mouth, and some pulsing, hideous lump spills out, curling up towards Tetsurou, and he realizes it’s a _tongue_.

It burns when it touches him.

Tetsurou can’t settle, but he slides between every claw and hook and spear that tries to pull him into that mouth. Keiji’s slashes clears as much of the way as they can, but they can’t get close enough as the thing sprouts more waving limbs.

Tetsurou slithers between clenching, grasping limbs and Keiji shears off another. They see each other. Tetsurou reaches out as Keiji dives in for him, and he can hear them talking again, shouting into the headset. “We need help _now_ —someone has to help me get Tetsurou out of here! _Now_ , Kenma!”

Tetsurou manages to grab Keiji’s hand as the monstrosity catches him.

He doesn’t feel much pain, just overwhelming pressure around his middle and the pricks of Keiji’s claws. Keiji is ripped away from him by a spike through their wing, and Tetsurou falls against another incandescent part of the thing. With the little claws curling up toward him, he wonders if it’s meant to be a hand, too.

The hand tilts Tetsurou up, and he looks down, at the teeth still chewing on his body. Black blood fizzles against them. Keiji is still shouting, desperately, and magic crackles around them.

The thing opens its jaws impossibly wide for one last bite, and Tetsurou sinks into blackness.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean, _unresponsive_?” Kenma shouts into the headset.

Lev and Morisuke watch over the edge of the couch. “Let me go get them, Kenma,” Morisuke says.

Kenma’s magic snaps, as if it is just as angry as the witch. Bokuto sits straight-backed in the circle with him, radiating his own kind of barely-restrained tension.

“It’s eating higher spirits,” Kenma mutters,and furiously continues writing runes in the circle around them. “Akaashi, you need to get Kuro away from there. Sugawara said there was psychic interference, and who knows what kind of—what was _that_? What do you mean you hit him?”

Rare as it is, Lev doesn’t like it when Kenma raises his voice. “How is Akaashi doing?”

“Akaashi can fight,” Bokuto says stiffly.

“It’s not a matter of fighting, I think it’s a matter of getting them out of there,” Morisuke points out. “This doesn’t sound like it’s as easy as we thought. Even tengu have issue with—”

Bokuto’s head whips over to them with a glare so fierce Lev ducks back down behind the couch. “Now isn’t the time for fighting! We need to help them!”

“They got separated,” Kenma hisses, “and Akaashi probably can’t jump with Kuro. _Or_ Morisuke.”

“They might have to try, if it’s going that poorly,” the bakeneko points out with little pity.

Kenma doesn’t respond, listening to the headset. Lev wishes he could hear what was going on. He thinks the spirits can, based on their rapt attention. “Kuro is compromised and they’re coming back. Someone needs to get them.”

Kenma stares down at the circle of magic he and Bokuto are trapped within. They’ve made good progress, but the magic won’t hold without them.

“Give me a broom,” Lev says. “Enchant it for me! I can go meet them.”

Morisuke shoves him back down behind the couch with a paw. “You can’t fight, and you were already kidnapped once.”

“I wasn’t kidnapped! I want to help, and I don’t like the reminder that I helped start something bad!”

Morisuke falls silent, and hangs back over the couch.

Then, Kenma’s face grows pale, and Bokuto nearly jumps to his feet. Kenma barely grabs him in time. “Stasis circle,” Kenma croaks. His wide, frightened eyes find Morisuke’s. “Put the circle in stasis right now, Morisuke. We have to go get Kuro.”

“I don’t know how to put just the magic in—”

“Then get Tadashi!” Bokuto snarls. “Someone take this spell from us _now_!”

“What happened?” Lev asks.

“It got Kuro,” Kenma very carefully stands, and begins pulling magic off of Bokuto’s claws as delicately as he can manage.

“You’re undoing all of the work that we need,” Morisuke points out, ears flat. “And Tadashi can’t use any more magic right now. You two have to stay put and keep working—I’ll go get him.”

“You can’t fight,” Bokuto growls.

“I’m not useless, I can jump as well as you, and it can’t be that hard to find them. You two have to stay put.”

“It’s eating Kuro!” Kenma cries, so terrified that the room freezes.

Lev vaults over the couch and goes through Kenma’s scattered things until he comes up with a marker. Bokuto, on his feet, tries to leave the circle, magic splintering around him. Morisuke zips toward them, and a stasis circle springs up around them.

“Let us out, cat!” Bokuto roars and slams his hands against the wall.

Lev’s circle is crooked, but it will work, and he is somehow managing to write just as fast as a panicked Kenma. He’ll congratulate himself later. He knows so many of these runes now, but he strains his memory for the proper ones.

“You’re just letting him _die_?” Bokuto snarls. “You’ve hated him from the beginning! You never bothered to care about him, you always wanted Kenma to get rid of him, now you’re just going to let him _die_!”

“You’re staying here,” Morisuke growls right back. They’re nose to nose, a thin shine of magic separating them. “And I’ll go, because I’m not heartless, and I’m returning a favor. If you break all the progress we’ve made, then all of this will be for nothing!”

“Stop shouting for two seconds!” Lev yells. “Kenma, can you see this from there? Will this work?”

Kenma stares hard at the summoning circle Lev has just drawn. Lev feels like he's holding his breath.

“Do it.”

Lev may have promised to never summon a demon, but he thinks this counts as an extenuating circumstance. Demons are the biggest sentient thing someone can summon without a sacrifice; Lev knows the technical side of this, but he has never summoned anything so large, nor tried anything like this before. The drain on his magic is immense.

 _Too_ much. The circle pulls at magic he doesn’t have, and Lev falls to his hands and knees, just before a flash of light signals the end.

When he sucks in a breath, it’s little more than a rattling wheeze, but there is definitely a demon in his circle.

Morisuke is the first to speak up. “Is that Kuroo?”

Still trapped, Kenma and Bokuto stare with bated breath. Morisuke won’t approach it, leaving Lev to weakly prod it.

The demon groans. The pool of black blood beneath it spreads, until Lev scrambles away on jellied limbs.

“Ow!” Bokuto suddenly says, jumping. “Kenma—!”

“Phasing spell,” he replies, and pushes Bokuto through the stasis field. He follows a moment later, his own blood slicking his palm. Kenma falls to his knees beside the injured demon, but Lev doesn’t feel any relief until he sees the tears shining in his eyes. “Kuro…?”

“Ken… ma,” the demon replies, reaching for him.

Lev flops against the ground with the world’s hugest sigh of relief. “I did it. God, that was so hard. I don’t see how the bad guys have so much energy for summoning all of this nasty stuff!”

“You dumb kid,” Morisuke says, fondly, and watches as Kenma scoops Kuro up with a wet sniff. Morisuke lands on Lev’s stomach, and peers into his face. “You don’t have it in you for another, do you?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“At least someone with a heart is thinking.” Bokuto tries to smile for Lev, but it still comes out pained. “Is he going to be okay, Kenma?”

“I… don’t know. I can’t heal him with my blood anymore.”

“Well, what could?”

“Demon blood, maybe? Food? I don’t know, he’s never been this—” Kenma takes a deep breath. “Kuro, you’re going to be fine.”

Kuro doesn’t respond, nor is he moving anymore.

“Demon blood?” Morisuke asks, and disappears.

“Tsukki is part demon,” Lev says to the ceiling. “Or Kenma could summon another.”

“But what about Akaashi?”

“Lev,” Kenma says, and Lev sits up with a groan. “I need you and Tsukishima to watch over Kuro for me. And make sure Morisuke maintains that circle around our work.”

“What about you?”

When Kenma leaves Kuro in the circle, his eyes are dry and his brows are drawn low. Bokuto grins at the dark look and holds out his hand. “We’re going to go get Akaashi,” Bokuto declares, “and kick that god’s ass.”

 

\--

 

Keiji does not know where Tetsurou went, but they know that magic had been involved, and the god before them is not happy about it.

Kenma has gone silent on the headset for now, but that is also fine with Keiji. Without a need to get so close, they gain distance, dodging furious grabs with laughable ease. A broken leg doesn’t impair flying ability, even if they don’t like the blood dripping down from their feathers.

It is a simple matter to make the god bleed. It appears to have little sense of pain, and even less desire to dodge or block attempts at attacking it. Keiji has cut any number of writhing tendrils, but they don’t know how to get any of the blood without someone else distracting it for them.

Scanning the skies, they don’t see any convenient voyeurs or some shocking cavalry.

They really ought to just leave, but they feel like they have an advantage again. Surely it can’t take that long to squeeze some blood from a severed limb.

Eyeing the twitching severed limbs scattering the broken concrete below, Keiji realizes there is an even simpler solution. They can get the blood later; they can grab one of those unholy things and leave now. Keiji’s instincts have been screaming at them to _run, go, LEAVE!_ this entire time, and escape seems vastly preferable.

Keiji waits until the monstrosity aims another attack upward, still raging over its loss of a hostage, and then darts down beneath it. They open the talons of their unbroken foot wide, aiming to grab one of the smaller pieces.

Just as they grasp it, it bursts back into life. Keiji backpedals as the tendril erupts into dozens of wriggling tentacles, all climbing up their leg. Keiji shouts and tries to throw it away, but it _burrows_ its way into their skin. They ignite their claws with fire magic, but get no farther than bracing themselves before the rest of the monster collides with them.

It wraps a tendril as wide as Keiji’s thigh around their waist, and pulls them toward its crooked main body. Keiji tries not to look directly at it, but it twitches all around them. They are far more solid than Tetsurou; they claw and struggle and kick, but their wings are pinned to their sides.

“Y͏ou͘ h͞a̧ve b̷ee̢n ̴a thor͠n̴ ͟in ̢my͏ ͟şide,” it tells them in an echoing, awful voice.

Keiji’s wings may be pinned, and one leg is broken and the other is still full of bulbous, hideous worm-like parasites, but  they can still move it. With a talon hooked into its neck, Keiji rips half its head from its body.

The god screams, voice rising into inaudible registers, leaving Keiji’s ears pounding and feeling far too wet. They’re dropped, and they catch themselves clumsily, dizzy from the shriek. Blood drips from their talons, sloughing away the remains of the burrowing tendrils.

They’re caught again, this time by a whip-like limb coming around their wing like a vice. Its grip breaks feathers and bone before Keiji can react, and they hit the ground with a _thud_ that sounds final.

Keiji stares at their broken wing. They could get aloft again with magic, but they couldn’t move very quickly. They’ve flown on a broken wing before, too; there is no maneuverability, and it had only been broken in one place, not this shattered mess.

They can’t jump, not this close to the fiend, not with all of its foul magic swamping the air. They need distance. They don’t care _how_ , they don’t care if it’s crawling away or flying or getting _thrown_ —they need to get away. They will not die like this. They must find Tetsurou, and return to Koutarou, and ensure Kenma’s spell goes right.

They must make it back home.

With a mass leaning down toward them, likely meant to be a reforming head, the god lifts Keiji by their broken wing. This time, when it grows a mouth, it doesn’t split its entire body to do so. It opens a mouth stuffed full of too many teeth, and brings Keiji to it.

They draw back their better leg, but it catches their ankle and flips them around so they’re being held upside-down. Dangling, Keiji does not waste the opportunity to slash at its open mouth and lolling tongue. They are splattered with blistering gore, but the thing snickers, quiet and rumbling.

It grabs Keiji’s unbroken wing. Keiji shifts into the motion, anticipating another swing, even if they must attack with shattered limbs.

The vile god pulls.

With one leg and one arm being pulled in opposite directions, the agony is immense. They don’t want to die here. They _can’t_ die here.

The god’s mouth explodes.

Keiji barely hears the second gunshot. The thing holding them writhes, screaming in such pain that its voice leaves their hearing range, leaving Keiji’s head ringing and ears wet.

In its thrashing, Keiji’s wing is ripped off when they are thrown.

They land heavily on the other side of the artificial clearing. Wind knocked from them, they cannot parse out the pain; pain paralyzes them.

Keiji manages to lift their head to look at where their wing had been. _I can’t fly_. Panic does not filter through the pain yet, and training takes over. _I can’t fly. I have to get away. I can’t fly. Have to get away._ With tremendous effort, they roll onto their stomach and onto their feet. Their broken leg almost gives out beneath them.

Behind them, the monstrosity continues shrieking. Fighting panic, Keiji hardly gets three paces before they collapse. They have to _get away_. They don’t know where Tetsurou is, they cannot fly, and they cannot jump. Hot blood contrasts against the cold of the surrounding air, and makes them shiver.

They get far enough away to jump into blessed empty space.

 

\--

 

“Kenma and Bokuto are leaving,” Morisuke says when he _pops_ into the room. Tadashi flinches at the fresh magic. It feels like sandpaper against a fresh wound, except there is no wound, just a hollowness where magic belongs in him. “But Kuroo is back. They’re going to get Akaashi. We need help.”

“That was fast,” Tadashi murmurs.

Kei doesn’t respond, but at least his eyes have regained their usual sharpness now.

Morisuke glances back at the connecting door with a suspiciously guilty expression. “It was. Lev summoned him back.”

“So Lev finally gave in to the bad influence and summoned a demon. So what.”

Morisuke bristles, but Tadashi is glad that Kei is back to snark. Snark is good. “He’s dying,” Morisuke says harshly, and Kei’s expression snaps back to something raw and wounded.

“What do you mean dying?” Tadashi shakily asks. Kuroo had been in there, checking on them, not half an hour ago. They’d had a plan. “What happened?”

“What can we do to help?” Kei demands.

“Kenma can’t fix him, and he’s headed out. We need demon blood.”

Kei tries very hard to sigh, but he’s steeling himself. Tadashi goes to support him when he stands, but Tadashi ends up being the one who needs a hand to steady him.

Lev is curled on his side next to some kind of summoning circle with bad handwriting. The black lump, slowly bleeding, must be Kuroo.

“Do I just bleed on him? Does he have to be fed blood?”

“That seems like a demon thing,” Lev offers. “Kenma always smeared his blood on him and it helped.”

Tadashi is about to ask what he can do to help when he sees the second stasis circle. It surrounds a half-unraveled spell, the remains of Kenma’s work, and Tadashi had no idea that they had left in the middle of it. “Is that okay there?”

“Should be.”

The boys separate. Kei kneels beside Kuroo, and Tadashi falls next to the frozen spellwork. The stasis field itself appears stable, but the magic within crackles like little fireworks.

“We still need the blood, too,” Lev helpfully points out. “Unless we can scrape it off Kuro. But his blood is kind of… all over it.”

“Wait,” Morisuke leaps down to crouch over Kuroo. “Siphoning spell? We can call those two back then, too.”

“Are there any rejuvenation potions left?” Tadashi asks.

Morisuke immediately shoots him down. “You’re not taking anything else.”

“I’m the only one—”

“Haven’t you already learned about the dangers of relying on potions?”

“Then what about someone else to do the spell?” Tadashi eyes the last headset. “Kenma’s friends with Yamamoto, and he’s a witch, right? Or—I know witches.” He doesn’t know how to contact them, but if everyone has switched to magic radios, then he could get lucky. There’s an entire city full of panicking magical people, so surely someone wants to come help save the spell that could help save them all.

Kuroo groans, stirring just slightly. Kei holds his blackened, clawed hand over him, dripping too-dark blood indiscriminately, but it seems to be helping.

“Are we losing?” Tadashi asks before he can think better of it.

“Unprepared and unbalanced and not thinking… but not losing,” Morisuke mutters.

They’ve already lost contact with Kiyoko and Suga and Daichi. Tadashi never heard from Tooru, either. And now Kenma and Bokuto are gone, and Akaashi is still out, and Kuroo is dying. Lev almost got kidnapped. Ushijima, for all intents and purposes, seems to have won. He tries to think of something he could track Suga by, and he scans the room for any more potions he could grab.

He sees three in Kenma’s literal pile of things, guarded by his tiny kitten familiar. Two of the potions are strange colors, nothing he immediately recognizes, but one is definitely what he’s used to downing.

“You have a look in your eye,” Morisuke says, interrupting his budding thievery. “It’s a dumb look. What are you thinking?”

“Getting my magic back, putting a quick fix on that, taking a headset, and heading out for help. Suga would know what’s going on. Or—Or _we_ need to know what’s going on. The covens aren’t talking right now, and Kuroo almost got killed by something we know nothing about…”

“Tadashi,” Kei calmly says, “you’re exhausted.”

“I can’t sit on my hands.”

“Let me come with you.”

“Kuro needs you,” Lev points out. “I’m not sure if he’ll even live, but we can’t let him _die_ … We can’t let him die without Kenma.”

“Kenma already left him,” Morisuke snaps back, but has the grace to look angry at himself for saying it.

“Kuro isn’t bad! And you always wanted Kenma to grow a heart, and—”

“And now he has,” Morisuke interrupts with an aggravated sigh. “He left you, and he left Kuroo, for the greater good or whatever. I’m not happy about being right, believe me. But I’m not letting anyone else run out of this room with a half-assed plan!”

Tadashi already has the rejuvenation potion in his hands. It’s easily three servings, and Midna is more keen on looking forlorn than guarding.

“At least teach me how to use that headset!” Morisuke hisses.

“I can use it,” Kei replies. “I don’t need to do much else other than bleed here, if I’m being left behind. I can at least stay in contact.”

“Actually, I was hoping to bring it with me,” Tadashi admits, and toys with the lid of the glass jar. He feels restless without helping—no matter how much he’s already done—and it seems particularly anticlimactic that everything is happening out of sight. Though it’s also kind of nice to be out of the spotlight for a little while. “I can relay information back. Kenma will be back soon, and so will Akaashi.”

“I can’t summon you back if you get attacked,” Lev says.

Kei snorts. “Look how that worked out for him.”

“I made that circle myself! And it was perfect, thank you!”

“You certainly did more than I thought you capable of,” Morisuke says, meaning to be kind. “No, really, you probably saved his life. Even if everything is chaos, at least someone came through.”

“And I’m going to come through, too.” Tadashi downs half the potion, then holds it out to Lev with a grin. Lev looks as if he’s being handed the holy grail. “Tsukki, I’ll be back in a bit. I’m going to go see what’s going on, and see if I can’t find… someone.”

There are plenty of Kenma’s things here, and even a few feathers shed by the tengu, but they’ll be back as soon as they’re done getting whatever they need. Daichi took Suga’s bag, and neither of them left their jackets.

With a gesture of his tail, Morisuke pulls up the knitted hat Yamamoto had left behind.

“Just try to call them again on the radio before you leave,” he grumbles. “And we’re bathing you in luck.”

Tadashi smiles, grateful, and catches Kei’s eye from over Kuroo. Kei doesn’t smile, but he nods.

 

\--

 

“Uh, Sae,” Yuu begins, alarm rising in his voice.

“Yeah, I know,” she grunts back and takes another shot. Vorpium bullets do a hell of a job on that thing. What had Kiyoko called it? Northlit, Northot? Something that hurt too much to think about.

“Sae, that thing’s coming at us!”

“Yeah, I _know_!” Saeko shouts and snaps the bolt back. The casing pops out, steaming, and narrowly avoids her shoulder. She has two left for her .338, and Yuu has six for the .22 left, plus the buckshot for the shotgun. Vorpium is super effective on a god made of magic, which is great, but not so great considering they seem to have only pissed it off instead of eradicating it.

It had taken a hell of a lot of time to set up and try to find buildings that would give them a clear view; both had downed flight potions and perhaps more caffeine than advised to keep them mobile and alert. Despite getting a clear view, and a beautifully clear shot, it hadn’t actually done much except put them on that thing’s radar.

She didn’t need to look through her scope to _feel_ its attention on her. She and Yuu are on different rooftops, two blocks apart, but both in the same direction.

The thing is _fast_ , too. It crawls forward like a centipede, jerky and ungainly at first, and picking up more speed, until it barrels toward them like a freight train. They were less than a mile from it, and on the other side of the perimeter. It was going to break through in seconds.

“ _Run_!” Saeko shouts into her headset. She sees Yuu scramble to grab his shit, and she doesn’t bother with her case or anything other than the duffel bag of ammo and other weapons.

Northot crashes into the building Yuu is on just as Yuu pops up with his arms full. Static and dizziness wash over Saeko, even as far as she is from them. She staggers just a step before catching herself. With Northot halfway up the building, using windows and the fire escape as a ladder for its spidery legs, and with Yuu stumbling about and coughing into the headset like he can’t catch his breath, Saeko runs over to the edge of her own building.

She doesn’t bother with her scope or any finesse. She doesn’t think about how many bullets she has left. She only knows she has to keep that thing away from Yuu.

She hits the bulk of its body, and she can see the way its oily flesh sizzles and bursts. It screams like it's dying, but it doesn’t stop moving for a second. It boils up over the edge of the roof, rearing up on many legs, and stares down at Yuu.

Saeko’s last vorpium bullet goes through its head.

It shears off some of its antlers and most of where normal things have faces. It reels away from Yuu, clutching at itself, shaking like an injured animal.

Yuu raises his shotgun and falls backward, firing both shots into it.

Saeko’s rifle clicks on nothing. She slings it back around, out of the way, and digs through her duffle bag. Yuu has the .22 and she doesn’t have her .30/06 with her, so she ends up pointing her .45 at it with shaking hands. Yuu scrambles away to the far side of the roof, and in its writhing, Northot tilts backward off the edge. It supports itself with hooks the size of Yuu in the side of the building. With a _crunch_ , it tears through the southern corner. Northot unbalances, and the building begins to lose stability as it digs further into concrete and glass.

Yuu shoots it again with his shotgun as he runs for freedom. Northot recoils with each shot, but it doesn’t seem to be as effective, and it gains. Half of Saeko’s shots aren’t even hitting it, and those that do don’t seem to do a damn thing.

She’s about to vault over the edge and go skate over to them when the building begins to collapse.

It falls like the first in dominoes, tilting then crashing against its neighbor—in the same direction Yuu had been trying to escape. The second building groans and begins to crumble, and Saeko loses sight of Yuu in the rising dust. The domino chain only lasts until the third building, but all she can see in the mess is the glowing silhouette of that damned deity.

Saeko still can’t see him, and she can’t help but shout over, “ _Yuu_!”

Northot rises out of the billowing smoke. It twists to her, faceless and many-antlered and impossible to behold. It leaps across the street in a flash when Saeko raises her arm to shield her eyes, and by the time she’s done scrubbing the blood from her cheeks, it’s nearly to the roof of the building it’s climbing.

Saeko turns and runs.

Just as she pushes off the roof with her boot, the building shakes as Northot clambers on. It snarls, the sound rumbling deep in her bones, as she disappears over the edge. She falls more than is probably safe, but it’s the fastest way to put distance between them, and build up speed for when she curves around the alley and out onto the street. She builds height again, but doesn’t dare look back until she’s in the dusty smoke as cover.

Northot is closer than she’d feared. It tears through the smoke, moving near-silently on many legs, like the biggest centipede in the world. Saeko bites back a scream and skates around a broken but mostly standing segment of wall. Northot crashes through it like it hadn’t noticed it.

Saeko ducks around another broken piece of wall with jagged shards of glass still attached, and nearly tumbles through the air when it catches her boot. When she rights herself, still sliding forward through the air, she looks up just in time to collide with something else.

 _Someone_ else.

Saeko and Yuu tumble and drop like bricks. They land heavily, almost fifteen feet down, on bent metal and broken concrete; the lack of height is more of a death sentence than the wind knocked from their lungs. Saeko clings at Yuu’s jacket, both grateful he’s still alive and trying to tug him back up into the air. It takes them too many precious seconds to reorient.

Northot looms over the gap in the broken building where they’d fallen through. Yuu raises his shotgun again, and Saeko’s ears ring from its report. Northot reels back with a screech like a dying cat.

It’s back a moment later, this time reaching for them with dagger-like fingers.

Yuu shoots several off, but Northot does not pull back until the _incredibly_ pissed tengu collides with its face.

 

\--

 

“That was another tengu!” Goshiki cries, twisting in the air in a way that makes Hitoka’s stomach drop. She cannot physically hold him any tighter, but she tries.

“Wh-Who?” she squeaks, because he’s already moving in the direction the feathered streak went.

“Someone else got stuck here! But they were headed _toward_ that thing—?”

Hitoka spots a witch about two stories beneath them trying to tail the tengu—and she recognizes him.

“That’s Kenma!” So the other tengu had to be one of his friends. Hitoka and Kenma might not be the best of friends, but the relief she feels at seeing a familiar face is overwhelming. “Go, down, down!”

It takes several tugs on his feathers before Goshiki drops to level with Kenma. He glares at them both. “Have you seen the god?” he asks.

“It’s hard to miss,” Goshiki replies, pointing around Hitoka’s shoulder. “Three blocks that way. Are you attacking it? Let me help!”

Kenma’s glare becomes even angrier when Goshiki dumps Hitoka on Kenma’s broom. They scramble, Hitoka shrieking, to right themselves. “Stay out of the way, and find the coven leaders!” Goshiki calls before pelting off in the direction of the other tengu.

Kenma looks at Hitoka like he very much wants to drop her off his broom. “You need to go, because I’m not leaving Bokuto. Have you seen Akaashi anywhere? Barn owl tengu, black hair, probably injured?”

“We haven’t seen anyone else.”

Kenma zips over to the nearest roof.

“W-Wait! You have to help us!” Hitoka winds her arms around Kenma’s waist like a threat. “I can help—if your friend is injured, I can help them. But I need you to charm a broom for me.”

“I don’t have another broom.”

“Please, I can keep you and your friends safe. But I need to be mobile myself.” It churns her stomach to have to barter her healing abilities, but Hitoka _must_ reach her mother, and she must figure out how to best act.

“Find a broom, and I’ll charm it for you.” Kenma finally relents in his frustration, but he’s still moving to drop her off on the building.

“Bring me to where the god is!” Hitoka desperately cries. Kenma slows. “Th-There are bound to be other people there, right? S-So we could probably… get a broom from someone…” She doesn’t know if she means stealing from someone who needs it, or stealing from a corpse.

“If you find one,” Kenma agrees. “…Hold on.”

Neither of them are that big or heavy; Hitoka has never managed to move this quickly while sharing a broom with someone else. Or maybe she has? It’s not as if she can remember.

When they get to the clearing of demolished buildings and destruction, Hitoka wishes she hadn’t come along. Two tengu circle a large, pulsating _mass_ that’s trying to snag them out of the air. Its limbs move like whips, but Goshiki and Bokuto are faster. It hurts to look at it, even from their distance, and Hitoka does not understand how they can stand to be so close to it. She already wants to turn around and run away and cry in her bed.

Kenma begins a sudden descent, and Hitoka squeaks and presses herself tighter against him. But over his shoulder, she sees it: an intact broom, lying on the asphalt a couple blocks up from the god thing. There’s a smear of blood and several gouges from claws in the wood, but it’s a complete broom, and they don’t have to pry it out of some poor witch’s rigor mortis grasp. Hitoka could weep with relief. Kenma pulls it up to him before they’ve even landed, and with furious muttering, begins to charm it. Hitoka has rarely heard people cast so quickly.

She slides off his broom and stretches her legs out. They feel wobbly from all of the flying—or is it the potions and who knew what else in her system? Maybe the memory issues in her brain will lead to motor issues. She could be a ticking time bomb until she collapses, probably in the middle of trying to save someone, and then their blood will be on her hands, and then she’ll probably get eaten by that monstrosity up the road—

Kenma smacks her thigh with the broom’s handle. “Try this.”

Hitoka takes it, trying to smile in gratitude, and carefully sits on the broom. It holds her weight, and she could cry again. Maybe she just wants to cry and all of these other emotions are an excuse. “Oh, thank you! This works really well.”

“Stick close, then. Look out for anyone else,” Kenma replies and shoots back into the air.

Brooms never handle as well for non-witches as they do for witches, but Hitoka has been around them all her life, and she can tell Kenma hasn’t. She manages to keep up with him, though the cold air bites at her. As Kenma makes a beeline for the fight, Hitoka scans the city streets below. She spots a few people, mostly witches or other airborne spirits, but none try to flag them down. She can’t recognize anyone from this far away, but she hopes she would be able to pick out her mother from any distance.

Neither she nor Kenma notice the spirit that pops up to them until someone grabs her broom and tries to yank it out from under her. Hitoka screams, clinging to the wood, and does a somersault through the air that almost dumps her off again. Kenma whirls around, drawing back magic for an arrow. They end up on either side of the interloper: a reddish fox with a bulging backpack hanging from its neck.

“Well, worth a shot,” the spirit says in a jovial, masculine voice. Hitoka _knows_ that voice. “Hey now, no shooting!”

“You attacked first,” Kenma bites out.

“Just a way to say hello to a familiar face,” the fox spirit drawls and gives Hitoka a decidedly unfriendly look. “No harm, no foul, yeah? C’mon, you two are about to jump into the many jaws of death, and I’m giving everyone favors by being an ammunition spirit. Do you know how often you’ll run into a spirit of fortune giving things away?”

“What do you want from us?” Hitoka shakily demands. “Y-You’re not our friend!”

“We have mutual enemies.”

“Go away.” Kenma draws the magic arrow back further, arm shaking with the effort of it; the spirit takes this as a cue to hurry it up.

He waves his paws as if in defense, but keeps his sharp-toothed smile in place. “Guns and ammunition. Or, maybe, you’d rather like someone who can jump into the Inbetween? I know you, too, witchy—you reek like another person I really don’t like, but I’m supposed to be making friends right now, and I think more tengu firepower isn’t anything to sneeze at. I mean, it’s not as if I’m a fighter, no matter how much _The Thing That Should Not Be_ hates me.”

Hitoka feels the god’s attention snap over to them like its title summoned it. It probably did.

“Whoops,” the fox dryly says.

“You know where Akaashi is?” Kenma asks, seemingly the only one unaffected by the sudden, oppressive weight of unseen eyes on them. “Tell me or I’ll feed you to that thing myself.”

“I know where a tengu is.” He carefully maneuvers around and keeps them both between himself and the thing beneath them. “Injured tengu. Preeeeetty sure it’s the same tengu who has it out for Wakatoshi, but what do I know. Maybe all barn owls look the same.”

“What do you want,” Kenma says in a dark, flat voice.

“I want that thing gone as much as anyone else!” the fox chirps. “I have several dozen kilos of gold buried in a building I can’t return to with that stupid brain bug’s slimy magic all over, and a very dear friend of mine has a vested interest in keeping this city in one piece.” He looks down at the carnage below. “Mostly one piece.”

“What do you _want_.”

“I’d like a general kind of favor from the little healer, because I have a feeling we’re going to need it in the very near future. But from you, little witch, I’d like a more concrete favor. See, we’re going to do this spell, and we need some wrangling.  I suppose you have the firepower to help, what with your feathered friends, do you not?”

Hitoka glances back and forth between them, nervous and jittery on her broom. She can still feel the presence of the thing below, too.

But when she glances down at it, she finds it much closer than it had been before.

 

\--

 

Koutarou cannot find Keiji.

He hates to admit it, but that god thing can outpace him and the little swan guy, which means it’s faster than Keiji. Koutarou doesn’t know the newcomer, but he’s grateful, and he trusts tengu more than witches right now.

He’s glad the thing only started moving so fast when it was getting _away_ from them, but when he registers what direction it’s headed in, alarm rises like bile back up his throat. “ _Kenma_!” he shouts, but Kenma is too far to hear him.

The swan guy tries to dive bomb to draw its attention again, but it sprouts a new spindly leg and grabs him.

Koutarou severs the limb in a flash. He swears he can feel the oily sludge that passes for its blood. When he looks down, he finds his claws _melting_.

Koutarou squawks and shakes it off, and finds the swan kid splattered up to his hip. His feathers curl and rot off, prompting further panic.

“Hey!”

The swan looks up, leg cradled against himself, mouth pressed into a tight enough line that Koutarou wonders if he’s near tears. “I was trying to help! We have to keep that away from anyone else!” he exclaims, defensive. 

“Yeah, but we don’t have to kill ourselves to do it.” It hasn’t been affected by any magic they’ve thrown at it, even if they can carve off hunks with ease. Losing body parts doesn’t faze it. Koutarou scans the wrecked city street, looking for something he can use. “Grab that light pole! They use metal here, so use it as a conductor.”

Koutarou breaks one off with an easy snap, but there are a lot of wires and weird things inside, so he has to cut those. It’s long enough that he hardly has to catch up before he can bring it down on the god’s back. The swan’s pole _thunks_ down a moment later.

Tengu usually hate any kind of electrical magic, but it doesn’t mean they’re bad at it. The horror shrieks and the main bulk of its body freezes, but its many limbs flail and writhe. The metal begins to heat up in Koutarou’s grasp, but he ignores it, pumping as much magic as he can handle into that ugly thing.

One of its thrashing legs manages to come in contact with the metal of a parked car, and it sparks once before exploding. The two tengu are blasted out of the air by the car and their own rebounding magic. Koutarou bounces off a building and lands in a tangled heap on the asphalt below, numb and trembling and dizzy, but conscious. He can work with conscious. He has shit to do, mates to protect, mates to _find_ —so conscious is great.

He staggers against another car and uses it to lever himself upright. His vision swims, but it’s not hard to spot the god, even if he can’t look directly at it. He sees the white and black still form crumpled on the street between himself and the god. In most of his brain, Koutarou knows that this is the swan tengu. But a very small, very reflexive part of him just sees the white feathers and black hair and his brain shrieks _Keiji_!

Knee-jerk panic allows Koutarou to react quickly when the monstrosity turns on them. He grabs the car propping him up, and pulls with all his might—but the door just comes off, making the alarm blare. He throws the door at it before trying again. Koutarou doesn’t know which human decided to make cars so difficult to pick up, but he’s going to have _words_ with them after this is done with. He’d intended to swing it around, but he throws it instead.

At least it has enough weight to land squarely on the advancing deity’s face.

Tragically, it doesn’t explode, not until the grounded swan shoots a jet of fire at it. He goes skidding from the impact, but Koutarou hauls him up into the air while the god shrieks in pain beneath them.

The fire bubbles off large portions of its body and it curls into itself as it tries to get away from the wreckage.

“That worked,” the swan says with something like awe in his voice.

“Hey, real quick, I’m Bokuto, and have you seen a super gorgeous owl with black hair around here?”

“G-Goshiki! Is my name, I mean!” the swan snaps to attention despite how it makes him wince. He relents, and cradles his leg again. “But, no, I haven’t. You were the first other tengu I’ve seen, which is why I came to help.”

Koutarou can’t help but break into a wide grin. “Just a hunch, but I’m guessin’ I’m the older and stronger and better trained between the two of us, _huh_?”

“Is this really the time?”

“Yeah it is! I’m pulling rank, kid, so keep following my lead!” Koutarou’s about to advance again, but after a beat, he adds, “Unless you see a barn owl tengu anywhere. They take priority, and that’s an _order_.”

“Are you making friends?”

Koutarou whirls around to find Kenma. The cute tiny blonde and the red fox follow him, albeit at a safer distance. “We were trying to keep this thing down here, away from—” Koutarou begins but Kenma cuts him off.

“I think I know where Akaashi is, but we have to cooperate with _him_ ,” he says, pointing at the fox.

“Then of course—!”

“You—!” Goshiki gasps, bracing for a fight at once.

“Hey, hey, nice to see you again. Both of you—”

“Why would we cooperate with _him_?” Koutarou demands. _For Keiji_ , his mind supplies at once, but he knows Keiji would be furious with this, too. “He’s partners with the guy who caused this!”

“And now I’m helping to stop it,” the fox mildly replies. “All I’m asking for is some help drawing that thing in a certain direction. Tengu are a little hardier than most things, and we’re running low on friends right now.”

“He knows where Akaashi is,” Kenma reminds him.

Koutarou hates it, but he knows he’s going to end up agreeing to this. Keiji can be mad at them later.

“It seems that it operates on a size to power ratio,” Kenma continues. “So it’s probably maintaining its body with magic, like a big spirit. If we can keep it from getting any more magic, then we should be able to contain it.”

Kenma gives Koutarou a meaningful look. Koutarou takes it to mean _it won’t be able to do anything if we activate my spell_. Koutarou nods. He’ll guide them in the right direction, no matter what.

“Now tell us where Akaashi is!”

The fox opens his mouth, but the god spears him and Kenma.

Hitoka screams, the fox swears, and Koutarou reacts on the same instinct that had propelled him forward earlier. The fox rips himself off the jagged spike and Koutarou severs it a second later. Hitoka is already moving forward at the same time Goshiki pelts down with another slice of wind magic.

The god swipes at them again, heedless of anything except that fox.

Some deep, angry part of himself wants to throw the matagot down, but Kenma has slumped into Koutarou’s arms with blood and rotted magic seeping through his coat. Humans are fragile, but this is Kenma, who is strong despite being a little, young human. Having him so quiet brings nothing but fright.

Hitoka elbows her way between Koutarou and Kenma, and Koutarou nearly takes her head off on reflex. She presses her hands in on either side of Kenma, one in front and one on back, and when he tries to pull the severed spike from him, Hitoka snaps, “Don’t touch that yet!”

“I’d bleed out,” Kenma mumbles.

“It’s cursing you,” Koutarou uselessly points out.

“I’ll fix this!” Hitoka cries, something near manic. Kenma grunts when she pushes further. “We need to get out of here, though.”

“Need that information.” Kenma’s head lolls against his shoulder. He coughs, once, and red dribbles out from the corner of his mouth.

Koutarou needs something to do; with Kuroo dying and Keiji missing and Kenma here in front of him looking paler by the second. Below, Goshiki and the fox struggle to keep away from the god thing. The fox’s chest still looks rather pulpy where the god speared him, but it doesn’t seem to have hampered his movements.

One large tendril unfurls into several parts, each side lined with needle teeth. Tongues wag inside, and one nearly catches Goshiki’s ankle when he banks too close. Koutarou cuts through it like rotten fruit. It’s _soft_ , so soft and defenseless and easy to hit, but it’s still so goddamn _strong_. It grows another mouth, and he tosses in one of the parts he’d cut off, but it doesn’t take the bait. The severed tendril melts into sickly mist against its teeth and it resumes its snapping and snickering a moment later.

“Inside the open mouth!” Goshiki calls.

“Have at it!” the matagot yelps when he has another narrow escape. “How well can tengu aim when you have to dodge every second?”

Tengu, traditionally, don’t have much need for precise aim. There are not many things that tengu cannot overpower, and while Koutarou is one of the very lucky few to have exactly the experience necessary, a god is very far from a dragon. This thing doesn’t even have eyes, at least not that he can see, and he doesn’t have any hydra blood to toss at it.

Goshiki condenses a jet of fire into a thin stream, and it splatters over the god. Despite Goshiki cringing away from his own attack, it sizzles and eats into flesh, and the thing screeches as its jaw melts off.

It just keeps going. It grows new limbs to replace mangled ones. It shows no signs of exhaustion or permanent injury.

 _It’s made of magic?_ Magic disrupts magic, and if sheer power won’t work, maybe another approach is necessary. It’s difficult to pull raw magic from himself, but at least Goshiki can keep the thing relatively pinned. The fox ducks away from them both, favoring one leg even in the air.

“You, you better tell us where Keiji is after this!” Koutarou snaps.

The fox shrugs.

Finally, he feels like he has comparable magic held, crackling, in his claws. It leads to an odd hollowness inside him, but Koutarou can complain later. He ducks under another of Goshiki’s attacks, finds the nearest mouth, and shoves a fistful of raw magic into the softest part of its flesh.

The god screams. Its voice hovers right on the edge of hearing range, shrieking awful words, but Koutarou burns his hand straight through the god, heedless of the noise, of the needle-like teeth tearing desperately at his feathers with less and less strength.

 _Finally_ , Koutarou no sooner thinks than the jaws snap shut on him, and the god begins pulling the magic from him.

Koutarou kicks at it, talons digging in just as easily as before. It wraps one long, serrated limb around Koutarou’s thigh, then waist, then another mouth comes up next to him with a sharp grin.

“Cut it off!” he screams over his shoulder. “Cut it off!”

“How ̵kin̸d of͝ ҉y͜ou ͡to offer ͞tri̵bu͢te,” the god says with a voice like an earthquake. “M̢o͟r̴e͝ ͞d͢ut̛i͘f̡ul t̡h̴an t̨he l̨a͠st ̷th͢at t͟ried͘ ̢t̕o̧ fi̢g͟ht.”

 _Keiji_ , he realizes, faltering just long enough for the god to wrap him up further and gulp down more of his magic. It’s too close, and Koutarou’s vision begins to fuzz out.

“Oi, fuckface, forgetting about someone?”

Koutarou recognizes one of the humans from the broken building, pointing a shotgun at the distracted god.

The buckshot rips through its flesh and into Koutarou’s wing. He’s lost feathers and flesh and blood but now he has the leverage to squirm out. The human fires another shot, giving Koutarou enough time to flap back into the air on a nearly broken and shredded wing.

Goshiki helps tug him away, and he looks just as exhausted as Koutarou feels. He has a human woman in his arms, and after a beat, he recognizes her, too. “What can you do to help?” Koutarou asks.

She glares at him. The only spots of color on her dust-covered body are scrapes and blood smears. “At least we weren’t feeding it magic.”

“Anyone who knows about magic knows you can disrupt—”

“Guys, I have one shot left, and my shoulder is still dislocated. Less talking, more fighting!” the man calls over.

“We need to disengage,” the woman snarls. She has the gall to pull on Goshiki’s ear. “I told you two to stay out of trouble! Where is Hitoka?”

“Healing the witch,” Goshiki replies and looks like he’s considering dropping her.

Koutarou shakes out his injured wing as best he can. His feathers are streaked with the god’s oily blood, and he is only then reminded that they need that.

The god beneath them reaches up, dripping blood and pieces of itself from its injuries, and the man uses his last shot to beat it back. He slings his shotgun back over his shoulder, and uses weird, skating movements to move through the air. “I’m with Sae. We need to pull back.”

“And leave this thing here?” Koutarou snarls.

“If it’s any help, your witch is doing something, and I know where the other tengu is,” the fox says from a nearby lamppost—safely away from the fighting and doing nothing helpful whatsoever.

“You!” the man shouts and points a new gun at him.

The god grabs at the fox, but he darts out of its way with a nervous, half-manic laugh. “I can draw it toward someone else—there’s a bunch of witches watching this a couple blocks over, and I’d say they need some excitement in their lives, don’t they?”

“You’re not throwing this thing at innocent people!”

“They’re better equipped than you are, right now.”

The woman seethes in Goshiki’s arms.

“Wait, you said the witch was doing something?” Koutarou twists around, searching for Kenma and Hitoka.

They’ve retreated further up, and the curse marks have spread up to Kenma’s neck and down to his hands. It should _not_ be spreading that fast, not unless he had more contact with it, unless Kenma was actively affecting it. His hands don’t shake as he writes marks in the air.

“I’ve already tried talking him out of it,” Hitoka mutters at Koutarou’s angry look.

“Koutarou, move everyone out of the way. I can’t handle a lot of finesse right now,” Kenma tells him.

“Wait, wait wait, are you really—”

“ _Move_!” Hitoka yells with surprising strength.

Koutarou can’t help but steady Kenma as he casts a gravity spell. It’s not large enough to capture all of the god’s body, but the force of it is enough to flattens and pulp the parts it catches into a disgusting, shining mess.  Its limbs twitch like a squished spider’s, but it _laughs_ beneath the weight of its own body.

“That should buy us time,” Kenma pants, dropping his arms and swaying on his broom. “Tell the fox if he wants us to work with him, he has to go get the blood. Get him to tell us where Keiji is.”

“How did you do that? You don’t have enough magic.”

“It’s just like demonic magic, isn’t it? It won’t hold for long. We should go. Get the fox, Koutarou.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Hitoka mumbles.

“Not from my injury.”

“Hitoka!” the human woman shouts as Goshiki carries both she and the man up to them. “I told you to stay at the goddamn hospital! No, I told you to stay at the church, but now you’re out here—”

“Saving lives! Trying to find my mother!”

Koutarou leaves them to their arguing, and grabs the matagot by his tail before he can slink off.

“Hey, hey now, let’s not get hasty. I’m not a fighter, it’s not my fault I couldn’t do anything to stop it from eating you!”

“Tell me where Keiji is. _Now_.”

The fox stills, but his eyes are gleaming and his mouth is curled into a cruel smile. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, we’ll help you. Later. Give me Keiji, and fill up this jar with that thing’s blood, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

 

\--

 

 _It’s cold as balls, everyone is ignoring me, my phone is dead, and I feel like I’m going to pass out_. Tadashi is having a _lot_ of difficulty trying to recall why he’d wanted to play hero so badly. _Why couldn’t I have been lucky enough to have stumbled into Hisashi a block from the hotel?_

He knows luck works in dumb, mysterious ways. His magic begins to fizzle out like a bad radio. No one from the hotel has tried to catch up to him. He hopes that’s a good sign; he hopes it means the spell hasn’t completely fallen apart or exploded and that Kuroo hasn’t died. Demons don’t leave ghosts. He’d just be… gone.

 _Tsukki is there_. Kei wouldn’t let Kuroo die, if only to avoid further grief. Morisuke, too, probably.

Tadashi shakes out his numb fingers and his magic fizzles again.

He tries the radio again. “H-Hello, um… I’m looking for Yamamoto. I need help. We need help, stabilizing a spell, we need _anyone_ to come help us…” Still no response. He isn’t sure if it means that’s dead too, or if they want more specifics before trusting anyone.

It’s kind of weird to grapple with something like the concept of luck guiding his path in life. He’d thought it would be like destiny, except benevolent. But Tadashi is now wandering the city in January with no plan, no GPS, and a negative amount of magic. He figured he’d be able to do _something_ , by virtue of being able to do things in the past. He’d assumed, with a retroactively disturbing amount of conviction, that something would happen.

A shadow passes overhead of someone else with more mobility than he, but this time, it doesn’t leave.

Hinata drops out of the sky and scoops him up in a hug. “It’s so good to see a friendly face! I’ve been waiting forever for someone to stop by, but everyone keeps avoiding me, and avoiding doing things, but I keep seeing pushy witches trying to set up a perimeter!” Hinata‘s hug threatens to crack bones.

“G-Good to see y-you, too,” he chokes out.

Hinata drops him with a gasp. “Are you okay?!”

Tadashi is probably not okay. He smiles anyway. “Just tired.” Could a tengu help stabilize the spell? It was worth a shot, if nothing else. “Looking for help, actually.”

“So ‘m I! Well, looking for Tobio, and Hitoka too. Or Kenma. Or anyone? N-Not that you’re not good!” Hinata backtracks with many fluffed feathers and increasingly red cheeks. “I just—I expected someone else first, and we were gonna go kick that god’s ass! I’d invite you, but you’re looking pretty fragile. Not exactly in fighting shape.”

“I don’t feel like I’m in fighting shape. I’m fine playing support right now,” Tadashi wearily agrees. “But Hinata, you don’t want to go fight that thing. It almost killed Kuroo, and we’re still waiting on Kenma and the tengu to get back. Suga is…” Who knows what Suga was doing.

“Are Bokuto and Akaashi here?” Hinata asks with sparkling eyes. “I knew they’d fight! They like Kenma, they won’t want to hide away like the other cowardly tengu!”

As far as Tadashi is aware, they’re trapped here and very unhappy about that, but he won’t ruin Hinata’s day.

“Let me help!” Excitement shines in Hinata’s eyes. There’s the lucky break he’s been looking for.

“Hey! Dumbass!”

Or maybe this is his lucky break.

Tobio, Kasa flying at his shoulder, shoots down from the sky.  He breaks, nearly knocking them both over, and continues his anger without waiting. “And—and other dumbass, because why the hell are you wandering around when the city’s in a panic? Why are you both out here? And Hinata, you absolute dumbass, do you know how long it took me to find a broom?”

“I thought witches were supposed to have brooms with them,” Hinata replies with equal parts coyness and confusion.

Kasa pecks his head, and Hinata looks more betrayed than Tadashi has ever seen.

“Instead of your usual arguments, I could actually really use both your help,” Tadashi breaks in, then promptly passes out in Hinata’s arms.

 

\--

 

“This is boring,” Atsumu loudly complains. He deserves to. What kind of coven leader gets laid up in a shitty medic tent, babysitting a psychic and a spellwriter—who should really be a spellwriter and a psychic, in that order—with a stupid broken arm because of a stupid shapeshifter?

“You’re complaining about the apocalypse being boring?” Taketora grunts. He has no pity for any of them, not even Kiyoomi, who has yet to wake up.

“He’s right! It’s boring!” Akane says at once.

Atsumu has two whole healers here and neither of them will heal him. It’s his own stupid regulation, and Osamu had enforced it with glee, because he’s an ass. Probably wants to steal all the credit for saving the city or something.

Atsumu knows his brother isn’t a gloryhound and he knows that healers are supposed to save their magic in emergencies for, well, emergencies, but Akane isn’t technically part of the coven.

Taketora glares at him everytime he tries to make conversation with her.

Atsumu grumpily fiddles with the radio, which only works half the time. They’ve long since stopped jumping at every burst of static. He glances sideways at Kiyoomi, who is laid out on one of the cots. His breathing is shallow and face sweaty. His hand is probably clammy, not that Motoya ever released it.

The moment he got here, Motoya wrote a spell to filter all of the atmospheric shit the god-thing had been spewing out of the space. The tent is safe and quiet on that front. But Atsumu is still peeved about it; Motoya could be doing something. It’s not as if there are a plethora of spellwriters in the city, and even if he was a newbie at it, he had a scary learning curve.

But noooo, Atsumu can’t order him to do shit because he’s not part of Eyebright anymore. Just like he can’t touch Akane.

The radio decides to work with a burst of chatter. The news is still evacuating some parts of the city and ordering others to stay indoors; Eyebright talk seems centered around a bunch of aggravated witches complaining about perimeter duty. No one mentions the thing wrecking downtown. No one has mentioned Ushijima Wakatoshi. No one has even mentioned the coven leaders, so who knows what Osamu is up to.

Not him. Because no one’s being goddamn useful.

“I can cast magic one-handed,” Atsumu mutters.

“That’s your dominant hand, and no, you can’t aim like that,” Taketora grunts back. He seems particularly jumpy after running off on that mysterious errand of his. “Not gonna disobey direct orders to let you run around like that, anyway. If it gets so desperate that we need someone else throwing fireballs out there, then you can go break the rest of yourself.”

“Have you always been this mouthy?” Atsumu asks with a squint. He and Taketora have rarely interacted outside of business. “Something else on your mind?”

“There’s something fucking nasty runnin’ amok out there and we’re just. Sittin’ here.”

“Could you keep it down,” comes another voice.

Motoya snaps up, ramrod straight. Kiyoomi’s eyes remain closed, and he hasn’t started bleeding again, but he still looks rather unconscious. “Kiyoomi? Are you awake?” Motoya asks with so much gentleness that Atsumu gags. Akane frets over both of them, curls bouncing, offering the cute bedside manner that Taketora refuses.

“I don’t want to be.”

“How are you feeling? What’s it—how’s your head?” Akane demands in her enthusiasm.

“Everything is muffled, and I know if I open my eyes I’ll have to throw up, and migraine does not begin to cover this. I can also read everything on all of your minds, and considering I know how shielded and private some of you are, I find this disconcerting.” There is a long pause, and then Kiyoomi adds in dismay, “Make it stop.”

“This is better than the hemorrhaging earlier,” Atsumu says without much pity. “Komori set down some sort of field to save your life. You don’t want to hear what it’s like outside the tent.”

“I would probably die,” Kiyoomi sighs. Slowly, he cracks open an eye, and Akane nearly trips over herself to help him sit up. Motoya never lets go of his hand. Atsumu won’t be the only one with broken bones at this rate.

“Can our spellwriter now stop playing nursemaid and go help?” Atsumu asks as politely as he can manage. “Some creativity would be _nice_.”

“I’m staying here,” Motoya says in a hard voice. The polar opposite of how he deals with Kiyoomi, but Atsumu didn’t expect any less. “I’m not a combatant, and I’m not part of your coven anymore, remember?”

“You don’t get to be stubborn about my awful pride when there are people dying, Komori.”

“Yet I didn’t hear an apology.” Motoya sighs, and he releases Kiyoomi’s hand, though not without an awkward pat, made to make it seem more platonic than it was. “I’d like to work triage. I can help save people, instead of trying to figure out more creative ways to set things on fire.”

“What about the other spellwriter?” Kiyoomi asks quietly.

Taketora’s shoulders go rigid. Kiyoomi regards his back.

Atsumu looks between them, and asks, “What other spellwriter?”

 

\--

 

They’re halfway back to the hotel when a streak pelts out of the sky and knocks Kenma off his broom. He’s caught up in strength and excitement and feathers, all of which are hurting his chest. “Shouyou,” he wheezes.

“I’m so happy we found you! Tadashi is lucky after all! We’ve been circling, looking for _something_ , and his directions are all messed up! But we found you!” Shouyou pulls away, enough to register that the blood staining his shirtfront. He also only then notices the angry way Koutarou hovers over them. “Tadashi said you were going to… fight? Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.”

Tobio reaches them on his own broom, with Tadashi seated awkwardly in front of him, looking queasy and halfway to unconscious. “ _Stop_ running off on your own. I can’t go that fast with the dead weight here.”

Tadashi lets out a wild laugh. “Been doing more than you, haven’t I? See, I can be mean, too.”

Tobio looks pained.

Kenma finds his guilt quite useful. “Actually, I would like both of your help.” He could kiss Tadashi for bringing him another witch _and_ another tengu. For starting out with two, Kenma seems to be going through them rather quickly. There is no way Koutarou will stay still long enough to complete the spell, knowing Keiji is injured somewhere.

Tadashi collapses against Tobio with a weakly triumphant laugh.

Koutarou carries him the rest of the way, and Lev throws open the window to the room. Despite how many of Kenma’s wards he breaks in the process, Kenma can’t find it in himself to be mad.

Kenma is in the window first, nearly dropping his broom outside, and his voice is strangely breathless when he asks, “How’s Kuro?”

“He’s not waking up. Akaashi hasn’t returned, either,” Morisuke grimly tells him.

Tsukishima is kneeling over Kuro’s unsettled form, dripping black blood from his own claws. What could be Kuro’s head is on his lap. Kenma’s heart clenches at the sight; he is not used to this sort of fear when it comes to another person.

“Kuro?” Kenma asks, hesitant.

Shouyou makes a loud noise when he finds the decaying spell in the corner. Guilt crashes over Kenma. He’s trying to be a good person, and help others, but it’s almost lost him Lev, then Akaashi, and Kuro, too. Koutarou had gotten hurt in the fight. Who knew what else could still happen? Why was he trying?

“Ken,” Kuro croaks. “Kenma…”

“Oh, now you wake up?” Tsukishima feigns annoyance, but Kenma can see the relieved sag to his frame.

Kuro reaches for him, and Kenma gathers him in his arms. “Don’t you… don’t you _dare_ back out… now…”

“You don’t get to lecture me on my morals while you’re dying. That’s low, even for a demon.”

“Seems fair to me,” Tsukishima remarks.

“If you hadn’t kept him alive,” Kenma warns. He’s too wrung out to come up with anything more today. Kenma carries Kuro as best he can toward the couch, and collapses upon it with his own kind of relief. His chest still hurts. Kuro noses against his bloody clothes with a concerned noise. Kenma pets him, relieved he’s moving at all, and allows his eyes to rest a moment. “Shouyou.”

“Are you okay?” Shouyou repeats when he comes over. He sounds a little less worried and a little more sincere this time.

“I need your help, along with Tobio. That spell in the corner?”

“I can write a new stasis circle,” Tobio offers.

“No, I need you two to complete it.”

“Uhh. Both of us?” Shouyou squeaks, and looks at anything except the two witches. “I mean, you’re doing a spell together? What kind of magic is that?”

“I’ve already started it. I can explain how to keep it going. I just need you to finish weaving in a certain amount of magic, and then activate it.” Hypothetically, others should be able to do that. He has lost the sense of what is spellwriting and what isn’t.

“It’s not that hard,” Koutarou says, daring them to disagree.

“All of the marks are already there,” Kenma adds.

“Isn’t mixing magic kind of…” Shouyou lowers his voice and cups his claws around his mouth. “Intimate?”

Morisuke groans with his face in his paws. “Now is _not_ the time. So long as you two can work together and not blow anything up, you’ll be fine. This is kind of important.”

“Or you could continue arguing with each other about pointless matters and we’ll eventually die,” Tsukishima politely offers.

“I don’t see either of you stepping up!” Shouyou hotly retorts.

“It needs a witch and a tengu,” Kenma says, “and I trust you, Shouyou. Please. We have to go find Akaashi and make sure they’re alright, too.” Koutarou doesn’t look pleased by the ‘we’, but Kenma is the one who sent them out for the blood. Kenma is the one who hadn’t been worried.

He’s worried now.

“We’ll do it,” Tobio says, despite the dirty look Shouyou sends him. “The jar of blood is the target hook?”

“Yes. But that part needs to be done last. The spell is strengthened with the different kinds of magic—the mirror, there, that has an angel’s grace I’ve been putting into it, too. It should go automatically once it starts again…”

Kenma, allowing himself a moment’s rest to relieve the burning of the piece of god within him, explains the outline of his spell. Kuro continues nudging against his wound, as if trying to figure something out.

Tobio declares that he’s got it, scarily early on.

The scariest part of leaving his spell in the care of someone else is leaving Kuro behind again. “We’ll be back soon,” Kenma promises, “so you have to stay here and recuperate. Keep an eye on Shouyou.”

The second scariest part is leaving Lev and knowing he’s going to do something stupid he won’t like.

 

\--

 

“Uh, hm, this one, and this one—I’m sure someone can use this—do you think I could curse this?” Kenji pops up with a dark-bladed scimitar held aloft.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Yasushi growls. His wings buzz in agitation. He’d refused to go with Moniwa before the fae closed their realm doors, so now he’s hung out to dry, too. He’d said something about opening his bar as a shelter or some dumb shit like that.

“Please, can’t you stop shedding that damned pixie dust for five minutes? I’m trying to look through lots of very delicate and very dangerous—” On cue, Kenji sneezes. He almost drops the scimitar on his foot, but Yasushi catches it at the last second. “…See?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“People deserve to defend themselves, don’t they?”

“You’re a jackass for trying to sell weapons during a panic,” Yasushi growls at him.

Kenji beams right back and boops him on the nose with one of his tails. “I am about to make a lot of human hunters very happy, which is more than I can say _you_ are doing.”

“It’s the humans’ problem to begin with.”

“And I don’t have a stick up my ass. So I’m helping, out of the goodness of my heart. You’d think one of the fair folk would be more into taking advantage of all these panicked humans!”

Yasushi bares his overly sharp teeth at him. Kenji backs off, just a little, and goes back to rummaging through his things.

He grabs as much as he can carry: jars of potions, draughts, a few types of blood, and as many weapons as he can fit into his arms. Yasushi does not offer to carry anything, and doesn’t even see him out. Not that Kenji cares. Kenji cares more about the perfectly nice witches who stop by his stall and keep his business afloat. He cares about his spirit friends who have gotten caught on the wrong side of realm doors.

He really cares about stopping the asshole who cut his first Old Moon Ball short.

Some humans have gotten into the goblin market—more than some, but they’re still in the minority—but he doesn’t know many by name. He plays nice with the covens so surely someone will seek him out soon enough.

His first customer, unfortunately, is neither human nor a friend. “Is this blade cursed?” the valkyrie inquires, hand hovering over the scimitar.

“Should be, considering I just did it myself.”

They both know that should she touch it, the curse would lift. He doesn’t know why she’s interested. Hell, he doesn’t know why she’s _here_ , since spirits of justice usually don’t like youkai that much. “I will purchase this,” she says, grabbing the scimitar and dispelling the curse, “and the hydra blood.”

Kenji had been hoping to get that to Koutarou somehow. “What does a valkyrie need with hydra blood?”

“I am going to coat this blade with it, and arrowheads when I find them.”

“You’re gonna go fight, then.”

“Yes.” Then, shockingly, she breaks into a grin. It’s small, with perfectly even human teeth, but Kenji suddenly feels cold. “If no one else will do anything, then I will.”

Kenji returns the grin, twice as sharp and three times as warm. “I can get behind that. You see anyone else who needs a weapon, just send them my way.”

“The people in the most need won’t be here.”

She has a point, but he was going to be just fine sitting here safely at his stall, thank you. Guilt niggles at him. Kenji has never liked guilt; this is a big part of why he doesn’t like spirits of justice, either.

When she leaves, Kenji hates himself, but he knows he’s going to follow her out. If nothing else, desperate humans will pay more, he reasons.

If the god doesn’t kill him, then Yasushi probably will.

“Hey, lady, wait up! I’m in need of a bodyguard, as it turns out,” Kenji calls and races after her.

 

\--

 

“There has to be another way,” Suga repeats.

She had known he would. She had _seen_ that he would. She knows Suga, and she has seen this exact confrontation play out several times. She knows every argument he will make. Most will appeal to her sense of compassion, and when that doesn’t work, he will fall back on logic. Logic is on her side; compassion is on his.

“It’s okay, Koushi,” Yui almost sounds like her old self. Her wings flare behind her. “I know, I know, this sucks. But it’s okay.”

“How is this okay? You’re—you’re still alive!”

“I don’t want to be, not like this,” Yui confesses with a weak chuckle that makes pain lance through Kiyoko’s heart. “I’m a mess like this, Koushi. This isn’t a return to my old life.”

“It could be! I came back—I’m not human anymore, either! I’m fine!”

Kiyoko can’t stand watching him work through the stages of grief. Yui had done her best to keep hers private, but she’d had weeks to work it all through. Kiyoko checks her watch. Suga has seven hours. She’s a coward, to make him go through it this way, but she and Yui had both known they wouldn’t have been able to withstand him for very long.

“There is no other way,” Kiyoko says. “If there were, we would have found it.”

“So your plan is to sacrifice her? Get something bigger and badder than the thing already destroying the city? You didn’t see it!” Suga bangs on the confinement circle. “God. God fucking damn it, Kiyoko, you didn’t see that thing… This isn’t the way.”

“I’m not turning anything loose,” Kiyoko replies. _I didn’t even turn Yui loose_. She could have allowed her so much more freedom… But what had it led to? She had attacked people. She had tried to attack Kiyoko—tried to hurt _Hitoka_. “Koushi, trust me—”

“ _No_!” Suga roars.

“There could be other ways to stop it, yes,” Yui soothes, always better at defusing arguments than Kiyoko has ever been, “but none so quickly. None that save as many lives. This is the fastest way, Koushi—we can’t let that thing remain loose, can we?”

Kiyoko can only imagine his expression right now. Still a coward, she continues fussing with her ingredients. There is not much else left to do other than wait, but Ushijima had moved early. It is still so long she must wait and hope others can quell the nightmare.

“Your birthday,” Suga says, sadly. “You waited for this.”

“I had to make sure Ushijima would move today.”

“I have an angel’s grace within me—you do too! Why does Yui—”

“Oh, come on, Koushi. These wings aren’t for show. It’s an easier starting point. Faster. And, unlike me, you do have a life here. Daichi is quite a catch, isn’t he? And Tadashi seems very earnest!”

Suga’s expression crumples into an awful mixture of horror and despair. Kiyoko turns again.

“There is no other way.” Kiyoko will have to say it many more times today.

“Why did everyone know but me?” Suga’s voice breaks. “Wh-Why was everyone in on the joke but me?”

“That wasn’t on purpose. People kept—finding out, and things kept happening…”

“You know me, I’ve always been bad at keeping secrets,” Yui adds with a poor attempt at a joke.

“It escalated. I had to do what I could to keep it contained.”

“So you stole Hitoka’s memories. So you made a deal to do the same to Kei and Tadashi. You—what, _scared_ Kenma into it? Is that why he’s been so terrified of you? You— _shit_ , Yui, did you eat Tooru’s memories to make him forget, too?”

Yui has nothing to say to that, and Suga begins laughing, a bitter, hollowed-out sound.

“Oh my god, _that’s_ why the memories were so sporadic! You ate the memories of me and Kiyoko because you missed us!”

“Yui had no sense of her living self until I turned her back into a ghost,” Kiyoko interrupts. “That’s not fair, Koushi. You know that.”

“Oh, and _this_ is fair?” His fists make a dull _whump_ against the circle’s magic.

“It doesn’t have to be fair.”

“We’re winning. When’s there time to be fair?” Yui adds, gentler, but Suga keeps pounding away at the circle, ineffectual.

He could burn through it easily with dead man’s blood, but he has made no move to try. Either he’s biding his time, or he trusts their plan, and Kiyoko does not know which yet.

 

\--

 

Iwaizumi startles when he sees the head of black hair peer over the mouth of their psychic-made hole in the ground.

“You came back,” he says, dumbly, and Tooru glances back up, though his neck is still a little floppy.

“Of course I did,” Miyanoshita says with a pout that puffs up her cheeks. “I was only gone an hour.”

It’s been far longer than an hour in the Dreamlands. “Why did you come back?”

“Because I won’t let you two kill yourselves here.”

“I’m getting better!” Tooru slurs. Iwaizumi hurries to catch him before he tips over completely, and tugs him back into the safety of his arms. “Still woozy…”

“Idiot, don’t throw yourself around. You’re going to turn something into hot glass again.”

“I might’ve found a way to get Oikawa back into the human realm,” Miyanoshita calls down. “Well, it’s nothing surprising. A deep sleep should shelter his brain from the worst of it, right?”

“Hyp’thetic’ly,” Tooru agrees without having a clue what he’s agreeing to.

“But,” Miyanoshita says, glancing away in guilt or nerves, Iwaizumi can’t tell and he does not trust either no matter how good her intentions are, “there are some people near your house. They… smell weird.”

“What kind of people? Human people?”

“Some of them.”

“Put them to sleep, and we’ll make a run for it. My dragonskin is under the bed.” Iwaizumi already knows how many steps it should be from the portal to his skins, how fast he can shift, and how fast he can fly carrying passengers.

But he doesn’t know _where_ to go. Who could help Tooru? Where are they? He can’t gauge how much time has passed over there—can’t gauge how much time has passed here, as distracted as he’s been trying to prevent Tooru from breaking the world—and he doesn’t know what any of their friends could be doing. Suga usually has answers for things, but he also tends towards extreme answers. Kiyoko usually knows what’s going on at any moment. Maybe if he showed how bad Tooru is to Yahaba and Kentarou they’d get mad enough to pull some strings.

Iwaizumi can plan out his own actions, but he does not know how to plan for others.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru says with weak tenderness that only comes from blood loss or exhaustion, “c’mon.”

“What do these people look like?”

“Two of them I couldn’t see. Two humans. Male, both of them dark-haired, one smelled like dark magic and the other smelled like metal. I didn’t get close.” Miyanoshita flexes her claws over the chalky edge of their hole. Tooru is beginning to wear down the area again.

They’ll either have to move, or leave. Iwaizumi is outvoted, too. _Metal?_ That throws him off, unless she means like iron, which means blood. It still doesn’t narrow down the choices. “Here, help Tooru up and out.”

“Can get out on my ooooown,” Tooru sulks, and with a sort of limp wave, he makes an uneven, crumbling staircase out of salt.

Iwaizumi sighs and stands, Tooru still in his arms. He lifts him out to Miyanoshita. “Goodnight, you fragile dumbass.”

“I don’t like that you’re knockin’ me out and ditching me somewhere,” Tooru replies with something approaching anger. “Don’t go off and get killed, ‘kay?”

“We’re only moving you some place where your brain won’t ooze out of your ears,” Miyanoshita replies, “I’ve already seen witches setting up some safe spots. I’m sure there are medics around, too.”

“See, that’s the plan. Get somewhere safe and then find out what’s going on,” Iwaizumi says with the gentlest knock against Tooru’s shoulder. He falls further into her arms from it, and guilt eats at Iwaizumi. “God, you’re a mess… We’ll wake you when we’re somewhere safe. But if you start seizing again we’re coming back here, and I swear we’re moving to Dylath-Leen.”

“Or we could go to the goblin market,” Miyanoshita says with an irritated swipe of her tail.

“That’s across town.”

“I thought dragons were fast.”

“Let’s just see if your plan works, first,” Iwaizumi replies, teeth bared at her. Tooru slumps in her arms, scarily still, until he lets out a snore.

Iwaizumi can’t hide his relief. Around them, the neon flowers begin to melt into something gooey and foul-smelling. Miyanoshita hops into the air.

Stepping back through the portal may be one of the tensest moments of Iwaizumi’s life.

Tooru shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting around behind closed lids, and his fingers twitch. But he remains asleep, and there are no more seizures, no more nosebleeds. Iwaizumi, despite his careful planning and rationing of time, stands there and _looks_ at them both for a long moment, overcome with relief.

Miyanoshita clears her throat and flicks one of her ears. “The people are getting closer.”

The sirens have died down, but Iwaizumi doesn’t know how she could hear that. He checks the clock on the nightstand while he digs around beneath the bed. It had been a handful of hours here. In the Dreamlands, Iwaizumi had sworn it’d been almost a week.

He comes up with the bundles of his remaining skins. He throws the dragon pelt on over his shoulders, not yet pulling it on, and rolls up the other two into even tighter balls. He’s not going to be dumb and leave either of them here, even if being a dragon seems like the wisest course of action right now.

He debates leaving out the back door and letting whoever it is be, but it could be friends. Tooru has a lot of them. Iwaizumi thinks he has some here, too.

He gestures for Miyanoshita to stay close behind him, and he stuffs his other skins, extra coats, and a blanket into a backpack to put on Tooru. Color has begun returning to his face, but his jerky, twitching movements have increased, too. Iwaizumi gnaws on the inside of his cheek to keep his expression calm. Every instinct in him screams, again, for him to return somewhere familiar, somewhere without the disgusting magic hanging thick in the air like smog.

He needs to come up with a better concept of safety, he supposes.

“Alright, let’s go,” he says and leads the way toward the front door.

He prays to gods he no longer believes in that he’s about to see a friendly face on the other side.

Somehow, he does. 

“Sawamura?” Iwaizmi asks, shocked. Instinctively, he looks for Sugawara as well, but he does not see him.

Instead, he finds the tall, imposing figure of Ushijima.

Iwaizumi tries to slam the door in their faces, but Daichi sticks his boot in between the door and frame, and soon it’s followed by a painfully familiar vorpal sword. Iwaizumi still has the scars on his palms. “The _hell_ do you want? What are you doing with _him_?”

“Do you or Oikawa know where Suga is?” Daichi asks in a low voice, as if not to be overheard.

Iwaizumi glances at Ushijima over Daichi’s shoulder. “No. Why isn’t he with you?”

“I think we should talk,” Ushijima says flatly.

Behind him, Iwaizumi can hear Tooru begin to make small, pained noises. Miyanoshita shushes him and her magic smells cloying, but not as bad as whatever is wafting off Ushijima.

“I can save Oikawa,” Ushijima adds.

Between that, and Daichi’s tense but pleading look, Iwaizumi grits his teeth and opens the door for them.


	26. Demons Are Not Inherently Evil

Daichi finds himself in the _entirely_ intimidating position of having someone’s claws at his throat. “This better be not be some kind of trap,” Iwaizumi hisses, then releases him. Daichi stumbles into Tooru’s living room.

It’s normally immaculate, but now, there’s a wary woman with animal ears and a tail, and Tooru is resting in her lap, unconscious and pale. His mouth twists in a frown in his sleep, and his limbs give little jerks, like he’s having a bad dream.

“We need your help with something,” Daichi says, eyes on Tooru. Suga would be worried sick if he saw this. _But Suga isn’t here._

“Help him first,” the woman demands.

“How exactly did you wanna handle that?” comes Shirabu’s voice, somewhere behind Ushijima’s shoulder, and Iwaizumi pulls scales down his other arm, until both are reptilian.

“Can you do anything for him?” Ushijima asks Shirabu as if he’s curious.

“Get out,” Iwaizumi snaps. “If you don’t know—”

“ _I_ can,” Ushijima coldly cuts in.

“…Uh, well,” Shirabu says, awkward, “I could see if I could drag his spirit somewhere, but this is probably a physical reaction.”

“It wouldn’t help,” Kawanishi surmises.

“Then I will handle it.” Ushijima begins writing magic runes in the air, murmuring under his breath, and Iwaizumi’s shoulders twitch up with every word.

“Listen,” Daichi says, as soothing as he can manage, “they have a plan. Suga and Kiyoko are out of the picture, doing I don’t know what, and Tooru is… indisposed. At least he knows what we’re dealing with and has a plan, okay?”

Iwaizumi’s shoulders inch down from around his ears. “Why are you really with him?”

With a snap of vertigo, the house seems clearer and colder. Tooru’s face relaxes at once. Iwaizumi studies him for a long moment, frame gradually losing more and more tension, until he nearly looks neutral again.

The woman brushes Tooru’s hair back from his eyes. “Where did you take us?” she asks quietly, and Iwaizumi is a hot wire again, ready to spark.

“I have not taken us anywhere. That would require too much time and magic, neither of which I can spare on you. I’ve insulated the building against the current realm’s atmosphere. This will likely get very cold, but you will not run out of air. Unless it is closer, Northot will not be able to poison Oikawa’s mind further.” Ushijima pauses and adds, “I have gotten very good at dimensional magic. That is what my plan hinges upon.”

“Then shove it back where it came from. Why are you here?” Iwaizumi demands.

“We need some place to shove it to,” Daichi replies.

Realization, anger, hope, then suspicion cross Iwaizumi’s face in a flash. He pulls his pelt tighter over himself, and with a surly-sounding _thump_ , a thick tail drops onto the carpet below. His teeth are too sharp to appear human. “Why should I help you. You did this, and Sawamura—you’re fucking crazy. Ushijima is trouble!”

“Yes, and where else do you expect Suga to pop up again?”

Iwaizumi has nothing to say to that.

On the couch, Tooru stirs with coherency rather than troubled sleep.

“Sawamura has a valuable tool and has offered his help in rationalizing my plan to you,” Ushijima says and places a hand on Daichi’s shoulder. He could live without that. “I need you to allow me to use the Dreamlands in order to lock Northot away.”

“You’re a witch, not a spellwriter. How do I even know you can do this?”

“I’ve already broken through one realm’s borders. I’ve broken one, so I know how to do it in reverse. Then it is just a matter of large-scale warding and reinforcement of existing barriers. I know it can be done.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a ball of sleepy, downy feathers. The eaglet blinks in the light and _peeps_ softly. “With my familiar back, I am even more powerful than before.” Ushijima seems almost _fond_. It looks comically out of place on the man. “Rest assured, I can do this. But even with all of my power, I cannot open a portal to another realm on my own. You can—I’ve seen it. And, if you have to offer any information about how this other realm of yours works—”

Tooru interrupts with a slurred, “H’lo again, Athena. Long time, no see.”

Ushijima’s fond expression vanishes. The baby bird in his hand _peeps_ again, as if in greeting.

“You’re the biggest dumbass on the face of the planet, you know that, Ushiwaka?” Tooru continues. The woman keeps a hand on his back to brace him, but he seems to be gaining awareness. He blinks a few times at Iwaizumi, a few more at Daichi—who knows what kind of swirling mess his thoughts must be—and then returns to Ushijima with not only a smile, but a _predatory_ one.

Iwaizumi crosses his scaly arms and grins like he’s expecting a show.

“I’m going to fix my mistake,” Ushijima tells him, serious, but almost annoyed. “I’ve always said I would not allow Northot free rein, and I mean that. …Though this would not have happened if there hadn’t been _interlopers_.”

“You did _not_ just try to pin this on us,” Daichi snaps.

One of the deer guys lets out a poorly muffled snort of laughter.

“Iwa-chan.” Tooru makes grabby motions until Iwaizumi shuffles over. Tooru takes his hand and holds out his claws toward them. “Ushijima, I personally think you should shove these dragon claws up your ass.”

Iwaizumi yanks his hand away with a disgusted noise. Ushijima’s scowl deepens, and so does Daichi’s. Maybe he should just throw himself to the mercies of the angry shapeshifter and half-dead psychic instead. It’d be kinder on his conscience.

“Unfortunately, I can tell you’re sincere and it seems like you know what you’re doing. So I suppose you can fuck yourself after we save the world.”

It doesn’t actually help Daichi’s conscience, either way, it turns out.

 

\--

 

“Come on,” Hana begs the broken body of the human laid out before her. She will not lose another.

The human stirs. Hana is convinced the woman has more magic in her than blood, but she’s alive, and Hana allows herself a moment of a smile.

“Uh, Misaki?” Terushima sounds uncharacteristically nervous.

When she looks up, she finds two witches with guns pointed at her. Terushima has his hands up like how humans surrender in movies. It’s not funny.

“I’m a healer,” Hana says as levelly as she can. The woman before her groans and her arm twitches. “I’m trying to save lives. I have a shop, in the goblin market, I’m reputable—”

“You’re coming with us if you can use healing magic.” One of the witches drags her upright, away from the injured human.

“Hey, wait—!”

“Don’t be rough with her!”

Hana sprouts thorns all along her arms and skitters back as soon as the angry witch releases her. She tugs Terushima back with her. “I don’t know what you humans think you’re doing here, but I’m not here to help you clean this up. I’m so tired of cleaning up after humans.” Her voice quakes just a little. She’s trying to remember types of poisonous flowers that won’t harm a faun, and she’s regrettably coming up blank.

“Aren’t humans supposed to be scared of spirits right now?” Terushima complains. If he has enough courage to sass, then Hana doesn’t need to stand between them anymore.

With all the primness she can muster, she kneels beside the injured woman once more. “Once she’s stable, you two can carry her back to wherever you think is safe. There are others here that need help, too, but this area isn’t…” She glances up: concrete dust, ash, magical pollution, and the normal grime of a human city. “Good.”

“That’s Yachi Madoka,” the other witch says, and she lowers her gun. Hana looks down at the woman before her with a new eye. “If… If you can save her—”

“We have orders to bring back any capable medics!”

“That is my coven leader!”

“With the state of emergency, covens have been temporarily—”

The second witch points her gun at the first witch, and Hana worries that any little twitch from Madoka will set them off. Exit wounds can be messy and she hates digging bullets out of people most of all.

“Let’s just take a deep breath, and focus on what’s important right now,” Terushima says. Both witches glare at him. Madoka coughs and Hana pulls the rest of the blood from her lungs with a gentle motion. “We’re trying to help you humans. So let’s get you off your high horses, and you can ask us, very nicely, if we’d like to continue helping out of the goodness of our hearts. Then, maybe, we will.”

Hana shoots his back a dirty look. She is going to help no matter what.

“We know there are still injured people we haven’t found, that haven’t been accounted for,” the witch with the hopefully steady trigger finger says. “That includes coven leaders. We need people to be out here, helping, instead of confined in tents and fretting over how much we don’t know. …Um, miss nymph, if you’re going to stay out here, then I’ll help.”

“I’m her bodyguard,” Terushima flatly informs her.

“I have a gun,” the witch replies.

Hana ends up with three bodyguards, then, and while she doesn’t approve of humans or their tactics, at least they’re more careful carrying the injured than Terushima is.

 

\--

 

Tadashi finally realizes how he can do it. He doesn’t mean to shout “I’ve got it!” and scare a room full of stressed spirits, but shit happens. Kuroo’s weak little laugh might be worth the way two puffed-up bakeneko cling to Lev hard enough to draw blood.

It isn’t worth the way Hinata nearly drops his end of the spell.

“You’ve got what,” Kei says, just loud enough to be heard over Tobio’s furious reprimands.

“Work.” Tadashi pulls on his coat, despite the collective dirty look. “No, I mean—look, I’m upright, it’s fine, I can do this—listen, it’s an actual goddamn plan this time, and I’m so mad I didn’t think of it sooner.”

“Think of what sooner?” Lev asks, uncharacteristically irate due to cat-related injuries.

“This had better be damn good if you think we’re letting you wander around the city again,” Morisuke adds.

“We know Daichi isn’t with Suga, but we know Suga is with Kiyoko, and they know what’s going on—or have some kind of grand plan, right?” Tadashi says between grabbing more winter gear from their collective pile.

“You said your magic was haywire,” Tobio snaps.

“You said you were out of magic,” Hinata adds with a haughty tilt of his head.

“How about you two focus on what you’re supposed to be doing?” Kei calmly asks. Kuroo snickers again, in a tired sort of way. Under the guise of petting him, Kei tries to shove his face into the carpet. Midna mews her protest from her spot atop his chest. “How can you find them?”

“Suga loaned Daichi that scarf of his. He left it at work!” Tadashi vividly remembers the obscenely orange scarf looped over Daichi’s peg in the backroom. Tadashi believes in Kenma’s idea, but Kenma himself said it was temporary. It wasn’t going to actually banish or kill anything.

But Suga specializes in killing monsters and Kiyoko specializes in keeping the peace.

“Are you just going to be doing fetch quests all day? You’re going to drop dead,” Tobio says. Tadashi is going to believe he doesn’t mean it as angrily as it comes out.

“Last one, I promise.” Tadashi digs around for an extra pair of gloves. He’s not going to die of frostbite in the apocalypse.

“I’m coming with you,” Morisuke announces.

Tadashi doesn’t know how to ask about Morisuke’s concerns for Lev—or how to articulate the fact that he’s not certain he wants an overly harsh angel on his shoulder for whenever he does find Suga.

“I’m coming too!” Yuuki says, and oh joy, he gets to carry around _two_ cats. Maybe if he stuffs them in his coat they can keep each other warm.

“No, you’re staying here.”

“I’m old enough to help!”

“That isn’t why you’re staying.” Morisuke pushes down on Yuuki’s folded ear with his paw until the kitten is squirming. “We need to split the luck. Who knows how the demon is really doing, but Kenma wouldn’t be happy if he were to return and find him dead. This place needs to stay safe and stay secret. I don’t think Kei needs any further heartbreak, either.”

Tobio and Hinata make matching noises of confusion, and Kei’s nose wrinkles in disgust. Yuuki seems bolstered by this kind of task.

“Also, you need to keep Lev from summoning anything else. Lev, you will be the first to be killed and eaten if you do anything else stupid today.”

“I thought we were having a moment,” Lev replies with a wildly hurt tone. “You were so worried for me! Go back to that.”

“You’re not the only one I need to look out for in this mess.”

“But I’m your favorite, right?”

Morisuke answers by jumping off Lev and landing on Tadashi’s shoulder. Tadashi doesn’t dare tease either of them, but he cannot restrain a grin. “Let’s go.”

“Bye, Tsukki.” Tadashi tries to make his wave the fondest damned wave in the history of farewells. He probably fails. “Bye, Kuroo—feel better soon. Yuuki, keep them safe, alright?”

“ _I_ will, because I’m in charge here!” Hinata declares with a sulky stomp of his foot. Yuuki salutes with a paw and the smuggest expression Tadashi has ever seen on a kitten.

 

\--

 

“This would go far more quickly if you did not interrupt me every other sentence,” Ushijima says with admirable calm.

Tooru can sense desperation rolling off the man in waves, but the space between his ears is more Swiss cheese than grey matter. Tooru can read more from the eaglet in his pocket than Ushijima himself.

Tooru uncrosses and recrosses his legs, nearly kicking Daichi in the knee. He feels no pity. This is business.

“So far, you offer vague promises we don’t know you can back up.” Tooru tilts his head and stares down his nose.

“I have outlined my plan twice for you.”

“You will lure the god into a trap. The trap consists of questionable magic you can’t fully explain to me. You require both Iwaizumi and I to be present at the site, despite the risk it will almost certainly pose to my health.” Tooru’s eyes linger on Daichi, but he can’t find it in himself to start an argument. Daichi does the forlorn lover thing far too well. “Also, the risks to my friends, too.”

“I am banishing Northot to another realm and sealing its borders so it cannot claw its way back out immediately,” Ushijima says. “I can keep the atmospheric magic from eating into your mind any more than it has. I’ve proven this.”

Tooru wishes he’d sound at least a little harassed. “Can anyone learn this trick?”

“Yes, given enough talent.”

“Teach it to Iwa-chan, then we’ll have a deal.”

Miyanoshita has long since left. Iwaizumi had gone outside to have a shouting match with Ushijima’s escorts that has gone suspiciously silent. “I am not sure he is capable.”

“Iwaizumi can do it!” Tooru exclaims with too much vehemence to downplay. “You’re not allowed to dismiss the people you’re begging help from.”

“I’m not begging—”

“Oikawa, please,” Daichi sighs.

Tooru falls into a surly silence. “Fine then, teach Daichi.”

“ _What_?” Daichi asks, affronted by the very notion. Ushijima surveys him with a fresh eye. “No, no, don’t drag me into this. I can’t do magic. Teach Iwaizumi.”

“If Daichi can’t help me,” Tooru says, “then I want him to join my team after we help you.”

“We are on the same team,” Ushijima replies, and Tooru laughs at him for that. “Sawamura is here as a matter of convenience and stubbornness. I did not feel like getting shot any more today, and he has a valuable weapon I’d rather be pointed at Northot than me.”

“I’m just trying to find Suga,” Daichi defensively adds.

“We can find him, together,” Tooru says.

Daichi looks away, but doesn’t immediately dismiss the idea. Tooru can hear Daichi’s doubt as if he were talking to himself with a megaphone.

Tooru knows this side of Suga, the side that smiles and tells you not to worry while doing the very thing he’d sworn not to do.

If need be, Iwaizumi can just turn into a dragon and carry them off, away from Ushijima and his mess.

Tooru smiles at Daichi, hoping it comes off as reassuring. Ushijima’s wariness increases, and Tooru gets a flash of something sharp, like teeth or bone or antlers. _Antlers?_

“We will need any and all help we can get, but I have confidence in my backup plan,” Ushijima vows. “Can I count on you and your bodyguard’s help?”

“I suppose you can.” Tooru wonders if this is what summoners feel like when making deals with devils.

 

\--

 

Akaashi is supposedly injured, and has probably taken cover in one of the tiny parks with a playground in this part of the city. Kenma thinks there had been a school nearby, nestled in amongst skyscrapers and stuffy businesses. There’s a clear swath left by the rampaging god, visible from above like a tear in a map.

Northot is, again, between them and their goal.

“What’s the plan of attack this time?” Bokuto asks, scowling down at the bright speck less than a block from the park they’re supposed to be scouring.

Kenma doesn’t doubt that Akaashi is injured. Spirits of fortune, however greedy, do not lie, for they see the value in loyalty and favors. “We can’t draw it towards the park,” Kenma mumbles, angrily. They can’t split up. There is no way either of them can stall that monstrosity for very long.

If they knew where Akaashi was, then Kenma might have considered one of them playing distraction. Bokuto is in better shape and the better fighter in general, but if they need a fast escape, then he’s the only one who can jump with Akaashi.

“How long until those two figure out your spell, d’you think?” Bokuto asks.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath.” He’d be happy if they stopped it from unraveling completely in his absence.

All of the destruction to the city Kenma had tentatively called home is unexpectedly painful. Who knows how many other people could be hurt or dying or dead?

Kenma hates acting without a plan, especially against something so strong. He’s not interested in throwing his life away, even for Akaashi. “We’re going to have to fight it, and draw it away from the park. Once we’ve gotten it some distance away, we break off and go looking. Hopefully someone will be moved by our heroic actions, come to help, and we can dump the god on them.”

“We could just kill it here and now,” Bokuto says darkly.

“You’re welcome to try.”

“You have to put your heart into it, too! How’re you supposed to kill anything if you half-ass it?”

“There are two of us, and I am injured. We’re not stopping anything, Koutarou.”

“You’re the strongest witch I know!” Bokuto exclaims. Kenma spares him an unimpressed look for his troubles. “No, I’m serious, I’ve seen you fight and you’re great. Also, I’m spectacular, and I would absolutely kill a god to go save Keiji.”

“It almost ate you.”

“But plenty worked against it, too! Kenma, I have to be doing something—I’m barely holding myself together, and I know we’re all fucked if you lose both me an’ Keiji an’ Kuroo. I don’t wanna start crying, because I don’t think I’d stop. I’m gonna need you to cut out the pessimism, okay? Give me a plan, and we’ll do it.”

 _It’s not pessimism_ , Kenma wants to reply, but he does not want to confront that serious look or the vulnerability in Bokuto’s words. “That’s all I have. I’m sorry. We draw it away as best we can, try to stay alive, and double back.”

“Then let’s do that!”

Without further warning, Bokuto takes a steep dive toward the bright spot below. Kenma allows himself one deep, steeling breath before darting down after him.

With a voice that shakes the buildings around it, it calls, “I had̷ ͢no̕t҉ a̢n̕tic̕ipated yo̶u͏r̴ ͘hung̢e͟r ̷f͞o͞r d̢ea̕t͞h.”

Kenma nearly falls off his broom as he swerves, but this speech is not as bad as its native language. Bokuto does not lose speed at all. He raises his legs, talons extended, and effortlessly slices through the first two tendrils that try to catch him. He rakes his talons against the top of its body and keeps going, a blur of streaked feathers, splattering oily blood behind him.

Northot twists to try to follow him. It is still smaller than they had seen, but it has already grown again since they left it less than an hour ago.

Carefully, Kenma draws out the perimeters for his gravity spell. It pins the god to the rubble below, cracking concrete and flattening most of its body. He doesn’t waste magic trying to hold it, especially as it begins to ooze out from his spell’s hold like a slug. Kenma releases it, makes sure it sees him above, and zips off after Bokuto.

They head back towards its own destruction, a clear path—for them _and_ Northot. When Kenma glances back to ensure it’s following them, he finds it heaving forward on a multitude of spindly limbs. Kenma doesn’t see Bokuto anywhere, but he can’t stay ahead of it, and he’s forced to veer off.

There are few still-standing buildings here; fewer places to hide and still be able to move freely. Kenma floats behind the half-crumbled wall of an apartment, holding his breath and re-wrapping his scarf around his cold face. _Go after Bokuto_. _How can we engage without cover?_

Something explodes behind his hiding spot, close, and he shoots straight up to try to gain distance. He finds Bokuto again, with the wreckage of a burning car below. Kenma looks a little too long at the bubbling flesh of the melting pieces of god.

His eyes sting, and when he wipes his wrist across them, it comes away smeared with too-dark blood.

“Koutarou, we need to keep moving.” He doesn’t say too much, unsure how good its hearing is.

“Wh̵e̴re is ҉the͏ ̧fo̕x?̨” It rises from the fiery car like it’s stepping over a minor inconvenience. It is upright again, supporting itself with a solid mass instead of legs; its many limbs all reach upward, idly batting at Bokuto like a particularly uncommitted cat. “Tel͠l ̕m̢e, ̧an͘d̵ ͞you͘r̨ de͢a̛t̶h҉ will b̵e ̸m̢erci̢f̢ul in̵ i͢t̢s͟ swi̵ft̨n̷ess.”

“How _generous_ ,” Bokuto shoots back with a leer.

“I̶ am͢ n̶ot g̢re̢e̢dy lik̷e͏ s̨h̴u͘g̷g̴͞ơ̡t͟h̶h.” It gets nearer and nearer Bokuto, and Kenma realizes that its unmotivated swipes are a ploy. Thankfully, so does Bokuto, and he keeps rising, keeping out of its way. “T̷e͞ll me̕, ͘an͜d̕ I ̢will̶ no̡t ̨k͞ill ͡the҉ shuggo҉t̶h witch ̵in͟ fr̡on̴t ͟of̴ yo͠u.”

“You’re so talkative now! Did it bother you _that_ much that you lost him?”

“I didn’t think gods made deals with mortals,” Kenma adds.

Kenma manages to rear back enough that the deity’s lunge deflects off his broom handle with a spray of splinters. With a squawk of alarm, Bokuto manages to dodge. Northot’s hooked tendril scrapes through his flight feathers, and though it breaks a handful, it does not grab either of them.

Bokuto outpaces Kenma, and with the speed of their pursuer, Kenma doesn’t concentrate on anything except flying _faster_. Bokuto darts right, and Kenma veers left without a backwards glance. A thick arm with so many branching fingers shoots forward, faster than either of them.

 _We’re too close_ , Kenma realizes with horror.

Northot lashes out horizontally, and it clips Bokuto’s leg. He tumbles through the air, but recovers just feet from the rubble below. He zigzags, low to the ground, and Kenma tries to gain altitude while dodging other massive, forked limbs.

They almost make it to the edge of the still-standing section of downtown when Northot breaks Kenma’s leg and broom with a whiplike grab. It catches him with a tendril around his midsection, and squeezes all the air from Kenma’s lungs.

He can’t breathe, and his vision begins to grey out at the edges, no matter how he tries to avoid looking at it. He scrabbles weakly at the burning flesh wrapped around him. Some instinctive animal fear prevents him for reaching for his magic. If it tried to feed off of him, Kenma would be dead in seconds. Bokuto desperately hacks and slashes through a mass of alien limbs to try to reach him. Kenma hates being used as bait like this, and he hates more that Bokuto fell for it.

The dragon breaking out of the low-hanging clouds stalls even the god.

Northot turns, dragging both Kenma and Bokuto, but the dragon does not decelerate. It’s not huge, but it slams into Northot with a massive, disgustingly _wet_ sound.

Bokuto fights his way free, and he claws Kenma free a moment later. They’re both bleeding, but they’re alive, and the god is many twitching limbs splattered onto the concrete below. Bokuto scoops Kenma up in his arms and uses magic to buoy them while they survey the damage.

The dragon stands, shaky but triumphant in the mess it has made of Northot. It spreads all four of its wings, shakes out its white mane, then examines the way its frontmost claws have broken off from the impact. “Well, shit,” the dragon remarks.

 _Oh, god, that’s a shapeshifter_. “Koutarou, we should go.”

“That dragon just spoke!”

“That’s not a dragon. He can take care of it, I’m sure. It’s not as if many things can get through dragonhide.”

“We… we should help him,” Bokuto says, but it sounds weak even to Kenma. They have the perfect distraction, even if it means they both must go, with Kenma’s broken broom.

“You can come back to help him after we get Akaashi.”

Northot begins to pull itself together. Its body is a pulped, half-solid mess, but not even that fazes it. It winds its spidery limbs up around the dragon’s legs, but he steps away with a flap of his wings and an irritated snort of smoke.

“If you bring up that damned dead cat again,” Iwaizumi tells the god beneath his claws with no trace of fear in his voice, “I’m going to make you wish you’d never realized this realm existed.”

“S̢uch̸ ̷ga̴ll f̴r̸om ̛sh͟a҉ggo̷th.”

Iwaizumi steps down on what could have been its head with a _crunch_. He flicks blood off his broken claws, and cocks his head to give Kenma and Bokuto a long, hard look. _Does he want us to go? Does he need help? Is this some plan of Oikawa’s?_ There are too many variables; Kenma does not know what Iwaizumi wants, and he can’t plan for it. He needs to get Akaashi and reconvene with Shouyou and Tobio.

“Koutarou,” Kenma says with another tug on the finer feathers near Bokuto’s shoulder. “We need to go. He can handle this.”

Northot surges upward and reduces one of Iwaizumi’s wings to tatters. It wraps all of its remaining limbs around the next nearest wing, breaking lighter and thinner bones like toothpicks.

“No—!” Kenma starts, but it is too late.

Northot reaches up to intercept them, and with Kenma in hand, Bokuto is not so maneuverable. Kenma draws back his arm for an arrow, but he knows he will not gather the magic in time.

Bokuto goes straight through Northot’s long, sharp fingers.

Iwaizumi flaps his wings, as best he can, and the delicate webbing remaining passes harmlessly through the god draped all around him.

Bokuto flops them both over the dragon’s neck. No matter how close they are to the deity, Iwaizumi is the only solid thing.

Iwaizumi flexes his broken claws against the concrete below, despite the fact that he is mired in what _should_ be the god halfway up his legs. Bokuto passes his wing through one of Northot’s tendrils a few times.

When it realizes what has happened, Northot releases a scream of pure fury that quickly becomes too high to hear.

His ears are bleeding from the noise, but Kenma collapses into a fit of laughter on Iwaizumi’s back.

 

\--

 

Kageyama Tobio isn’t exactly a smart person. His teachers hadn’t thought so, his parents hadn’t thought so, and for a long time, he hadn’t thought so, either.

He was fifteen the first time he met Oikawa Tooru, and sixteen when the psychic had affectionately ruffled his hair and cracked a joke about a boy being the most talented member of all of Foxglove. Tobio had known he’d only said it to get a rise out of Madoka, but it had stuck with him. At eighteen, he was approached by Ushijima Wakatoshi, specifically for his prowess with magic, and that had fanned the ember of Tooru’s offhand but memorable comment into a flame. Wakatoshi had absolute confidence in himself; why shouldn’t Tobio?

He wouldn’t call himself a genius, and certainly not a spellwriter, but when he’s presented with a spell and the knowledge of how it works, he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t cast it. Even if he must wrestle a bratty tengu into submission to do so.

“Were you… supposed to do that?” Tsukishima asks faintly. All of the lightbulbs in the room had popped with the surge of magic; it’s daylight out, but it casts different shadows than before. Tsukishima and the demon are now in the farthest, and darkest, part of the room.

“Why shouldn’t I have done that?” Tobio snaps. True, the magical cost had been more than he’d been expecting, but Tobio had felt the pool of Kenma’s magic sitting in the spell like ice water. He’d just added more, dragged Shouyou into it, and pulled the sticky, disgusting tendrils of angelic magic from the cursed mirror. It was frustrating to knot everything together, but he has confidence that it will not be undone anytime soon.

Doubt grips him, until he sees the sparkly-eyed expression Shouyou has. His cheeks are still ruddy from the embarrassment of mixing their magic, but he’s all awe and compliments. “You just—like _whoosh_! Just like that! Like it was so easy!”

“Isn’t that what I was supposed to do?” Tobio asks, faltering, but feeling rather warm with Shouyou’s attention on him. “Kozume gave me a spell, and he made sure I understood it.”

“I think he wanted you to babysit, not finish it,” Lev replies. “But you… did it?”

“Why would he give it to me if he didn’t want me to cast it for him? He’s busy doing other things, isn’t he?”

“We’ve been doing everything we can to stay afloat,” Tsukishima tells him.

“And you just… did that,” Lev finishes.

“But did it _work_?” Kuroo croaks.

They fall silent, the only noise the faint whistling of wind against the windows.

“I guess Kenma would’ve known,” Shouyou mutters, probably _not_ intending it as an insult or comparison, but it rankles Tobio all the same.

“Something’s working! I think I know whether or not a spell worked,” he snaps and makes a grab for Shouyou. Shouyou ducks out of the way, landing on a foot outside of the spell’s runework. Nothing explodes and no one keels over. “It’s fine. It’s working. See, it’s stable, and when he comes back, Kozume can nitpick. No one else gets to, since no one else is the one who cast it.”

“Defensive, defensive!” Shouyou says with a laugh. “I can feel the magic, too, so I know you did _something_.”

“Of course I did something!”

“Well, just so long as it keeps up, I think we’re good,” Lev says.

“The toll isn’t that high,” he says, trying for casual, because no, of course he hadn’t been worried.

“It’s called a spell cost, isn’t it?”

Shouyou begins laughing, and Tobio tries to smack him again, and it’s almost as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

 

\--

 

“Is that Tadashi?” As Hitoka cranes her neck over, the broom wobbles dangerously, and Yuu’s arms tighten around her middle.

“Warn a guy before doing a barrel roll!”

“S-Sorry!” More controlled, Hitoka gently leans over the edge, and Yuu obligingly leans the other way, despite how squeamish he can get about heights. Their flight potion has worn off by now, and Hitoka doesn’t know where to get them another. “That is Tadashi, right…?”

“Hey, Sae, is that your boy down there?” Yuu shouts suddenly. Hitoka jumps, and the broom swerves again. Yuu nearly crushes her with a screech.

“Can’t you two fly straight for five minutes?” Goshiki’s frown vanishes when Saeko shoves her elbow in his face to get a better look below. “Hey! Stop that, I’m nice enough to give you a ride!”

“After ditching your responsibilities and dragging the healer back into danger,” Saeko replies without missing a beat. “Hitoka, where’re you seeing this? _How_ are you? Everyone looks like ants from up here.”

The fox spirit slides in between them like he’s swimming through the air. He’s even reclining on his back, in human form, arms crossed behind his head in a picture of relaxation. “Ta-da-shiiii,” he sings and writes his name in the air. “Freckled kid, prone to nerves, really annoying? Has half of you tripping over yourselves to play babysitter?”

Saeko points her empty gun at his head.

“I’m not wrong,” he points out, but backs away with his ears pressed low against his bright hair. “He’s a couple blocks back, doing who knows what. Probably on his way to fuck up Toshi’s day again. Which, for the record, would be very bad for everyone here, even including Little Miss Murderer.”

“Why are you still here, if you hate us so much?!” Yuu demands.

“You keep others from shooting at me, for starters.”

“I hope you get shot in the head again.”

The fox spirit drops away from their company entirely with a wounded noise that trails off with a, “Hope _you_ get shot in the head, see how you like it.”

“Stop bothering us,” Hitoka tells him, but absently, focused as she is on the chance of a familiar face.

“Yeah—ah!” Yuu finishes with a shriek when Hitoka pulls into a dive. It soon turns into a laugh, and that soothes her conscience just enough. Down one street, across another, and she sees the huddled figure with the shining blob that can only be a luck spirit. “Tadashi, yo! The fuck are you doing here?!”

Tadashi jumps so badly that poor Yaku nearly falls off his shoulder. “Hi-Hitoka? Noya? What are you two doing—how are you on a broom?”

“Trade secret!” Yuu declares as if it’s his. “Or, well, I guess Kenma did us a favor. Now, your turn!”

“We’re on the way to fetch something for his finding magic,” Yaku defensively replies, glaring at them from around Tadashi’s unruly hair. “Not that it particularly concerns either of you.”

When the fox spirit joins them near the ground, Yaku snarls and sets him on fire.

“Have you seen any coven witches?” Hitoka asks, loudly enough to be heard over the fox spirit’s angry spitting.

“Uh, Yamamoto,” Tadashi replies when Yaku flatly says, “Mohawk.”

Hitoka vaguely knows the man. Her mother had thought about offering his little sister, Akane, a position within Foxglove, but no one wanted inter-coven relations to worsen. “Do you need a healer?”

“Not anymore.” Tadashi shuffles from side to side, and Hitoka can’t tell if he is trying to stay warm or if he’s excessively nervous. “Look, we’re just trying to find people, too. Well, Suga, and Kiyoko. You see either of them?”

“No, not since…” Hitoka can’t really remember. She can’t remember a lot of things; this does not cause her to panic, but it does make her head pound. Now Tadashi is the one giving her a funny look. “What’s going on?”

“We’re trying to find that out.”

Hitoka isn’t certain what she can do to help, or how they could ask her. She doesn’t have anything of her mother’s right now for Tadashi to use, and if he’s busy, she’s not sure how she can ask him to drop that and help her. It’s not as if finding her mother is on par with any world-ending developments. Not that she thinks Tadashi is getting into that kind of trouble… except she kind of does, in a weird way.

_No, not him, but he’s with Suga and Suga is with Shimizu—_

“Hitoka, you okay?” Yuu asks after grabbing her head from behind and keeping her still.

“Yesh,” she lies, cheeks squished. Her head hurts. She doesn’t dare use more magic on herself, and she isn’t certain what else she could even take that wouldn’t send her body into some sort of hyper-magic shock.

Something, some part of some long-buried (stolen) memory that she does not understand calls on Hitoka to go with Tadashi.

She doesn’t know why—she rather feels like she doesn’t know _anything_ right now, with the way her brain is oozing out of her ears—and it doesn’t overpower her desire to find her mother and flee to the safety and help of the covens. They’ll know what’s going on. They’ll know how she can best help.

“Get somewhere safe, soon,” Tadashi tells her. “And, uh—we have a radio, but it’s some sort of channel-jumping thing that Kenma came up with, and so… I mean, if you can get on that, keep us updated and we can talk, but…”

“We’ll figure something out,” Yuu replies. “But you gotta keep safe, too! No one needs more ghost tragedy.”

Hitoka doesn’t understand the guilt that wells up inside her at that, either.

 

\--

 

“The perimeter is holding, though we’re constantly dealing with angry civilians, and more and more spirits. I have no idea if half the humans are magical or not at this point. Everyone’s just pissed and confused,” Hisashi reports, rather bored. “That thing, whatever it is, hasn’t even gotten near anything we’ve set up yet. It’s just been trying to keep people out.”

“But it’s been moving,” Atsumu replies with a gesture of his good arm. “It’s only a matter of time, and then we’re going to have to get creative. Or, we can take preventive measures.”

“No,” Motoya calls from the other side of the tent.

It’s weird to meet with so many other coven members—and not—in a medical triage tent turned command center. It’s weirder still to work with all of these people, several of whom have loudly berated, insulted, or threatened him in the past. Hisashi doesn’t know why he got saddled with this, except the fact that Alkanet’s coven head is still missing and everyone seems to think Hisashi is a good stand-in.

Yachi Madoka has been found, even if everyone is eyeing the flower nymph who brought her in with shades of suspicion. Osamu and Manabu haven’t turned up, and Kazuhito had mentioned something about Betony acting under the orders of some second-in-command. Covens don’t really have a clear chain of command, so it’s a minor miracle this isn’t even more chaotic.

“What about a huge-ass negation field?” Atsumu muses.

“Is it even made of magic from this realm?” Kiyoomi asks from the cot next to him.

“We’d need every witch in the city for something that size,” Suguru grumbles from his own spot—furthest from all of them without seeming like he’s trying to make an escape. Hisashi is mildly surprised that he’s still here, even if he is hypothetically waiting on getting his friend checked out.

“Purges take less magic than negation, and it doesn’t have to be our kind of magic or not,” Taketora grunts.

Everyone turns to him, most shocked, the rest angry.

“What? We’re all thinking it!” Taketora flings a used glove at Atsumu. “Miya is unfortunately kinda in charge right now, and we don’t know what else to do. Someone’s gotta make the tough call.”

“That would kill everything magical in the area!” Suguru snarls. Mika looks particularly displeased, but she holds her tongue.

“Why are you trying to kill more people?”

“We can evac spirits—”

“That’s not perfect, and that kind of warning would only tip that goddamn monster off!”

“Spirits are helping you, and now you’re trying to kill them?!”

“That’d banish any ghosts in the area.”

“And what if we accidentally catch a fairy or tengu in that? They’d have our heads!”

Hisashi cringes away from all of the yelling, and he thinks of Kazuhito. Hell, even a strong witch might get hurt or worse by that level of purge spell. He’s bent over backwards to try to play nice and quiet and obedient, all in the name of keeping Kazu safe. He’s done plenty to help today, even if it could compromise his cover.

He takes a breath.

Before he can say anything, Kyoutani Kentarou ducks his head into the tent and announces, “Hey, shitheads, instead of arguing about how many people you wanna kill who ain’t up to your standards, how about someone actually gets on the goddamn radio and listen to what’s going on right now?”

Hisashi had kind of thought he’d cut out already.

“What’s going on now?” Kiyoomi asks with blood dripping down out of his nose. Motoya squawks and hastily grabs him another wad of tissues.

“Stop arguing, and go find out what’s happened now, or else I’m not doing shit for you, Atsumu.” Motoya looks surprisingly angry despite the fact that he’s trying to hold Kiyoomi still to mop up the blood.

“It’d be nice to get everyone out of the medical tent for five minutes,” the flower nymph mutters.

Hisashi is one of the first out, beat only by Mika and Suguru. He sees them conversing in low tones; he wouldn’t be surprised if Atsumu is about to lose a lot of the only support he has.

Kentarou, with a shivering, two-tailed dog swaddled in blankets and his coat at his feet, jerks his chin at the radio. It cuts in and out, interspersed with static and silence, but the message is clear enough. “—really know, but it’s like—it’s just phasing through things—entire buildings, and cars, and anyone who tr—engage can’t—it’s pissed now!”

“It’s… phasing through things?” Suguru blankly repeats.

Hisashi looks up, scanning the sky for Kazuhito, but he doesn’t see any winged silhouettes.

“At least someone is out there goddamn doing something,” Kentarou growls.

“I did! You were there, jackass!”

“ _I_ did,” Mika corrects with a hand on her husband’s arm.

“I meant the coven shitheads,” Kentarou grudgingly corrects, but looks angrier than ever. “Everything that’s happened so far sure as fuck hasn’t been all you witches runnin’ around like chickens missing their heads.”

“Give them some pity,” says the dog at his feet, hardly raising his head, “I’m sure it’s not like any funded, organized group of some of the most magically talented people in the city were ever prepared to do anything.”

“We’re stopping people from dying with the perimeter, and we’re trying to contain the information getting out online,” Hisashi wearily corrects. His heart isn’t in it.

“We tried stopping it with all that ice, risking life and limb in the process mind you, and now someone _else_ has figured out a phasing spell that affects gods,” Suguru points out. “Who knows what else the actual heroes of the day are cooking up?”

“Widespread murder of nonhumans,” Mika replies.

“Fine, the purge is the last resort,” Atsumu exclaims, exasperated, but Hisashi wonders how much of his aggravation is actually real. “But I’d very much like to figure out what everyone else is doing, and I need to know where my brother and the other leaders are. We need to keep this contained, and we can’t rely on strangers for help.”

“The strangers sure ain’t relying on us for help,” Taketora calls from inside the tent.

“You know, I’d almost guess that a spellwriter would be required to do something like phase a god out of the physical plane,” Atsumu calls back with faux innocence.

Instead of falling silent, Taketora storms out of the triage tent, flinging curse- and blood-covered gloves at his own coven leader. “You know what, fuck you. Akane will stay here and make sure no one dies, but I’m gonna go do something instead of listen to your useless bitching.”

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you running off to?”

“My friends, jackass. Try having them sometime.” He grabs a broom and zips off with a middle finger for all of them.

Akane pops out of the tent with a wide, sadistic grin at being left ranking healer. It’s difficult to tell if Atsumu is more frustrated with that or Taketora’s departure, but several of them take that as a cue to be a little more proactive in this battle.

 

\--

 

Keiji is aware they’ve left a trail of blood across several city blocks. The Inbetween and open wounds don’t mix well, but they’ve jumped when they could manage. Now with some room to breathe and the immediate threat of being eaten gone, Keiji realizes that they are alone, and severely wounded.

Stopping the bleeding would involve some level of cauterization, but they can stand some blood loss. Focusing on their broken leg actually makes things easier to bear. The pain has evened out into a steady throb, but walking on a broken leg brings fresh waves, and that makes for simple distraction.

Where the hell are they?

They’re in a wooded area, away from alien buildings and terrifying gods for the time being. It’s different to travel on the ground versus in the sky, and they worry that their sense of direction is suffering.

 _I certainly can’t_ limp _my way back_. They try to catch themselves with the arm they no longer have, and end up collapsing against a tree trunk, bark scraping against skin and wound alike.

Keiji gasps in pain and sinks to the wet, slushy ground. They’re covered in muck and leaves and soot and broken feathers and just about every kind of blood imaginable. The injury is getting dirty, and they’re going to run the risk of future nastiness if they don’t try to clean and bandage it. No matter how stupid it makes them, that would mean acknowledging the very _real_ truth that they’ve lost a wing. Keiji might rather bleed to death.

 _Where did Tetsurou go?_ Tetsurou’s mystery does not tug at guilt—guilt at disappointing Koutarou, at being unable to do what they’d said, at failing in comparison to him yet again—nor anger—anger at being sent to nearly kill themselves, anger at being unprepared, anger at throwing themselves to the mercies of Kenma’s magic.

Worrying about Tetsurou, however, is easy. It is immediate, but distant, and Keiji is very prepared to handle anything in regard to him except his death.

 _He disappeared_. They don’t know how demons die, but when damn near everything else dies, it leaves a body. Surely demons at least follow that rule. It could have been some other magic of Kenma’s, perhaps a latent facet of their old contract, or perhaps intervention by someone else entirely.

Keiji decides, looking up at the overcast sky of a foreign realm they could be dying for, that they’d like to learn more about how demons work. Thinking about that means they don’t have to think about the agony in their mangled shoulder.

Tetsurou probably doesn’t deserve to die, as annoying as he can be. He’s sincere, and earnest, and so young compared to any tengu. He’d shared many first experiences with both Keiji and Koutarou. He’s the one who connected them both to Kenma. He’s stubborn in his friendships, probably even more so in romance, and hopefully he’s stubborn in dying, too.

Keiji’s insistence on ignoring Koutarou crumples when Koutarou himself suddenly drops out of the sky, and Keiji bursts into tears at the sight of him.

“I’d been doing so well!” are not very good reunion words, and their tone leaves much to be desired.

Koutarou, carrying Kenma, lands heavily on the grass and immediately starts crying, too. “Keiji, you’re—your wing—! You’re okay, y-you’re okay!”

Kenma stumbles over to them, throws himself at them, and that may be the most shocking thing of all.

He pretends it had been in order to check over them, and Keiji is too stunned to do otherwise. “This needs to be cleaned,” Kenma says. He’s the composed counterpoint to both weeping tengu. Keiji finds that too funny to articulate, and soon little hiccuping laughs have broken through into their crying. “Yes, it’s hilarious that you haven’t bled to death.”

“Y-You’re fussing over me like I’m Tetsurou,” Keiji breathlessly counters.

“You need fussing!” Koutarou exclaims in a too-high voice.

“Can you use empty space with an injury like this?” Kenma asks.

“I have been,” Keiji replies, vaguely, because their track record should speak for itself. They’re beginning to form a very complicated relationship with the Inbetween. “But you can’t.”

“Bokuto,” Kenma says, head tilted back toward Koutarou but eyes still on Keiji’s injury, “take Akaashi back first, then you can come back to get me. If you see Tora on the way, grab him.”

“And leave you here? How close is that monstrosity?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Koutarou says, and smiles. It’s the type of smile he wears when he’s feeling particularly confident, or particularly mean. Keiji utterly adores it. “We got the blood, and we did the spell. That thing can’t touch us anymore.”

“In that case, can we make a detour?”

“Absolutely not. You’re probably only so sarcastic because of blood loss,” Kenma says at once.

“Not really,” Koutarou mutters with a wet noise that could have been a laugh. “But c’mere, Keiji. We need to get you someplace safer, and… do what we can.”

“What about Tetsurou?”

“We pulled him back. He’s stable now,” Kenma replies. Very awkwardly and too carefully, as if Keiji is made of spun glass, he pulls Keiji up to their feet. Their leg protests now more than ever, and to Keiji’s dismay, Kenma’s legs buckle beneath him after just a moment. Koutarou barely manages to catch them both.

Kenma flops back to the ground, leaning against the tree trunk, and grimaces down at his leg. “You’re hurt, too,” Koutarou says like he’s scolding him.

“I can’t fix broken bones by myself. We need a healer,” Kenma flatly replies. “Go, take Keiji back. It’s not like I can move very far from here.”

“I’ll be right back!” Koutarou declares like a threat.

This time, the Inbetween isn’t quite so cold or so suffocating with Koutarou’s presence beside him.

 

\--

 

“What do you mean,” Ryuunosuke says with admirable calm for a man who’s driven several hours in the dark hours of the morning with spotty contact with his family and friends, “I can’t get in?”

“We’re not letting anyone inside,” the man replies. Ryuu doesn’t know him, but he does know he has to be a witch; that snooty behavior doesn’t come from thin air. “Only evacuations out right now. It’s too dangerous.”

“My sister is in there!”

“We have lists of people who have already been evacuated—”

“I know she’s still in there!” Ryuu seizes the man by the front of his coat.

He immediately has a palm full of fire held an inch from the side of his head. “Violence isn’t helping. Nonmagical persons aren’t allowed in. Put me down,” the man orders. Ryuu drops him with disgust.

He leaves his pickup in a parking garage and continues on foot. Sneaking past a magical perimeter isn’t like he’s moving a block down and ignoring that asshat. Shouldering his duffel bag, Ryuu wanders up and down the street, wishing now more than ever that he had some sort of magic-sensing radar in case there were holes in the fence. He’s snuck into a lot of places in his day, but few were guarded by a bunch of panicked witches.

Hanging out with Tadashi and Tsukishima, however, seems to have its perks; Ryuunosuke is only a few blocks down when he hears a shout of his name, and Yamamoto Taketora swoops down on a broom.

They hug, tight and desperate, without properly greeting each other.

“The hell is up with that perimeter, man?”

“Where’s Saeko and Noya and where the hell have you been? Things have been batshit here!”

“I haven’t been able to talk to anyone but you and Daichi, what the hell is going on?”

“Dude, you won’t believe the day I’ve already had.”

Tora grabs him in a headlock, just to be an ass, but the way he’s laughing is too much relief and not enough humor. Ryuu halfheartedly punches him.

They get Starbucks, because Tora looks like death warmed over, and it’s a marvel to watch so many magical beings all nervously wait in line for coffee together. Some aren’t even glamored properly. Some perimeter. Then again, everyone’s eyes are glued to the TV in the corner and its vague news broadcast.

They sit outside on the curb and Ryuu opens his duffel bag between them. “Please tell me you’re packin’ something good,” Tora grunts.

“It’s an emergency bag. Good enough for two people.”

“Not for what’s spooked everyone.”

“Have you actually seen this thing?” Ryuunosuke asks. Taketora shakes his head. Neither are stupid enough to draw out guns to check over in the middle of a city street, but Tora puts his hand in the bag, nudging them around to guess. “Be straight with me, Tora. How much of this shit is actually gonna help?”

“It’ll sure make me feel a hell of a lot better.”

“I sent a friend of mine to go find Sae, but I haven’t heard anything from either of them since.”

“Phones are down, power is spotty, and radios are the only things that work with any kind of reliability. Covens are sitting on their fucking hands, of course.” Tora chews on the straw to his drink. “I know some people have tried doin’ stuff, but there’s a lot of people missing and hurt, and a hell of a lot of people cursed.”

“So this thing is what, a bunch of black magic shit wandering around?”

“I dunno, man. Told ya, I haven’t seen it myself yet. Not sure I want to.”

Ryuu gulps down more of his scalding coffee. Panic has done a good job at keeping him awake so far, but caffeine has always been a dear friend in trying times.

“I saw that kid of yours, though,” Tora says into his own cup.

It takes a moment to click. “What, Tadashi?”

“The gangly one with freckles you an’ Saeko are so keen on. Sugawara’s little pride and joy.”

Something about the way Tora says that sets Ryuu’s teeth on edge. “Yeah? And how exactly did you see him, huh?”

“You close with Shimizu Kiyoko?” Tora asks instead.

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Subject’s connected. Friend of mine seems to think she’s into something nasty during all this, takin’ advantage or somethin’, and Sugawara bolted like his ass was on fire. Freckles was sure spooked afterward. The kinda spooked that makes me think he might be doing somethin’ stupid with ‘em.”

Ryuu scrubs his hand over his face. He trusts Kiyoko—and Suga—with his life, and more. They’re good people, and there are certainly worse people for Tadashi to learn from.

But neither are exactly known for their strict adherence to rules when it comes to fighting the good fight.

“Look, I don’t like gossip, and I only got half a look at anything decent. But I wanna be frank with you, and you don’t know anything yet, so that’s all I know. Your kid’s scared, Sugawara and Shimizu are probably up to something, and Eyebright is calling for a purge. I’d bet Akane’s college fund that Ushijima is up to something, and I know a friend of mine has some stuff in the works. Who knows what everyone’s planning and too scared to share.” With that, Tora stands, and wipes his hands off on his pants like he’s wiping them of the matter. “First things first, let’s get you past the perimeter. Even if those peashooters do shit, I always feel better with a Tanaka on my side of things.”

“Aw, you know just what to say to cheer me up,” Ryuu replies, though his heart isn’t in it.

It’s not his first rodeo with a broom, or even his first time riding with Taketora, but it’s his first time trying to check his phone while doing so. The cold air bites at his exposed face and fingers. It seems like his battery is dying even faster here, and there’s no signal whatsoever.

At least no one stops them when Tora flies them in. Ryuu halfway hopes his middle finger is visible from that high up, but he doesn’t want much more trouble.

It takes a good bit of flying before Ryuu sees any actual proof of what’s been going on: an entire city block seems to have crumbled into rubble. A crater sits in the middle, a perfect melted circle, and a few other witches flock around the area like flies to a carcass.

“That’s where it popped out,” Tora shouts over the wind. “That’s about when we lost contact with coven leaders, too. Magic down there is so thick you could choke. We’ve been trackin’ it since then—moves like a son of a bitch when it wants to, but kinda seems to wander aimlessly unless something’s actively antagonizin’ it. You can’t look directly at it, though—we’re not sure if it’s a seizure, or some sorta weird possession, but it’s a bad idea. I can’t catch you if you pitch off the broom.”

“Roger!” Ryuu can track a clear path through the carnage below: something had strolled through the city without a mind to anything in its way.

He and Saeko are going to have some fucking words when this is over and done with.

 _Dumbass, you should’ve known something was up when she sent you out with the dogs_. He had suspected, yes, but not _this_. He’d kind of thought she was getting up to something with Kiyoko, perhaps some sort of morally questionable prep work to _stop_ this. Either it didn’t work, or Saeko had known about this ahead of time, or Kiyoko’s plans hadn’t kicked in yet.

All are fairly scary prospects.

He isn’t certain what his priorities should be. Find Saeko? Find Yuu, or Tadashi? Kiyoko or Tooru? Whenever he’s dealt with emergencies in the past, they were a lot more cut and dry: go in and kill the monster. Save who you could. That is hypothetically an option now, but Saeko had all the vorpium ammo with her. There are too many people to worry about right now, but he isn’t sure who he should try to chase down first—or how.

“Ugh, I hate dealing with all these unknowns an’ shit!” Things were simpler when he could just point a gun and shoot at monsters.

It had never really been that simple, though.

 

\--

 

Tadashi feels like life is finally back on track when the finding magic effortlessly catches on the scarf.

Half an hour later, however, the figure he spots down the street is not fair-haired. Instead, he sees Daichi, and he’s accompanied by two tall figures.

“Daichi!” Tadashi shouts from down the street, because he literally cannot believe his luck—he feels a passing, manic urge to grab Morisuke and shake him for helping to introduce this very specific kind of bullshit in his life—and Daichi whirls around to his voice with a gun raised.

“Yamaguchi?”

Tadashi marches down to him, seething and frustrated and near tears, but Daichi jogs over to him with a relieved grin. It falters when he sees Tadashi’s stormy expression. Tadashi shakes the stupid scarf at him. “This is yours? It’s supposed to be Suga’s!”

“Suga gave it to me,” Daichi replies, bemused. “Wait, so you haven’t had any luck finding Suga, either?”

“No one has,” Morisuke darkly replies.

Tadashi is about to continue with his tirade, but he falters as soon as Daichi’s companions trot over. Tooru he’s kind of relieved about, but the infinitely more imposing figure of Ushijima is a huge, unending No.

Ushijima looks down his nose at him like he’s considering shooting Tadashi, present company be damned.

Tadashi’s not sure he’s ever wanted access to firearms so badly before. “Uh, Daichi…? You, uh, wanna fill me in on some things?”

Daichi runs a hand back through his hair, sighing heavily. Tooru makes a falsely disappointed sound. “So Koushi’s precious student can’t find him either? What about your finding magic?”

“Do you have anything that’s actually his?” Morisuke snaps back.

Tooru and Daichi exchange a look. “Between the two of us, I’m sure we could find something. But nothing immediately here, and a field trip would be unfortunately out of our way.”

“And what is your way?”

“You’re not helping us,” Ushijima breaks in, cold as ice. “Step aside.”

“We’re not even going in this direction,” Tooru dryly points out. “Calm your massive man tits for once in your life. Tadashi is going to be more help than your little bodyguards.”

That means Shirabu is probably around. Tadashi curses himself for forgetting about the invisible fuck.

“Calm down, everyone,” Daichi says in his Manager Voice. Tadashi calms by Pavlovian response. “We’ve struck up a temporary truce. Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and I are helping Ushijima with his plan to seal away that giant god thing. The enemy of my enemy and all that. Don’t worry, we’re not letting him off the hook for anything.”

“I have plans for Iwa-chan to eat him when this is over,” Tooru says with a kind smile at Ushijima’s back.

“I’m looking for Suga, too,” Daichi adds.

“Suga is with Kiyoko,” Tadashi replies. “And they’re up to something big. I think they need someone to keep an eye on them, though. Kenma’s pretty freaked out.”

“Koushi and Kiyoko up to something? Never,” Tooru says with a mean roll of his eyes.

“They don’t matter,” Ushijima cuts in. He crosses his arms, and Tadashi notes the way Ushijima doesn’t move his finger from the trigger guard of his 9mm. “We’re finishing this, before their plans come to fruition. If you want to be useful, then act as bait.”

“Bait?” Tadashi echoes, squeaky and affronted.

“We’re making a giant god trap. According to Ushiwaka’s Swiss cheese brain, his little fox friend is out soliciting help, and we’re going to lure Northot into a circle to seal it away in the Dreamlands.”

“You can’t just push that thing onto other people!”

“Trust me,” Tooru goes from flippant to dark in a heartbeat, “there’s no tragedy there, Tadashi.”

“So long as it’s gone, I’m starting not to care,” Morisuke says and hunches down around Tadashi’s neck, attention pinpointed on Ushijima’s coat pocket. “But Tadashi isn’t going to be used as bait for anything. Why not use that matagot of yours? He’s annoying enough to piss off a god.”

“Trust me, he’ll be helping with that,” Tooru cheerily replies.

“He will not,” Ushijima says.

“Yes, he is. You’re not going in risk-free. How do we know you won’t let the bait get eaten out of spite?”

“Spite has no bearing here—”

“Anyway,” Daichi loudly breaks in, “we would appreciate your help. If you could talk to Kenma, or if you do run into Suga…”

There’s no way Kenma would willingly use himself as bait for someone else.

A sudden gust of air hails Iwaizumi’s arrival, but a swan gracefully swoops down, pulls up over them, and lands beside Tooru. He has a bag slung around his neck. “I have good news, and I have bad news.”

“Bad news,” Daichi says at the same time Tooru chirps, “Good news!”

Iwaizumi sighs. He stands to his full height, and his feathers melt off, revealing human skin and clothes beneath, until the white pelt is draped loosely over his shoulders. The swan head is still hanging over his hair. “Good news: that thing has been phased halfway out of the realm and can’t physically interact with anything. Based on what Bokuto said, I’m guessing Kenma was the caster. I don’t know how long it’ll last, but the god’s throwing an entirely useless tantrum downtown now, and it can’t hurt anyone.”

“It’s not a permanent fix,” Ushijima says as though he’s personally offended by Kenma’s plan.

Tadashi can’t help but grin ear to ear. “He did it! It’s definitely his spell—I helped with it. I never got a time frame, but it should hold for awhile. It can be extended by feeding it more magic, and Tobio and Hinata just got there—”

“What’s the bad news?” Ushijima rudely interrupts. Tooru smacks him.

“Bad news: it slunk off like it had a purpose when I was leaving, and the reason why I came back a swan is that my dragonskin’s wings are fucked. I need that shapeshifter friend of yours to help me get it in working order.”

“…There’s more of you?” Morisuke growls.

“They’re finding us a place to make the circle. I will ask him if he would help you when we reconvene.”

Tadashi files this information away for later. He doesn’t know who he’ll tattle to, but like hell he’s not using everything possible against Ushijima.

No matter what good intentions may be involved, he doesn’t want to help. He doesn’t trust Ushijima as far as he could throw him, but even if he did have some magical Save The World plan, Tadashi finds he’d rather trust in Suga and Kiyoko. “I’m going to find Suga. I need something of his.”

Daichi fishes around in his pocket and tosses Tadashi his keys. “You can probably find a sweater of his or something at my place. If you want to backtrack, you can probably break into his place. I already broke the lock.”

“Don’t you have his key yet?” Tooru asks, unimpressed.

“I do, but I can’t do anything against the wards. I had to use the sword.”

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?”

“Good luck,” Tadashi says as kindly as he can manage, despite his torn feelings on their presence with Ushijima. “Stay safe.”

“You too, Yamaguchi. Uh, both of you. We don’t need any more bloodshed today,” Daichi says with a pointed look at Ushijima.

Tadashi leaves them with exhaustion weighing him down. They’re hardly out of earshot before Morisuke mutters, “That’s going to end in bloodshed and heartbreak. Ushijima must be playing them.”

“I thought they were usually pretty smart about this kind of stuff.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

 

\--

 

Bokuto breaks the wards Kenma must have set up when he yanks open the window. “How’s Kuroo?” he breathlessly demands while helping a scarily bloody Akaashi through the window.

Kei is about to respond when he notices that Akaashi is missing an arm.

Hinata squawks in some garbled mix of emotions. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Even Kuroo flops up into something resembling a sitting position. Kei keeps him up with a hand on his back, and studies the two bloodied tengu through narrowed eyes. Akaashi is clearly the worse between them, but they’re both alive and nominally moving on their own. Akaashi heavily favors one leg, and one of Bokuto’s wings is shredded, but apparently useable.

“Still alive, Bo. What happened to Keiji?” Kuroo croaks with a weak little wave.

“Same thing that happened to you,” Keiji grimly replies. They wince as Bokuto helps them sit down by the wall.

“I gotta go get Kenma,” Bokuto says, apologetically, and vanishes out the open window again.

Akaashi sighs like they’ve been holding it in a long time. “I need someone’s help cleaning this.”

Tobio looks uneasy, and Hinata remains pressed up against the farthest wall, staring at Akaashi in what might be fear. But it’s not the time now to parse out strange tengu behaviors. “Kageyama, can you perform other magic while you’re feeding that spell?”

“Not really.” Only belatedly does he look guilty. “Uh, s-sorry.”

“Kuroo, you’re going to have to detach yourself from my side for an entire minute. I’m sure you can handle it.” Kei is unreasonably thankful for his own muted attachments and emotional responses; he can’t handle much more heartbreak today, and working with pleasant acquaintances might have been their best decision.

Kei has gotten used to cleaning wounds on Tadashi, and more and more on himself, but he also has no experience with injuries this large, or this… open. After getting Yuuki to boil water and rinsing the mud and blood off of Akaashi, Kei thinks he sees bone in amongst the pulped meat of their shoulder.

“You’re lucky I have a strong stomach,” he informs them.

“You’re lucky I don’t kick you for all this pain,” Akaashi returns.

Kenma had had the foresight to have first aid supplies, but Kei feels like he’s facing surgery.

“You only have to clean it,” Akaashi offers, almost kindly. Their face is ashen and covered in sweat. But they sort of smile for Kei’s benefit, and that rankles him more than his own shortcomings.

“I’ve seen Hitoka play medic, and I’ve patched others up. How much do you want me to do? Is there… a chance to reattach anything?” He doesn’t know how spirits work, alright, despite being a mess of one himself. But he knows tengu are sturdy creatures.

“I don’t have anything _to_ reattach, even if I could. Once it’s clean, then I’d like to stop the bleeding, because I don’t think it would help anyone’s mood if I were to pass out now.”

“I think you’re allowed to,” Lev volunteers from the couch.

Kei understands the basics of stitches, and has watched Tadashi try to fumble through them himself. He knows plenty about how hospitals work and any amount of chemicals. When he reaches for the gauze, Akaashi makes a questioning sound. “I’m going to put this on so it can… mop up some of the blood you’re still, you know, bleeding all over. Then the bandages. Kenma will probably call for that mohawk friend of his when he gets back, and he can—”

“That will take too long. I’d still like to avoid passing out entirely.” With that, Akaashi sets fire to their remaining hand and closes it over their wound.

“You’re supposed to do that with metal!” Kei snaps. Akaashi pulls their hand from their injury, and now Kei is left looking at angry red burn marks and the still-bleeding spots where they couldn’t reach. “Lev, grab their… wing.”

Lev holds Akaashi’s feathered wrist as though it were a venomous snake. Kei rinses off the wound again, grabs a wad of gauze, and angrily bandages an equally angry tengu. At least Akaashi doesn’t try to gut Lev—probably only because it’d piss off Kenma.

To finish, and to prevent any more self-sabotage, Kei scoops up Kuroo and deposits the unsettled mass of demon on Akaashi’s lap. “Lick each other’s wounds, but careful, too much jostling and one of you might end up killing the other.”

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that?” Tobio dares to say.

“I dealt with plenty of shitty doctors in my life. Being direct is more useful. See? They’re behaving now.”

Kei collapses onto the couch, somehow exhausted. As a kitten, Yuuki begins licking luck back into the demonic claws Kei doesn’t even pay attention to anymore. Hopefully that doesn’t infect anything.

When Bokuto returns, he sets Kenma down on the couch, and turns back to the window. “We have a problem. It followed us back.”

“What do you mean it followed you back?” Hinata squeaks.

“The spell is active—” Tobio begins but cuts himself off with an abrupt moan of pain. He crouches down, clutches his head, and Kenma nearly throws himself off the couch in an effort to limp over to him.

“Kageyama, I need you to give the spell back to me. Now.”

Blood begins dripping out of Tobio’s nose. Hinata jumps away from him as if stung. Kei can taste the magic wavering between them.

“Give it to me now!” Kenma barks and pulls Tobio’s hands away from his head.

Nothing explodes, but Kenma yanks his spell back, just in time for something to peer through the window at them. Tobio crumples.

Its figure is radiant, illuminating Bokuto like a searchlight, not colorless but with too many oily colors to actually see. “Is͞ ̡t̕h͟is ̵yǫur n̵est?̕” the god asks.

“It can’t t-touch us,” Kenma says through his trembling. He and Hinata hold hands, tightly, and both stare at Tobio at their feet. “As long as this spell holds out, it can’t touch us.”

“Th̨is͟ ͠will͜ ͞be ҉y̧our͘ ̛g̡rave ̨a͢s ̧soo҉n as y͡o҉ur̡ ̶magi͞c fa͘il̢s. ̡S͡h̡u̧g̵g͜oth ̕m͢ag͠ic ͜a̢lways͠ fails͏.”

“We need to leave,” Bokuto says, but Kei can see the wild, desperate panic in his eyes when he looks at Akaashi and Kuroo.

“We need to go before it figures out—”

Tobio sits back up, a jerky motion straight out of a horror movie. Kenma and Hinata stumble back, hands still clasped.

Tobio’s eyes are the solid black of those possessed. “ _Naflyhafh’drn_ ,” he rasps in delight. The god outside phases through the wall, snapping wards and making the room reek. Hinata drags Kenma out of the way as their candles gutter out. “ _I had not expected to find my betrayer so easily. You have gone from me, grah’n, and I find you here?_ ”

“Kageyama, what are you doing?” Hinata scoops Kenma up and they float out of reach of the witch suddenly swiping at them.

“He’s possessed, idiot. And now we’re stuck in here _with him_ until we figure out how to get rid of that and our new stalker,” Kei snaps.

“ _I will follow you. I will stalk your steps until your magic runs dry and then I will_ —”

“Yeah, that’s nice an’ all, but we can actually use this,” Bokuto announces. “Sorry, asshole, but there’s more of us than you, and we got plenty of magic to spare!”

“ _Even the shuggoth witch?_ ” Tobio asks with an evil smile up at Kenma.

“Koutarou, take Kageyama and see if you can’t break the possession by distance.”

Bokuto picks him up with a foot like he’s a particularly disgusting piece of garbage. It takes some shuffling to get the writhing witch out the window without breaking anything. As Bokuto leaves, the god slinks away from the window, turning to following him.

“We found our bait,” Kenma sighs in relief.

“You’re using him as bait?” Hinata growls.

“We sort of made a deal with someone, and it could help. Maybe. If nothing else, it gets rid of that thing and the possession for the time being.”

“You can’t just leave him! He needs our help!”

“We’re in a room full of injured and noncombatants. You’re wrapped up with maintaining the spell that is the only thing that prevented us from all getting slaughtered just now,” Kei points out. Hinata glares daggers at him, and carefully sets Kenma back down on the carpet. He collapses with a groan, trembling all over, familiar soon in his lap again.

“You’re not ditching him,” Hinata tells Kenma. “You ditch everyone else, but you need to stop, Kenma.”

“Someone else has a plan that could stop that thing. Bokuto knows about it, too. We just need to help lure it to where the circle will be set up—”

“You didn’t even ask Kageyama!”

Kenma scrunches his nose and avoids Hinata’s attentions as much as he can. “This is how you win, Shouyou. I thought a tengu would recognize that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Give me the tengu half of the spell,” Akaashi interrupts. Both of them turn to them. “I still have a fair bit of my own magic, and I’m too tired to butt heads with Kenma. I can handle it, and Hinata can go help Koutarou.”

Hinata fumbles with the magic more than what is probably safe, but nothing explodes. Kei wonders how much is just luck keeping them going, and how quickly it could run out without Morisuke around.

As soon as Hinata’s gone—off like a shot toward his repressed attachment—and Kenma has both Kuroo and Midna in his lap with Akaashi seated across from him, Lev pipes up again. “Kenma, who’s going to replace you? You have that tired look on your face.”

“We need another witch,” Kei says. “Someone who is dumb enough to cast a spell that isn’t his, or friendly enough to work with this sorry lot. I would suggest that healer friend of yours, but I think we’d rather have the healing at this point. Is your leg broken, by the way?”

“Yes,” Kenma and Akaashi reply at the same time.

“So what are we going to do? Kenma doesn’t have any more potions left,” Yuuki asks.

“We need more magic, or more friends. Given the track record of this group… I don’t think all the luck in the world could keep this running for much longer,” Kei surmises.

Kenma’s head drops down to his chest, and he gently pets over Kuroo.

Though he cannot explain it, Kei suddenly has a bad feeling. 

 

\--

 

“What’s the catch?” Kentarou immediately asks when the kitsune happily throws a bundle of crossbow bolts at his head.

“You can owe me one! I’ll collect later, so don’t worry about it now!”

“We’re not trusting that,” Shigeru replies.

Tadashi pauses in grabbing up everything in sight. Kentarou has no problem with him using them as a place to catch his breath and try to figure out what’s going on, but he doesn’t exactly approve of the kid taking the proverbial candy from a stranger. Youkai are worse than strangers, anyway.

“We didn’t trust the last fox to pass by an’ offer that, and we sure as shit ain’t trusting you, either,” Kentarou says. Tadashi guiltily sets a crossbow and a glass jar back down. Kentarou notes that he keeps the gun Kentarou loaned him just to get the bakeneko from getting into a fight with Shigeru.

“What other fox? Are you implying that all foxes are untrustworthy?” Futakuchi asks, feigning offense.

“The annoying one with the red hair and mismatched ammo.”

Tadashi lets out an interesting noise, a mixture of a snarl and a gasp. “When? Where was he?”

“Maybe two, three hours ago? I dunno, time is fucked when all the cell phones are down.”

“Where was he? Was he with Ushijima?”

“No, he was alone. We were on a skyscraper’s roof,” Shigeru replies, nonplussed. “Why would he have been with Ushijima?”

“Well, he was his date last night at the ball,” Futakuchi replies. “One of them. I wasn’t aware you were friends with that kind of crowd. I thought even inugami have standards.”

“You want to fucking go, fox?”

“I’m just a humble merchant, trying to help.”

“Why is everyone working with Ushijima now?” Tadashi hisses at the bakeneko with him.

“That plan of theirs must be pretty persuasive,” the cat replies. “Or people are really desperate. People who haven’t gotten almost sacrificed or killed by him.”

“We gotta get going,” Tadashi stands abruptly, a new fire in his eyes now. “Um, thank you for the offer, but I won’t be taking anything from you today.”

“Aw, why not? I accept luck as payment.”

“Because he’s not dumb,” Kentarou says. Even if he does kind of want more crossbow bolts. Tadashi chuckles, and heads off before getting drawn into further arguments. Kentarou will see Oikawa about a payment for the gun later, since he doubts he’ll be getting it back. “We’ll figure out a payment here, and now, or else we ain’t dealing with you.”

“Wow, everyone is so rude during an apocalypse,” Futakuchi sighs.

“We will take the orichalcum dagger, though! But with the note, for the record, that I’m very disappointed you were hoarding all this to begin with,” Shigeru tells him.

“Oh no, an inugami doesn’t approve of me!” the kitsune coos. Shigeru snaps at him, hackles raised, and Kentarou drags him back with a sigh. “If that’s all, then I’ll leave you two happy customers, and I’m off to see what else I can scare up. Good luck not getting killed by an invading demigod!”

As soon as he’s gone, Shigeru shifts back into his human form, angrily playing with the dagger. “I hate him.”

“You hate everyone.”

 

\--

 

“Wait up!” Shouyou cries once Bokuto is close enough. Even carrying someone, even injured, he’s fast. “Bokuto, please, wait just a moment!”

With a curious glance back over his shoulder, Bokuto flares his wings, nearly stopping in mid air. “Wait, why are you here? What about Kenma’s spell?”

“I gave it to Akaashi! Don’t worry, nothing broke before I left! But what are you doing with Kageyama? He’s still possessed, and that thing is following you!”

“Well, I’m faster,” Bokuto sneers. They can’t see it right now, but based on the weight of magic, it’s close.

“ _Even orr’eog syha’h tire eventually_ ,” Tobio rasps in that not-voice of his. It makes Shouyou’s ears ring more than anything else here.

“I guess distance isn’t going to work,” Shouyou mutters.

“Probably not. But it works to draw that thing away from the others.”

 _So Bokuto is in on it, too_. Shouyou struggles to keep his face neutral. He doesn’t want to believe that Kenma would just throw Tobio to the wolves, but he wants to believe it of Bokuto even less. Kenma is human; they’re supposed to be selfish. “I’ll carry him,” Shouyou volunteers with what he hopes is an earnest grin.

“ _Nothing can sever me from this betrayer. I will burn through him and leave him an empty husk for what he’s done._ ”

“He’s pretty talkative,” Bokuto says, unimpressed, “but I got him, don’t worry.”

“ _Not even orr’eog syha’h pose risk to me. My power grows with every movement. Y’hafh’drn, and the archangel, and the greedy fox—I will consume them all, and my power over this realm—_ ” Tobio is cut off by Bokuto shaking him.

The deity itself rises up beneath them, a thin, sickly sliver of unearthly light against the grey of the city. Without anything to climb, it simply stretches.

“Catch us if you can!” Bokuto calls and zips off again.

“S-So, uh, you sure I can’t help you with him?” Shouyou tries again.

“If you really wanna help, find me these other people that thing’s after. I saw the fox earlier, and the god followed it—seems like it holds grudges, huh?” Bokuto twists so he can shout down at the god again. “Me an’ Kenma have done more to you than anyone else!”

“Do you want it to be mad at you?”

“It’d be nice to be recognized. I’ve made it explode a couple times. Did you know those car things are flammable?” Bokuto sulks, bottom lip pushed out, squinting into the wind. “I went claw to claw with that archangel and I came out ahead. I’ve killed a dragon! I deserve to be recognized as a threat here, too.”

“ _None are truly threats to me_ ,” Tobio offers.

Bokuto shakes him again, even more viciously, and Shouyou wonders if he should just grab him and try to run. “B-But it’s better this way! We don’t need it going after anyone else, right? Let it go after that stupid fox!”

“I wish. Dunno where he went off to, probably laying low and letting us do all the hard work for him.”

“Wait, wait—” Shouyou swerves around to pull in front of Bokuto, and Bokuto stops to avoid colliding with him. Tobio laughs hollowly from his talons. “For him? For that red-haired fox guy? Ugly laugh and broken tail?”

“Yep, that’s him. And yep, we know who he’s with.”

“You’re working with Ushijima?”

“He helped us find Keiji, Hinata.”

“He’s trying to end the human world! Give me Kageyama. We’re not helping them! They’ve tried to kill us!”

“I thought you two wanted to help us!” Bokuto snaps back with just as much heat. He brings up Tobio and gestures with him. “We don’t know how to break a possession, the god is following him, and we need to bring him somewhere! Kenma’s spell was only ever going to help someone else finish this.”

“How do you know?”

Bokuto scowls at him, doesn’t respond, and resumes his flight. Tobio groans and twitches in his talons. His nose is dripping blood again. With his eyes shut, Shouyou isn’t certain if he’s still possessed—what if distance did break it for them? They could ask him what he thought, but somehow, that seems meaner.

“What if we found something else for bait?” Shouyou calls ahead.

Bokuto ignores him, and flies a little bit faster.

“Why don’t we use that fox?”

“And you know where he is?”

Shouyou falls silent this time, stewing in his own powerlessness. At the very least, he can come along and make sure Bokuto doesn’t try to feed him to that thing. They lost Kasa awhile back, and Shouyou knows the poor crow must be panicking, too.

Just as Shouyou is fervently wishing that they’d run into that damned fox, they find a giant circle drawn across a parking lot. Cars have been shoved aside, and Shouyou spots several figures standing off to the side—including the damned fox.

Bokuto beats him in his dive, but Shouyou is close, and he doesn’t stop at the last moment. He collides with the fox spirit and they both go skidding across the asphalt.

“Is this supposed to be happening?” one of the humans asks, confused but undoubtedly amused.

“No!” cries the spirit in Shouyou’s grasp.

“Let go of him,” comes Ushijima’s deep voice with the distinct sound of a gun cocking.

“We brought you the god!” Bokuto declares. “We struck a deal with the fox. If you attack us, I will not hesitate to gladly kill all of you.”

“Excuse you, we’re not with him like that.”

“Oikawa, what the hell are you doing here?”

After a few introductions and explanations, none of which Shouyou cares about because this is supposed to be Good Guys and Bad Guys, Bokuto pulls Shouyou off the fox and drops him in front of the prone figure of Tobio. He appears to be unconscious, which Shouyou tentatively hopes is progress.

“Y’know, when you ran off, I hadn’t expected this,” Bokuto tells one of the non-Ushijima humans. “Didn’t find Suga, then, I take it?”

“No one has,” the taller human says with a flick of his hair. “And tell shrimpy over there to stop thinking about mutiny and how much he hates all of us. I’ve already had to deal with half a god and a constant paranoid lover routine, and I have zero patience for anything else today.”

His nose starts gushing blood, and not a moment later, the man crumples to the ground.

Tobio’s body jerks and he’s yanked up as if by invisible strings. It is not him, however, but the other man’s body that begins cackling.

“ _What weak husks you have sent me. Yhafh’drn, you will not succeed now any more than you have earlier_ ,” Tobio announces.

“Did you say you were bringing the god _here_?” Ushijima asks. In all of their fights, no matter what had been thrown at him, Shouyou has never seen the man look so afraid.

“ _I will look forward to destroying you most of all_ ,” the other man says in the same hoarse, horrible voice.

“This isn’t ready yet, is it?” the fox asks, floating over Ushijima’s shoulder, and Ushijima nearly smacks him in the face when he whirls around.

“Tendou, draw it away at once! You two—get these possessions _away_ from here. If you see Iwaizumi, tell him—”

“You’re not ordering us around,” Shouyou snaps. But when Tobio begins convulsing, panic slams into him, and he rethinks this.

Bokuto scoops up the other man, and gives Shouyou such a glare that he grabs Tobio without further argument. “We’re not your soldiers, Ushijima, so keep that in mind. But I’m not letting a tengu friend die today.”

“You almost ruined everything!” Tendou shouts as he vanishes.

Ushijima dissolves into orders and frantic fixing of his massive circle, and the antlered prisoner appears by his shoulder at his summon. Shouyou knows the other one must be around, too.

Shouyou holds Tobio as carefully as he can as he and Bokuto leave them to whatever their plans may be.

 

\--

 

Daichi wonders if it’s too late to bail. How much bad karma would that be? Somehow, he has the feeling that if he were to leave, even in the face of a prematurely advancing deity, this would be the very moment Suga would choose to pop back into his life. Daichi couldn’t yell at him if they’re fighting for their lives.

When had his life become this?

“We still need the blood,” Shirabu unhelpfully points out.

“That thing is getting closer,” Kawanishi adds.

“We need to engage it away from here, this isn’t ready,” Ushijima slices open his palm without batting an eye and begins smearing more blood onto the painted asphalt below. “It needs the blood—we need more time.”

Iwaizumi had meant to keep an eye on that thing, but Daichi doesn’t know where he is now. Probably running off after Tooru, now, which means they may be sans a dragon with a god breathing down their necks.

Daichi usually doesn’t make a point of asking too many questions he doesn’t want answers to, but now, he finds himself asking anyway. “How do we slow it down?”

“Kenjirou isn’t a fighter,” Kawanishi says at once, “but I could fight.”

“It’s gotta be holding grudges against all of us. We shouldn’t be going anywhere near it. Can’t Tendou lure someone else into fighting it for us again?” Shirabu replies.

“Yeah, and where is he?”

Ushijima wipes his bloody hand on his pants. “Tendou isn’t a combatant either. I’ll take care of this. You two, I just need this circle completed—runes for seal here and here, and then—”

“We don’t know a thing about human magic,” Shirabu interrupts with so much shaking of his head he looks like a flip book. “You’re not leaving us alone with any more magic that’ll blow up in our faces!”

“Don’t look at me,” Daichi says as soon as Ushijima begins eyeing him. “I know even less than them. And I’m just here for Suga and keeping you from doing anything worse.”

“This isn’t worse.” Ushijima turns from his circle, mouth twisted into a dark scowl. “Shirabu is right—Northot will be holding a grudge. I’ll draw it off, and I’ll finish this later. Give me your vorpal sword.”

“No,” Daichi says at once. For added measure, also, “Fuck you.”

“I don’t care if it burns me.”

“I don’t, either, to be clear. But this is mine, and it isn’t something I give to near-strangers who have records.”

“I’ve never been convicted of anything,” Ushijima replies, confused. His pocket peeps in agreement.

“Here’s an idea,” Daichi says, “you act as bait and I get the blood. Distract it for me. These two can run off and get your foxy friend again. And Iwaizumi, if you can find him.” He’d certainly be more help—and more reasonable—than anything else Daichi has seen out of this crew.

Kawanishi shoves a dark-colored jar at Daichi, and Ushijima drags him into a dead sprint away from their circle. Daichi has no clue how he believes the god thing will follow them instead of heading in a straight line, but Ushijima is nothing if not confident in all his actions, and the world apparently bends to his will.

They have circled around to some part of the city that the god has already demolished, and it’s far slower moving over broken sidewalk. But neither man is out of shape, and panic makes for a good boost of adrenaline.

Daichi swears his heart stops when he sees the god come through an apartment building behind them.

It’s huge now, many-legged with just as many jagged antlers trailing lines down its faceless head. It could probably be three or four stories high, but it moves like a centipede through the world without touching anything. It’s gaining, and fast, and when Daichi turns to check one too many times, he trips and it laughs.

Ushijima doesn’t slow at all, but he does stumble to a stop himself when, with a screech of metal, Northot abruptly becomes solid again and sends a car into a lamppost.

Daichi had been wondering how they meant to get blood from something they couldn’t touch, but he hadn’t expected this just a mere few blocks from what they’re trying to hide. The god flickers in and out of tangibility, tearing into concrete and metal alike as it shambles along like it’s drunk.

“ _Go_!” Daichi snarls as he passes Ushijima, who is still just standing there.

Ushijima turns to him with pure black eyes. “ _Yhafh’drn has been a fool._ ”

With very little regret, Daichi shoves his vorpal sword into Ushijima’s shoulder. He knows little about possession, but he’s been with Suga long enough to know it’s something to freak out about, and it’s tied to magic, so he figures a magic-eating sword won’t make things any _worse_.

And in this, at least, it pays off: Ushijima staggers away from him, blood pouring from his nose and eyes but now undeniably himself again, because he tells Daichi, “Thank you.”

“Get _running_ ,” Daichi snaps at him.

“It will just catch me again. It cannot permanently kill me, so we should make a stand here. Northot will be fixated on me, as predicted—”

“Yhaf͘h͟'d͠r͜n͘, ̸you͏ cannot ͠r͜u̕n̡ fr͡om̢ me͟ ̡now,” the god says from far too close. A hand shoots between them and nearly catches Ushijima, but it phases out at the last moment. “T͏he w̨it͢c͟h ̢is̵ f͠a͡i̢li͢ng. ̨Y̵o͞u ͘shall f̨ai͢l͟ t͞oo.”

Daichi tries to slice through the many-jointed limb between them, mostly on reflex, but he cuts through the god with the same ease he had in the parking garage. It splatters them with burning blood as it withdraws, but Ushijima darts after it, pulling blood from its wound like he’s manipulating water. Daichi swears and pulls off his coat and gloves as the blood begins eating through. Fuck Ushijima, and Daichi is getting dangerously close to Fuck Suga territory too—he’s out of the fighting after this.

Ushijima stumbles to a stop on top of a broken edge of the street, standing tall and defiant with a blade of glowing, oily blood in each hand. “I _will_ stop you,” Ushijima calls without a trace of fear in his voice.

“I͝ wi͢ll de̶v͏o̵ur͏ h͡er ̷in͜ fro̷n̵t ̸of ͟yơu.”

As Ushijima rushes forward to engage, Daichi circles around as carefully and as quietly as he can manage. There isn’t much cover, and he isn’t exactly gifted in stealth operations, and he thinks he’s sweating so badly he’ll drop the damned sword at this rate.

It’s not hard to go in its general direction, even if he can’t look at it. It’s pretty easy to follow giant glowing peripheral blobs. Daichi wonders how he’s supposed to get _close_ without having some sort of fit like Suga had. He could try for another limb.

Northot ignores him, focusing entirely on playing with Ushijima like a cat with an especially determined mouse. Daichi wishes he had Suga’s mute spell again; his ears ring like screaming the closer he gets.

The god phases in and out a few more times, but it’s more and more infrequent. Whatever Kenma had done, it’s failing, for good. Daichi prays he’s not going to get close and stab at nothing before he gets noticed.

Ushijima is hurled into Daichi before he can get close.

Both men tumble across the broken pavement, and the god laughs over them. When it tries to stab them, its claws pass harmlessly through. “Now,” Ushijima pants, wet and hoarse, as he hauls Daichi up behind him.

“Some of us aren’t immortal.”

“I’ll cover you.”

Daichi doesn’t know how, but as they rush forward Ushijima uses a blast of magical wind to knock several of the god’s spindly legs away, not making it stumble so much as tilt toward them. Daichi raises his sword against its flesh.

Northot lets out a scream that breaks the glass in the buildings around them. Daichi pushes forward, though his head rings with the noise. He grits his teeth through it while his vision begins to swim. The god’s body bubbles and melts around the vorpal sword. Ushijima has cut through just as easily with his blood magic, but it is the vorpium that eats through it like nothing.

Against the radiance before him, Daichi doesn’t notice at first that the metal is steadily glowing brighter and brighter too, until the hilt begins to heat.

 _It’s melting inside it_ , Daichi realizes with horror, and begins to pull it free in a panic. The hot metal twists and pulls and still the god screams.

Daichi does not see the blow coming for them until it has already cut through Ushijima.

Ushijima’s headless body sags against Northot, blood dripping over the rapidly spreading curse. Daichi turns, but it cuts into his neck easily.

It phases out the rest of the way. Daichi stumbles back just a single step, molten vorpium splattering against the asphalt by his boots, hand clamped against the spray of blood from his throat.

A blindingly bright Door bursts into being right over his head before it all goes black.

 

\--

 

Trying to maintain the spell is like trying to keep a grip on a knife’s blade.

Out of useable magic, Kenma grasps at anything he can—both Akaashi’s magic and the dredges of the angelic shit left in the mirror. If that goes, then the spell unravels. It needs at least two types of magic to sustain it in the face of a magic-driven deity; Kenma had thought he was being clever, relying on type rather than quantity. He hadn’t assumed he would be the first out of energy.

Grappling directly with others’ magic is dangerous at best, and fatal at worst, so Akaashi cuts him off.

Kenma fights, and it feels like he’s delving into Akaashi—he nearly lunges forward to try to follow any thread in his dying spell—but Akaashi is more combative than Bokuto or Shouyou. “You’re killing yourself,” Akaashi hisses at him. Their grip on Kenma’s wrist is like iron, and only when Kenma stops struggling does he realize how badly he’s trembling.

Witches are not spirits. They won’t die if they run out of magic, but they can come close.

Kenma knows his limits intimately. He knows when to push, when to pull back, and very precisely what he’s capable of. The spell dies, and Kenma’s breath shudders in his lungs as he catches it. “That wasn’t long enough.” He sags forward, allowing Akaashi to hold up his weight. “We can… we can revive it.”

“With what? You’ll kill yourself if you try to do anything else. Don’t make me go through any more scares like that today.” There isn’t much tenderness in Akaashi’s voice, but Kenma appreciates that more than any doting they could offer. He doesn’t think he deserves much coddling. He didn’t think trying to Do Something would hurt this much.

“You did so much,” Kuro tells him from where he’s curled up around Midna, just outside the dead circle.

That spell had been why Kuro had almost died and Akaashi lost their wing. It hadn’t been enough. Bokuto and Shouyou aren’t back, and the radio has been silent, so who knows what’s even going on anymore. Another thing Kenma hadn’t anticipated: caring about the aftermath.

“Yamaguchi is still out there,” Tsukishima says, as if to drive the knife in further. “So is Koushi, and Bokuto, and the other loud bird. A lot of people. How are we supposed to know when this is over?”

“I need more magic,” Kenma mumbles into Akaashi’s bloody shoulder. It has been too long since Kenma hasn’t been able to offer magic to help others, even if his list of people he cares to help is only recently expanded.

“You’ve done enough,” Lev tells him. Kenma raises his head from Akaashi’s shoulder. “You don’t know moderation, huh, Kenma? You need to rest for a little bit. I think you all do—Tadashi too, whenever he gets back. The entire city is full of magic people, so let someone else do some of the work.”

“It’s one of those other magic people in this city who was responsible for this entire disaster,” Akaashi mutters.

“I just wanted to be safe.” Kenma’s eyes begin prickling, and only half of it from exhaustion. “I just wanted… to stay safe, and alive, and away from all this.”

Then it was Lev, then it was Kuro, and Kenma’s circle just kept expanding until this point: risking his life for strangers, the blood of his loved ones on his hands, and being told to step back by _Lev_ , of all people.

“Are you crying?” Akaashi asks in such alarm that Kenma can’t help but snort.

“Yes,” Kenma thickly replies. His eyes sting with tears and weariness, and his breath catches in sad little hiccups.

“You did well,” Akaashi says with gentleness and awkwardness in equal parts. Kenma shakes his head against them, and they hiss in pain.

With effort, Kenma manages to stand under his own power. He takes enough deep breaths until that’s regulated again, too, and he wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m not crying because of the stress.” It’s only halfway a lie. “I’m crying because I figured out what’s going to happen next.”

“We’re safe here!” Lev says, too quickly. “I saw all the wards you put down!”

“Weren’t those broken when the god monster popped in through the window?” Tsukishima asks.

“Don’t be mean,” Kuro weakly grumbles.

“Only some of them. I can reinstate a few,” Akaashi says.

Kenma shakes his head again, but it seems like they’re going to continue arguing, anyway. “It’s not that. The god thing has made it pretty clear that it has bigger fish to fry, and we can easily use that against it. But… I know how to get my magic back.” Kenma turns from the weight of their collective attention. Just because he’s blunt doesn’t mean he likes big announcements, especially when he knows actually saying this is probably going to hurt more than anything else. “And it could fix Kuro, too.”

“Sign me up,” Kuro croaks.

“And we didn’t do this before because?” Tsukishima demands.

In avoiding Akaashi’s pointed and rightfully angry gaze, Kenma realizes Lev has already figured it out. He’s always been more shrewd about these sorts of things than people give him credit for.

Lev spares Kenma and loudly announces it himself. “He’s gonna steal Kuro’s magicky thing and use it himself. Then Kuro will grow wings just like angels do. And he’ll be stronger? I’ve never met an archdemon, but that archangel was pretty messy and strong. What’s the catch, Kenma?”

“You’re shitting me. The sad, dying blob could have been upgraded at any time? I’ve seen what Kiyoko can do with that angelic magic of hers, so why haven’t you tried grabbing onto your half of your stupid cold war with her?” Tsukishima demands, now twice as angry.

Akaashi has gone totally silent.

“Do humans get off on trying to find the most dangerous kind of magical creature and trying to befriend it?” Yuuki asks archly. “Cat spirits are one thing, but Morisuke is gonna be mad if you’re making Kuroo a worse demon.”

“I will personally eat Yaku if he has any more strong opinions toward Tetsurou,” Akaashi says with surprising calm. They release Kenma’s wrist and instead grab his chin, forcing eye contact between them. Kenma wrinkles his nose but doesn’t immediately pull away. “Kenma, what’s the downside of this? Why has it spooked you so badly you didn’t immediately seek this out?”

“Put him in a confinement circle. You have to know how to confine demons and angels pretty damn well at this point. He wouldn’t be a risk to us, you especially,” Tsukishima adds.

“It’s not that,” Kenma finally admits, “it’s the fact that he’ll regain his memories of his life.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Lev asks.

Akaashi pulls away from Kenma, finally stepping out of the dead magic circle. It gives one final twinge, as if adding insult to injury.

“He won’t be Kuro anymore.”

Yui had gone from murderous, starving creature to something conflicted and sentient when she’d regained her memories. Even if she had spiraled again after the fact—something else Kenma isn’t certain how to handle—there had been an abrupt and permanent shift in personality.

Kuro would remember everything. Death is traumatic, of course, and who knows what kind of memories he could awaken to. Kenma has dealt with his nightmares in recent weeks, distant echoes of even more distant memories of a life long lost, but if Kuro suddenly has to deal with all of that? On top of enough magic to potentially drive him mad, no less.

Kenma would gain a boost in his own magic, and he has no doubt he’ll be able to integrate it into his own magic. Archdemons can use magic, too. Kuro would be stronger, magical, and could fly. Kenma can stabilize himself, help Akaashi, and possibly even restart the spell. Kuro would be alive and whole again, out of danger of dying. He could fight far better than ever before.

But he wouldn’t be Kuro.

“Ignoring the fact that Kuro’s first life and personality might not even want to help us, we’re dealing with an entirely different set of memories and experiences. His personality could change. He might not be able to handle the sudden surge in power, like Yui. And who knows what all that demonic magic could do to certain annoying parties in the room.”

Tsukishima’s expression darkens further.

“C’mon, Kuro likes you! All of you—us! He’s a good guy. He wouldn’t try to eat anyone,” Lev reasons, but Kenma isn’t swayed. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed his mind, only the first time with any weight attached to it.

“It’s entirely unpredictable. Moreover, even if he doesn’t want to eat anyone here, even if he decides he does want to go risk his life again, even if he wants to help with the spell or doesn’t resent me for stealing his magic…” Kenma only pauses to take a breath, and wipe his eyes again. “No matter what happens, this takes away who he is now. He won’t be o-ours anymore.”

Kenma crouches down, hiding his face in his sleeves since his short hair can’t, but almost at once, he feels a nudge against his knee. Then another. Midna had gotten to him second; Kuro sets his tiny claws on Kenma’s pants and peers up at him with empty, white eyes. “Don’t cry, Kenma. You’re gonna make _me_ cry,” he tells him and gently wipes his tears for him.

“You’ve been rather quiet on this subject, considering what you’ll be facing,” Akaashi sighs, ragged and angry and wet, and sits down far enough away from Kenma that no one will think either of them care. “Tetsurou, this is you. Now’s not the time to hold your tongue.”

“You don’t on anything else,” Tsukishima says.

“Yeah, yeah, too tired for sass. Near-death experiences take a lot out of you, Tsukki.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says, and his unsettled demonic puddle draws back to maximize the sulking puddle-ness. “I can go on all day about the advantages and disadvantages of this. You can’t let me.”

“You’re an expert on this, not me. You’d know better than anyone what this would do to us.”

“Kenma would just get more magic, wouldn’t he?”

“Kenma would develop an even worse allergy to angelic magic. He probably couldn’t use tengu magic that well anymore, and who knows what color he’d bleed then,” Kuro replies.

Kenma gives him a smile. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“Hard not to, when any hint of a demon is liable to get us both killed. So I guess we’re both experts.” Kuro sulks harder. “If this helps, then it helps. It’d be nice to be strong enough to beat a wet tissue in a fight again. I don’t like seeing anyone else hurt themselves on my behalf.”

“But we’d lose you,” Akaashi stresses from behind their remaining claws. “Give this half a thought. I know you care for Kenma, but push him from your mind for one whole second and think about what you’re doing.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Kuro replies with enough calm that it only ruffles Akaashi further. “It’s not like my memories of who I am now would disappear, would they?”

“They shouldn’t.”

“Then there you go. I’ll still be myself.”

Kenma has barely had Kuro for half a year, and who knows what sort of life he’d be reclaiming. Even if the memories remain? His personality would likely shift, and his priorities would reorder, and he wouldn’t be the same. He doesn’t know if Kuro is trying to downplay it for their sake, or if he’s as naive about this as he has been about so many other things. Ultimately not his choice.

Kuro cracks a very tiny grin. “Maybe if I grow wings, I’ll stop being so scared of heights.”

 

\--

 

Taichi, damn his long legs, easily outpaces Kenjirou.

Kenjirou started running the moment he saw Northot strike. Wakatoshi’s body still hasn’t stirred, and Kenjirou refuses to acknowledge the pieces he’s sprinting toward.

Gone is the ominous rumbling, replaced instead by cackling that careens in and out of hearing range.

Taichi’s foot catches on some of the ruined road, and Kenjirou vaults over him without pausing. Northot reaches down for Wakatoshi, curling its entire body in and in and in until it seems like it’s going to envelop him, and Kenjirou grabs its claws at the last moment.

The god doesn’t notice until Kenjirou slashes its mouth open even wider.

“You̶.”

Kenjirou realizes he’s surrounded on all sides by the deity’s horrific mass, with only two dead humans in front of him for help. Only one of them will come back. Kenjirou swallows when he sees Wakatoshi’s head, laying so far from his body, and fuck, he _hopes_ he can come back from that. He doesn’t know the rules here.

“Y͟o͏u͞ ̕have no ot̛her ̴s͏p̢ac̴e̵s to ͞r͏ưn ͘to. ͏But͘ y͜ou w͏o͠r̷ry͞ m͟e ̨no̸t, n͜a͠s̨h͜ưg̶g̶o͜t͠h͘.” Northot coils a long, spindly finger idly around Wakatoshi’s ankle, and lifts his headless body upside-down.

Had that been his fingers twitching, or was it just the movement?

Kenjirou hadn’t escaped prison in another realm just to see his home realm fucked.

“Y̸o͢u̧ wan͢t͜ t̵o͞ sav͏e yh̶a̴fh'͏dr͏n? ̴Try͡ ̧ḑef̛y͠i͞ng ͞m͟e agaįn,” Northot says and dangles Wakatoshi over him, splattering him with hot blood.

Kenjirou knows this thing is already pissed at him, but he also knows that its focus has always been Wakatoshi. He also knows that if Wakatoshi can come back from this, he’s not going to last very long separated from his head, or in Northot’s burning clutches.

They need someone to cast the spell, and it’s not as if Kenjirou knows anyone else this far south in the world.

Even a god will recoil from a manticore to the face, even if its definition of face is uncertain.

Kenjirou catches Wakatoshi, but it’s no easy feat to carry such a big body in two pieces. He steps over Daichi’s corpse with a flicker of guilt. He’d been helpful when he wasn’t shooting at them.

He barely hears the angry chirping from Wakatoshi’s coat pocket, over the god and Taichi roaring at each other. Taichi shifts between forms whenever claws or teeth or fur begin melting, and that buys him precious time—but not much.

“Shh, we’re going to get away,” Kenjirou hisses at the eagle chick that arguably started this entire shitshow. He’ll deal with those feelings later. Wakatoshi could do what he wanted—and proved it.

Kenjirou gets about six paces before Northot spears him through. He doesn’t miss a beat, and shouts, “ _Tai_!”

The barghest leaps off of Northot and Taichi catches Wakatoshi in midair. Northot shakes him like a dog tearing meat from a bone, and Taichi vanishes with Wakatoshi in tow. They know how to trade off, been doing it all their lives, but it’s rare that one of them is stuck in such dire straits.

Kenjirou won’t die immediately, and his own body flickers with each movement, but he knows he’ll be trailing blood now. Northot flings him off and he lands heavily on Daichi’s body. It could just be his ears ringing from proximity to that thing, but Kenjirou could swear that Daichi _groaned_.

Northot can’t see Taichi anymore but a half-unseen tariaksuq is a decent enough target. Northot’s first strike narrowly misses his head, and the second wraps around his thigh, dragging him back and leaving a trail of red. Northot laughs in terrible glee.

Kenjirou can’t use Daichi, even if he is alive—he’s dying and he isn’t magical. He needs Wakatoshi, or a friendly human who understands magic. Taichi can drag Wakatoshi out of immediate range, but Kenjirou can’t sneak away, not flickering like a candle and dripping blood.

While dangling over Northot’s unfurled rows of needle teeth like the ugliest flower, Kenjirou manages to catch sight of the annoying freckled kid who keeps popping up to fuck up Wakatoshi’s day.

Kenjirou sees the way the kid is fixated on Daichi. _They know each other_. “Hey!” he shouts across the street. That gangly fuck better hear him. “I’m trading you! His life for your magic!”

“Y̴o͟u ̴canno̧t pl͝e͡ad fo͜r ͟your҉ ̛lif̡e̶ n͠o̷w,” Northot tells him, though it sounds like it would very much cherish Kenjirou doing just that.

He snaps off his remaining antler. Stings like a fucker, and full visibility in the world will give him a headache if he lives to see it, but antlers regrow. Maybe Wakatoshi can regrow a head, but Kenjirou won’t take the chance. The antler clatters down just close enough to touch Daichi’s arm, and he vanishes from sight. Maybe there’s something to this luck thing.

But the fucking kid remains frozen, either out of fear or grief, and Kenjirou doesn’t believe in deer in the headlights.

Kenjirou, fully visible and hanging from its tendrils, fixes it with the best stare he can manage. It burns, but spite is a hell of a motivator.

He spits in Northot’s face.

Kenjirou probably would’ve slashed at the tendril holding him, if a dragon hadn’t dropped out of the sky onto Northot’s flailing, bulbous mass. It’s not the teal, double-winged thing he’s seen before. It’s smaller, so dark brown it’s nearly black, with a mane of pale, ashy blond running down its spine.

“ _Taichi_ , what the fuck?!” Kenjirou shouts over his shoulder. He sees the kid across the street dart out from behind the building corner.

“Like I’m letting you get eaten,” Taichi growls back.

“Where’s Ushijima?”

“Where else?”

 

\--

 

“Toshi, goddamn it,” Tendou huffs as he drags Wakatoshi’s body in through the window. “Why are you so big? Shirabu isn’t here to lug you around, you know! You’re going to have to carry your own weight again.”

Wakatoshi’s body doesn’t answer him. His head is already inside.

“How are you supposed to come back from this?”

Someone must have closed his eyes, maybe Taichi. It seems like the type of thing he’d do. But his neck is a jagged, half-burned cut, still bleeding in some places. Blood has been splattered up across his jaw, up to his ear, and has seeped into his shirt and coat.

Tendou grabs Athena from his coat pocket. She fixes him with a surprisingly sharp stare. “Bring him back,” Tendou tells her. “He brought you back, so now it’s your turn to pull your weight, _mon oisillon_.”  [1]

Athena peeps at him. She sounds sad.

Tendou sits beside Wakatoshi’s body, and sets her down on his chest. Shirabu and Taichi are out there fighting, despite the fact that they don’t owe them this. Tendou can’t help them any more than he can help Wakatoshi right now. Gold can’t heal wounds. Attachments can’t bring back the lost.

“You’re supposed to come back again by now. Cast your magic, make this right again. We can’t do this without you.”

Wakatoshi’s body sits up, dislodging his familiar and making Tendou shriek. Blood pours from his open neck, and the body collapses again with a disgusting, wet, wheezing sound.

After he’s done swearing up a storm and has moved the baby bird far away from the headless not-corpse, Tendou realizes that Wakatoshi is going to keep reanimating and dying again if that whole decapitation thing isn’t taken care of. Tendou has no idea where the one human healer he knows is, but he knows enough about stitches thanks to a lifetime of refusing to pay for medical attention.

God, he hopes that all he has to do is sew him up. He doesn’t know anything about surgery. Tendou ransacks the office, then the neighboring firm, and finally loses patience and breaks into the nearest hospital. It’s already in chaos tending to the injured, but at least he can pop in and out without causing further panic when everyone is already busy with the world ending.

When Tendou returns, arms full of supplies he has no idea about, he thinks Wakatoshi has been through a few more resurrections, based on the amount of blood now pooled around his corpse. Athena fixes him with a rather evil eye. “I don’t see you doing anything,” he tells her, and gets to work with the absolute stupidest thing he’s ever done.

A blood witch will be able to deal with things like infection or blood loss, so he focuses on just trying to ensure things line up properly. It looks like vertebrae got chipped, and Tendou hadn’t ever wanted to see the inside of Wakatoshi’s throat, and he’s never had his head in his lap like this before. He’s halfway to hysterical before he can stop himself.

Wakatoshi’s blood pours slick and hot over Tendou’s hands. He doesn’t even know how the guy has any blood left at this rate. Tendou is crying, stitching with shaking hands and entire frame wracked with muffled, desperate laughter, when Wakatoshi reaches up and grasps Tendou’s wrists.

“Toshi?”

Wakatoshi fumbles around his own neck, drawing in his own blood, and dies shortly after.

Two more times, and Wakatoshi finally opens his eyes. There are still two inches of unsewn neck, but Tendou bends over and throws himself at him with a wretched noise.

Wakatoshi does die again, but not before he can fumble his way through trying to wipe Tendou’s tears.

Tendou points to the bags of blood he swiped from the hospital. Wakatoshi’s skin is sickly and ashen, and they’re both covered in blood and sweat, but he casually draws blood from the bag up to the gash in his neck like he’s done this a million times. Maybe he has. There’s so much Tendou doesn’t know about him, but he does know that he is truly deathless, and he knows that he doesn’t know what he’d do if Wakatoshi suddenly wasn’t.

“Can you talk?” Tendou asks when Wakatoshi doesn’t seem to be in immediate danger of dying again.

Wakatoshi shakes his head. Athena peeps in his stead, which Tendou finds cute and useless.

“It’s a good thing I’m used to doing the talking between us,” Tendou says and Wakatoshi nods solemnly like it hadn’t been a joke. “If you ever bring me your headless corpse again, though, we’re through. I’m wearing more of your blood than what’s left in you, Toshi, and that’s not how I prefer to do relationships.”

Wakatoshi blinks at him, and carefully grabs more blood.

“My bedside manner is far superior. I don’t have to kiss you to keep you still.”

“I was dead.” Wakatoshi’s voice is utterly wrecked, weak and raspy and wet.

“You squirmed enough, considering.” Tendou leans forward, lips pursed, and Wakatoshi meets him halfway. He tastes sharp like blood. “This makes up for killing you before, yeah? Let’s keep this evened out. No more death.”

Wakatoshi nods, cautiously, free hand against his neck. It looks like it has completely stopped bleeding now.

“When you can stand, we’re going to that circle of yours. It’s time to finish this.”

When Wakatoshi nods again, it’s stronger.

 

\--

 

Morisuke only hisses a frantic, “Be careful!” when Tadashi takes off at a dead sprint toward the angry god.

It’s not as big, but it’s somehow more powerful. Its radiance is impossible to look at, and every step closer makes his head pound harder. When he accidentally catches a glimpse of part of it as it writhes around in an effort to catch the other two, Tadashi nearly trips.

Morisuke blocks it from view as Tadashi stumbles to a stop about where Daichi should be. Tadashi drops to his knees and feels around until he finds something solid and invisible.

The bellowing god chases the other two, but any distance from that thing is not fucking enough. Getting that close to it unnoticed might’ve been the luckiest he’s ever been.

Morisuke drops down, swipes the antler off of Daichi, and shifts into his human form.

There’s blood everywhere. Daichi’s neck has been slashed open, and he’s not moving. Tadashi can’t bring himself to touch him, but Morisuke rolls Daichi over with little concern.

“He’s breathing,” Morisuke says with a hand on his chest, “I think.”

 _He’s dying_. Daichi is his boss at his normal job. Daichi was the normal one.

“If he’s not dead yet, he’s not dying with a luck spirit around.” Morisuke drags Daichi up over his shoulders. “We need to move, and I’m not going to get very far dragging him myself. Now’s not the time to freeze up. You wanted to help, remember?”

Tadashi nods, gulping down his tears. When he wipes his eyes, his coat comes away red. “Where’s the sword?”

Morisuke curses under his breath. The god tears its way further from them, shaking the ground, but steadily quieter. Tadashi holds Daichi up, feeling through layers of clothing for a heartbeat he can’t find.

Morisuke scans the area for the vorpal sword, and comes back with a half-melted piece.

They wrap it in the stupid scarf, Tadashi shoves it in his pocket, and Morisuke throws Daichi’s other arm over his shoulder. “What’s the plan now? If Daichi is like this, then Sugawara isn’t coming back for anything.”

“He couldn’t have known,” Tadashi replies. Suga wouldn’t leave anyone to die, much less Daichi. “Suga wouldn’t just…”

“Ditch him?”

“We need to find a healer,” Tadashi says. They’ve made it as far as the sidewalk now. Daichi’s head lolls dangerously.

“We’ve been trying,” Morisuke says, a touch gentler now.

“We should stop.” They’re not making enough progress to call this a proper retreat, and Shirabu and his friend were luring the god away better than anything Tadashi could do. “Can you bring me bandages? We need to stop the bleeding, or…”

Moving Daichi had probably been a bad decision. Coming here had probably been a bad decision. Tadashi is too exhausted, and he really doubts having a breakdown or attack outside in the middle of the apocalypse is a good idea.

“Tadashi!” comes a shout and someone drops off a broom.

Ryuunosuke hugs him so tightly he lifts him, and Tadashi wheezes. He’s going to blame the squeezing for the tears. “R-Ryuu—?”

Taketora drops down beside him, broom in hand. “I’m beginnin’ to think you attract bleeding people, kid,” he says flatly, nudging Daichi’s leg with his foot. “This isn’t a gunshot. He’s dead, or close to.”

“You’re a healer, save him!”

“I’m under pretty strict orders to not go wastin’ my magic on lost causes. That can save people later, right,” Taketora replies, frankly, but not without sympathy.

Without missing a beat, Ryuu tells him, “Callin’ in my favor for the cockatrice.”

“God-fucking-damn you, man,” Taketora growls and helps them lay Daichi out on the ground.

Ryuu keeps Tadashi from hovering too badly, and Morisuke keeps polite distance, more interested in keeping watch. “In this business, it’s all about who you know,” he tells him. Tadashi nods and wipes at his eyes again. “Shit, kid, you look like a wreck. Tora said you were back with Kenma and his gang—why are you out on the streets two blocks from that monstrosity?”

“We’ve been trying to find someone,” Morisuke replies, curt.

“Suga,” Tadashi corrects. “He and Kiyoko have been missing, and they probably know what’s going on better than anyone else.” With eyes locked onto where Taketora works on Daichi’s neck, Tadashi feels like he saw everyone _except_ Suga. He has bits and pieces of others—Hitoka searching for her mother and coven, Kenma and his spell, even Daichi’s explanation of his motives. And no Suga.

“Then, now what?” Ryuunosuke asks.

Before Tadashi can get too peeved, Taketora sits back on his heels and wipes his brow. “Dude’s stable, for now. I can’t do much for whatever nerve damage and he needs blood fucking yesterday, but he’s not dead. He needs to go to a hospital, not the cold ground in an alleyway.”

“Here.” Tadashi shoves the antler at Ryuu. “Take him and—”

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Ryuu snaps before he can finish. “You are doing that, and you’re checkin’ yourself into that hospital, too. You look like a zombie. Yaku can escort you both and keep you from too much trouble.”

“I need to find Suga and finish a spell.” Goddamnit, he sounds like he’s about to cry. Shirabu is a raging asshole, but he played bait and let them get to Daichi before he died. Daichi had believed in Ushijima’s plan. Kenma’s spell is apparently over, or something went wrong, because the god is solid again.

It’s Suga and Kiyoko, or Ushijima.

Ryuu doesn’t have magic, and Taketora looks dead on his feet. He also doesn’t think either would let him go near Ushijima with a ten-foot pole right now, but maybe Ushijima will be dead in a ditch somewhere and his spell won’t be too difficult to cast. Iwaizumi could probably help talk him through it if necessary, and a dragon will probably be easier to find than Suga at this rate.

“Please. I’ll owe you anything, no questions asked, just like now. I-I have a gun, I have a little bit of magic left, and I just need to help stop this before anyone else gets hurt. Please, take Daichi.”

“Lucky for you,” Ryuu says with a sharp grin, “ya can’t have three people on a broom. Tora, take care of this and I’ll owe you one. Yama, you’re stuck with me now. You think what you’re doing is important, fine. I’m in.”

Tadashi cracks a smile. Ryuu’s gonna hate what comes next, but it’s nice to have another person on his side.

 

\--

 

Tetsurou hasn’t been in a circle like this since he was summoned. It’s almost nostalgic.

Kenma doesn’t need all the preparation of a marked circle, but if this is Kenma’s small way of dealing with it, then that’s fine. Tetsurou appreciates the chance to collect his thoughts, too.

He doesn’t really know what it’ll be like to suddenly know he’s a different person—or was a different person. He understands Kenma and Keiji’s concerns, but he knows himself. He won’t stop caring about them, won’t stop wanting to help. He has a personality. Knowing more things about himself won’t change that.

Saying it aloud won’t comfort anyone.

Lev is rarely an intimidating guy despite his size, but his presence at Kenma’s side unnerves Tetsurou more than any of the runes or wary looks Keiji sends him.

“Are you ready?” Kenma asks. “I will have to take whatever the demonic equivalent of an angel’s grace is. You’ll turn back into a ghost—your ghost—and only afterward will you become an archdemon. I’ll try to control my magic as quickly as possible, but it will take a few moments for either of us to figure out what we’re doing.”

“Don’t worry,” Lev says, still with that too-serious expression, “I won’t let anything go wrong.”

Kenma doesn’t brush him off.

Tetsurou swallows. “Well, no time like the present, huh? Regaining a settled form would be pretty nice. So would feeling my legs again.”

Tsukishima has left for this part, taking the little bakeneko with him, and Tetsurou highly doubts it’s to ensure he’s not exposed to any more magic. He doesn’t blame the kid, of course. He’s probably been through enough today, and it’s not as if they’re the best of friends on a good day. Tetsurou can’t deny that he likes having a little support group, though, even if it looks like Lev will somehow figure out a way to kill an archdemon if he so much as looks at Kenma funny.

It’s a funny thought in its own right.

Tetsurou makes sure to wink at Lev, just for the way he startles. “It’s not like I’m dying, this time.” It doesn’t reassure anyone.

“Let’s just do this,” Kenma sighs.

“Wait—” Tetsurou leans out of the circle and kisses Kenma’s nose as best he can. “It was a little easier to reach than your forehead, all things considered.”

Kenma’s nose is wrinkled, but Tetsurou thinks it’s more a reflex.

Kenma reaches out and places his palm against the vague area of Tetsurou’s chest. Tetsurou cranes his head back, and Kenma gently cups his neck. His magic is warm and familiar.

He feels a sharp pull from his entire unsettled self. It steals breath from lungs he doesn’t need and pulls him up out of the circle like a puppet’s strings.

It vanishes, just as quickly, and he feels indescribably lighter.

He barely registers that he’s as tall as he usually is—he catches a flash of the white robes hanging loose around his ankles—and then he wonders why the fuck he’s here.

This isn’t where he should be. This isn’t where he remembers being.

This is wrong.

He presses his hands against his chest, searching for the gunshot. There’s red in his robes, stained like blood, but it’s dry and no matter how he tears at his clothes, he can’t find any wound. How had he—no, no, he hadn’t survived, had he—but being a ghost feels terribly like being alive, without the pain he last remembers.

Absolutely nothing changes about the hotel room before him, though the witch before him is on his knees, crumpled like he’s the one with a gut shot wound. He doesn’t try to help. He’s still fighting with the heartrending realization that he can’t help, he can’t go out and fight, because he’s not supposed to be _here_.

This isn’t right. None of it is right.

He’s so fucking hungry, but terror overcomes it, and he reels away from the witch. He needs help—no, they both do—no, he has a fucking war to win, he has to—

“Tetsurou,” comes a voice and he jumps a foot in the air. He stays floating above them, but twists to find the tengu.

No, Keiji. He knows them. He knows everything, everyone, here.

“ _Neredeyim_ ,” he croaks. [2]

“You’re here, with us. Nothing has changed. You’re still here,” the tengu— _Keiji_ , he _knows_ them—replies. “Tetsurou, are you alright?”

That’s not his name.

He glances toward the window. It’s not raining—no, it shouldn’t be, that wasn’t…

He curls up, fingers digging into the red staining his white robes, but before he can do more than recall his family—he died and left them, how could he, he’d promised his sister he’d come back—pain erupts in his back.

It feels like falling, vertigo and darkness rushing at him, faster and faster until he feels sick. Pain slices at his back, pushing against flesh and bone until it’s his body that gives. There’s no relief in the wings curling out from his shoulder blades, and the only sliver of sanity he can grasp is the familiarity of losing a settled form.

By the time the pain recedes and he’s left a gasping, trembling mess on the dirty hotel carpet, he has somewhat ordered his thoughts.

“Kuro?” Kenma asks like he’s scared.

That’s his name now. That’s the name given to him when he was just hanging out in some guy’s shadow because he didn’t want to get killed. Old habits, but at least he remembers now.

“Kenma,” he replies, and everyone jumps at his voice. It’s deeper than it’s ever been, reverberating with power, and _magic_. There’s something simmering low in his belly and he wonders if that’s related.

Kenma looks very small and particularly edible, staring up at the archdemon with uncharacteristic relief. His face is shiny with sweat, dried blood still smeared across one cheek. His sleeves nearly to the elbows have been singed off, and his hands are still blackened, ending in oh so familiar claws.

Keiji is injured, but Kenma is the easier target for magic.

“Can you settle your form again?” Kenma asks with a tilt of his head.

Tetsurou flaps his wings. They feel strange, an alien presence in a storm of conflicting memories and familiarities. The new wings itch and ache, and it’s just enough of a distraction that he does not immediately lunge for the nearest source of magic to sate his new hunger.

Kenma cups what he can of his face, pulling Tetsurou down toward him. He tilts his head this way and that, studying the semi-solid, dark flesh and bright, empty eyes, and Kenma doesn’t fear the way Tetsurou’s jaws part inches from his face.

Tetsurou is yanked backward by sharp claws in his throbbing wings.

“I suggest you settle,” Keiji says with icy calmness, “and Lev can give you some wisps to chew on. An archdemon doesn’t get to be the biggest spirit in the room.”

“Actually, I’m the strongest in the room now,” Kenma casually announces, now studying his blackened claws. “If you count spellwriting.”

“Kuro needs to settle, and I’d like to get more than two words from him before we do anything else. It’d also be kinda nice if we had assurance that the god-thing wasn’t going to come back and eat us in the near future, too. I’m not sure how this magic works.”

Kenma flexes his clawed hand, and with a murmur, a flame appears over his palm.

Tetsurou copies him, and to his own amazement, he manages to do the same.

“Guess you both need a fast magic lesson,” Keiji says.

 

\--

 

The _clang_ of each step reminds Yuu that his flight potion has long since run out. Whatever’s in the air seems to be sapping magic, even magic potions, which is a layer of bullshit frankly no one needed.

No magic bullets now, either.

He can ward things, but that’s about the extent of it, and wards had no effect on that thing.

Yuu wipes his stinging eyes and continues climbing the ancient fire escape. He has strapped his little camp radio to his backpack, but it’s still broadcasting static.

“I could’ve carried you,” Goshiki says, floating idly alongside him.

“It’s different, if you’re offering, versus me asking. Don’t pretend it’s not. Also, you almost dropped me on the way here. I can handle a little climbing.” He always gets shaky after flight potions wear off, and feeling something solid beneath his boots is comforting.

“I think if I actually dropped you, the blonde one would cry.” At Yuu’s look, he clarifies, “The scary blonde one. Hitoka is nice. I see why the little crow kid is so keen on her.”

“Well, let’s not make anyone else cry today.” Yuu hauls himself up over the edge of the roof. His radio crackles into something that could be a not-static sound.

“I could fly that higher.”

“Do you know how to scan through different channels?”

Mr. High And Mighty Swan Deigning To Help The Humans has no answer for that one, but he gets a pinched, angry look on his face.

Yuu wanders in a circle, radio held aloft, and hopes for some kind of miracle. He manages two laps before he realizes he has two tengu watchers.

Bokuto and Goshiki sit perched on the edge of the roof, wings folded, huge talons digging little furrows into the brick beneath them. They look like the scariest pigeons ever. “Any luck?” Bokuto asks, head cocked too steeply.

“Not really,” Yuu drops his aching arms. His entire body aches from being thrown through and from a couple buildings, but with Hitoka around, at least everything’s in working order. Except maybe her emotional regulation, but that’s always kinda been normal for her.

Kiyoko always knew how to ground her.

Yuu adores Hitoka—adores Kiyoko, too—but he’s feeling a little lost in the face of what Kiyoko did to her. He isn’t certain how to approach that, especially after Saeko confided that she tried to drop her off at the hospital at the start of all this. Hitoka may appear weak-willed, but she’s fiercely stubborn when she’s invested in something.

“Argh!” Yuu throws his radio to the ground. It bounces safely to the side, and begins broadcasting.

Both tengu flap over, and Yuu crouches next to it, scared to touch it again.

“…Foxglove and Alkanet covens. All witches are— _kkshh_ —report to Miya Atsumu, Yachi Madoka, or Naoi Manabu. Perimeter and confinement laws are in effect. Perimeter has been maintained and enforced, and we need help— _kkshh_ —civilians and injured to hospitals…” The signal comes and goes, but it’s mostly understandable.

Bokuto sneers down at the radio. “Does that help us, or Oikawa?”

“Not directly,” Yuu replies. He knew there was a perimeter, but he isn’t quite up to date on a lot of the other witch jargon. The radio informs him of some sort of spell network to maintain the perimeter, and then which hospitals need help, and then where that monstrous deity is heading, but finally, it gives them a location.

“— _kkshh_ —at the southern corner of White Lake Park, by 21st street, the leaders of Eyebright, Foxglove, and Alkanet covens. All witches are asked to report to Miya Atsumu, Yachi Madoka, or Naoi Manabu…”

Yuu lets out a whoop of joy and scoops up his radio. To his even greater delight, it keeps broadcasting. “Sae! Hitoka! We know where Madoka is!”

Hitoka’s head snaps up, hair flying, and Yuu can see her radiant grin even from up here. She wouldn’t be grinning so easily if either Tooru or Tobio had died.

Bokuto hauls Yuu up under a wing and jumps off the roof. Yuu clings with an undignified squawk, but at least someone doesn’t drop him. The two unconscious men are still laid out on the sidewalk, and Hitoka remains kneeling between them. Saeko stands watch, and Hinata is crouched on Tobio’s other side, chewing on his claws.

Unconscious beats possessed, so Yuu isn’t complaining.

“They’re by that little park where we almost got eaten by the manticore that one time,” Yuu explains as soon as Bokuto shakes him off. “Apparently all the coven witches are setting up shop there. Sounds like they got some organization and shit.”

“And my mom is there?”

“They mentioned her by name.”

Hitoka sniffles, wipes her eyes, then drops her head again. She runs her hand down Tobio’s chest. “I’m so glad.”

“So, you’re withdrawing?” Bokuto asks, but it makes Goshiki scowl in a way Yuu does not like.

“Yeah, we are,” Saeko says, still watching down the street. She doesn’t even sound like she’s addressing them; she sounds distracted, and she taps her gun against her bicep.

“We’re helping,” Goshiki says.

“We’re withdrawing,” Saeko says. She’s still turned away, and she still sounds casual about it, but Yuu knows she’s either very angry, or very upset.

“It might be a good idea. We gave it a good go, and Hitoka needs to find her mom. We need more ammo, too.”

“I can’t just run around the city and happen into people. They’ll know how I can help best,” Hitoka adds.

“You’re going to rest. You probably need a healer yourself at this rate,” Saeko snaps. She sighs, runs a hand back through her short hair, then drops her arms from her chest. “We’re retreating. We’re getting you kids out of this mess, and this time, I’m making sure.”

 _What about Kiyoko_ , Yuu thinks, staring hard at her profile.

Tooru blinks awake with a weak noise.

“Tooru!” Hitoka cries, immediately helping him into a seated position. Almost at once, blood begins dripping down his mouth and chin, but his eyes remain clear. “Move slowly. Do you know where you are?”

“No, actually. Since I guess I’ve been moved,” Tooru holds his head and closes his eyes as if he’s trying to fall asleep again. “Where’s Iwa-chan?”

“You got possessed,” Bokuto supplies, and Tooru squints his eyes open just enough to roll them, “and we had to grab you and Kageyama and run. But if you’re alive, and not possessed by evil things, then I gotta go.”

“You’re done using people as bait now?” Hinata quails at once at the look Bokuto shoots him.

“No more bait. No more playing hero. I’ve already had to save your collective ass more than once in the past twenty-four hours. We’re parking you in a safe spot. The two tengu can play guard, Hitoka can figure out what to do once she talks to her mom, and I need a breather and some more things to shoot at that monster,” Saeko says, massaging the furrow in her brow. “Yuu, you’re comin’ with.”

Bokuto looks relieved at not having to get into an argument over taking orders, but the other two angry birds puff up with matching glares. “I need to head back to check on Kenma, anyway. If that spell still needs to go off, then I’m sure that damned fox will come calling soon enough.”

“What a lovely cue for me to take,” comes a voice from above. Tooru lets out another weak groan, and Yuu and Saeko snap up to aim with empty guns.

Tendou looks redder than before, and Yuu realizes rather uneasily that he’s covered in blood. “You’re pretty fuckin’ ballsy, comin’ back like this,” Saeko growls.

“ _Je suis un renard sans peur en ce moment_ ,” he drawls, and points imperiously down at them. “We all know you’re out of ammo, otherwise I’d already have a bullet in my head.” [3]

“Again,” Yuu gladly reminds him.

“Look, we all have to put aside our differences to beat the big, bad god, right? I’m not even trying to pick a fight with little miss murderer right now!” Tendou gestures with both scarlet hands down at Hitoka. She just looks confused about it, and Yuu and Saeko guiltily ignore her questioning sound. “ _Monsieur chouette_ , I need bait to outweigh some silly deer, and that means you.” [4]

“It’s not gonna follow just me,” Bokuto says. He doesn’t _look_ at either Tooru or Tobio, but Tooru gives him such a look, that Yuu has a pretty good idea what his thoughts were.

“Then get better bait! That little witch friend of yours, or another tengu. Raise the archangel for all I care! I need strong spirits, and I need them _now_.”

“ _No_ ,” Saeko snaps as soon as Goshiki opens his mouth. “Fuck you. We’re retreating.”

“Some of us don’t get to retreat in the face of the apocalypse,” Tendou sniffs.

“It’s your fucking fault!”

“And that’s why I’m trying so hard to help. Someone has to.”

“They’re fucking kids!” Saeko snarls.

Tendou looks away, first to the right, then up above, then settles on his own red-covered hands. “Well. I’m trying to save a couple of kids, and the whole city.”

“Where’s Iwa-chan?” Tooru hoarsely calls up. He looks as if he hates himself for even suggesting it, and Yuu doesn’t envy him. “No one can ignore a dragon, but I don’t know where he is.”

“We need him to open the portal for us. I’m also not against using you as bait, either. You could say I’m getting desperate.”

“Fuck off!” Saeko shouts and Tendou, at least, jumps as her gun clicks on nothing. “You already got our help! Be satisfied with using me and leave!”

“Sae,” Yuu begins, but she just glares at him.

“I’ll go with you.” Bokuto looks down at Tooru, pointedly, until he sighs and lifts his arms. Bokuto picks him up as if he were made of glass. “We can find Iwaizumi on the way. No one can ignore a dragon.”

“Where is the angel?” Tooru mutters, to himself, and Bokuto scowls into his hair.

“Seems like it’ll be a nasty surprise for later. Ta-ta, jackasses!”

Bokuto spares them a regretful look, but Saeko stands between them like an angry, armed bear. Her shoulders do not relax until they’re long out of sight.

“Why does he keep calling me that?” Hitoka asks in a small, quaking voice. Blood begins to bead beneath her nose like she wants to give Tooru a run for his money. “Why does he… Who was that?”

“An asshole.” Yuu offers her his cleaning rag for his guns; it’s all he has, and it already has old blood stained on it. She gives him a weak smile before she wipes her face as delicately as she can manage. “C’mon. We’re getting you all somewhere safe.”

“But Kenma,” Hinata says in a meek voice totally unbefitting a tengu. “He needed help.”

“Kenma has enough help, seems like. At least carry Tobio for us. Time for an escort mission!”

It doesn’t cheer anyone up.

 

\--

 

“Am I allowed to come inside yet?” Kei asks, looking up when Akaashi opens the door. He feels foolish, sitting out in the hallway like a grounded child. “Did he try to eat anyone’s face?”

Akaashi does not answer directly. “Tetsurou can’t settle, but he’s in one piece, and Kenma hasn’t vomited up black magic yet, so I’m considering this a victory.”

“So now what?” Kei feels superfluous now. He’s genuinely glad that Kuroo isn’t about to keel over, sure, and Tadashi is off doing… whatever he’s going, but Kei feels in a daze, and now he’s not even useful about it.

Akaashi scratches at their bandages as if they’re annoyed by their presence. For losing an arm, Kei finds them pretty damn composed. Maybe it’s a tengu thing.

“I need to know what Koutarou is doing,” they murmur, to themselves. “I think Kenma wants to restart the spell, but I’m not sure it will work. He can’t handle even the mirror now, and it’s still tied to the first attempt. We don’t know when that thing could come back, and I’m not sure I like the idea of possession, either. I’m sure Kenma has a plan, but…”

“But Kenma’s plan got us all into this mess.”

Akaashi gives him a particularly nettled look.

“Just doing my job—just saying what you don’t want to say.”

“I don’t blame Kenma,” Akaashi waspishly tells him.

“But you lost your wing,” Yuuki volunteers from Kei’s lap. “And Tsukki’s brother was here, and Kuroo almost died. I know Morisuke doesn’t want to blame Kenma, but that’s a lot of blood on his hands.”

Kei isn’t sure if he blames Kenma, either, but he’s surprised by Yuuki’s shrewdness. He isn’t sure he wants to blame anyone for getting to see Akiteru again, as emotionally exhausting as it had been. But it had been his spell that required the angel’s grace, that required the god’s blood.

“Let’s not voice any of this blame,” Kei says in an abrupt case of caring. He doesn’t feel like watching another witch implode. “It’s no one’s fault. Shit happens. What are we going to do now?”

A sudden clamor from inside the hotel room answers him. Akaashi peers inside, Kei looking over their head, and Yuuki on top of his.

Cold wind whistles through the now-broken window. While Kenma appears ruffled, no one is hurt. Bokuto has thrown himself at Kuroo, and they’re sprawled across the couch in a tangled mess of wings and unsettled limbs. Not all of the wings are Bokuto’s.

Tooru, cross-legged by the broken window and looking more like a zombie than Suga ever has, clears his throat.

“Koutarou,” Akaashi says like it’s a relief.

“Keiji!” He pops up at once. Kuroo growls from beneath him. “Kuroo is—I mean, wow, you’re—what did you all do after I left?!”

“Put Kuro back in one piece, demonize Kenma a bit more, and fail the spell,” Lev says as he counts off on his fingers. Kenma smacks him with his blackened hand. “It’s been productive, but sad. What have you been up to?”

“What is that smell?” And the additions don’t stop with those two: a certain redheaded pain in Kei’s ass leans through the window, peering in around them. Tendou’s eyes go wide when he sees Kuroo on the couch—and he then breaks into a grin at seeing Kei. “Well, hello, blondie. I was wondering when you’d pop up to ruin my day.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Can everyone stop thinking for two whole seconds?” Tooru croaks while massaging his temples. His eyes are screwed shut, and his voice is uncharacteristically wobbly. “Temporary alliance. I have the mental strength of a kitten’s whisker. We need bait, so we’re dropping me off and Bokuto is supposed to be picking up Kenma.”

“We-ell, I rather think an archdemon would be a hell of a distraction,” Tendou points out with a savage grin. “Leave the little witch behind.”

Kenma points an arrow tipped in black magic at Tendou’s face. Kei has never liked him more.

“Hey now, we had a deal! And ruining our plans once did not count.” Tendou leans against the jagged edges of the broken window and idly traces the glass with one hand. Kei realizes that his hands are covered in dried blood. “I mean, it’s not an archangel, but unless you have information to trade, I’m going to have to ask for a tengu and an archdemon. Maybe the angry witch, too, but if I wanted one of those, I would’ve just dropped Toshi off in front of Northot again.”

 _Yui must be with Kiyoko_ , _which means they’re with Suga._

Tooru watches him with a carefully neutral expression.

Kei tries a little harder not to think. He should still be mourning his brother, or filling his thoughts worrying about Tadashi or Suga. Wouldn’t normal people be more distracted by all the tragedy and panic? But Kei has always tended to over-think in whatever way leads to the least amount of emotional effort. Tadashi is tracking down Suga who is with Kiyoko who is with Yui who is the archangel that Tendou wants.

Tooru looks thoughtful.

If Kei has to throw his trust into Tadashi’s weird magical friends, he doesn't want it to be with the mindreader who is suddenly best friends with the bastard who started all this.

“Does it have to be an archangel?” Kei blurts out.

“I’ll take the tengu and the archdemon,” Tendou sweetly replies. “I don’t need a luck spirit anymore, as you can probably tell by this entire mess.”

“You don’t feel an ounce of shame, do you?” Bokuto asks.

“I’ll feel shame after I get out of this in one piece. Now come, come, we’re on a bit of a time limit!”

“Would an archangel work better?” Tooru asks, eyes still on Kei.

 _Do you know where they are?_ Kei urgently thinks. _Why aren’t you with them, then?_

“We need a sure-fire way to lure Northot into Toshi’s spell. I don’t care what form it takes.”

“Turn me into an angel,” Kei says.

The room falls deathly silent.

Kei locks eyes with Tooru, and thinks as loudly as he can, _If you can’t help, don’t drag Suga and Yamaguchi into this. Don’t tell Tendou anything about them._ He trusts Suga a hell of a lot more than most other people. Kei would gladly play distraction or bait or whatever just to keep Tooru’s stupid mouth shut.

Tooru frowns at him. This isn’t a two-way street, but Kei feels he’s made his point clear.

If Tooru tries to bring Suga up, potentially ruining whatever is going on with him and putting Tadashi back in Tendou and Ushijima’s sights, then Kei will learn how to use his claws.

“You can’t become an angel,” Kenma finally says. His magic arrow blinks out of existence, and he shakes out his own claws. “You’re a… you’re too demonic. It’s a spectrum. You’re not neutral.”

“Don’t mistake this as brotherly issues or some dark sense of humor. I don’t want to actually become anything else. But you have a mirror that still smells like angel, I can glow and float, and I’m sure someone as used to glamors as you can get some wings on me. Instant archangel. I don’t have to do anything to be bait.”

“And then it eats you in one bite,” Akaashi concludes. “You couldn’t defend yourself.”

“It’s not like we’re _not_ going.” Bokuto’s cheeks are puffed in a pout that’s a weird mix of surly and childish. “I’ve dragged everyone else out of fights today. Why not add Tsukishima, too? I’ll keep _him_ safe, at least.”

Kei may be easily irritated by both Bokuto and Kuroo’s flippant attitudes, but he would trust either of them to not let him get eaten by an angry god. Bokuto has his stubborn tengu pride thing, and Kuroo—Kuroo has been silent this whole time.

The wings are new. It isn’t the first time Kei has seen him in an unsettled form, but something about that seems a little off. From this angle, he can’t quite see Kuroo’s face, but his body language is… worrying.

“Bokuto and I can handle it,” Kei says, inadvertently breaking up a hushed argument between Bokuto and Akaashi about blame. “Kuroo can stay here and feed into the spell. Or whatever ends up getting done. I’m not choosy, at this point.”

“Yeah, your spell already fucked us over once. Not a fan,” Tendou remarks.

“Were you asked?” Akaashi demands.

“Hey now, it’s not my fault that you—”

“Do not.”

Akaashi seems hellbent on arguing with someone, and Kei is glad it’s not coming in his direction. Kuroo’s silence worries him, and now he’s realizing that Bokuto is in some sort of surly funk. The pouting is a lot less childish when maintained on an adult tengu.

The group is imploding.

Kenma yanks him down to his level, then, down to the floor. Lev, on Kei’s other side, shoves the mirror at him. Kei grabs it on reflex—and drops it when it burns his hands. He hisses and tries to scramble away, but Kenma holds him with an iron grip on his bicep.

“Don’t you want to go break that up instead of play surgeon with me again?” Kei demands.

“We don’t have much time, and I’m trying to rework a tengu glamor to become an archangel glamor. You are going to have to tamp down all your demon self, right now,” Kenma curtly replies. “And start getting lucky. You’re going to want to look like a beacon out there.”

Lev runs the mirror over him like a brush on a cat, and it gradually stings less. Kei’s black skin recedes, instead turning pink and angry like he is burned, but at least human looking. Making luck still isn’t his strong suit, but it’s a little easier now.

He thinks Kenma is desperate to get something going in the group, too.

By the time Akaashi and Tendou come to blows, Kei doesn’t look at all demonic anymore, and he’s starting to suspect the cloying stench sticking to his clothes is angel. Half a step behind his brother, as usual.

Bokuto pulls Akaashi away from Tendou, and Tooru comes over to kneel beside them with the air of a scientist inspecting a potentially brand new species.

“Why are you working with Ushijima?” Lev asks with exactly enough brightness that Kei knows it’s an act.

Tooru sniffs and wipes his nose. “They’re going to seal away that thing in another realm. The magic should be sound. Until the Koushi and Kiyoko shaped cavalry arrive, it seems like a sound plan, and I wasn’t invited to your little shindig. You’re going to want to figure out some way to create fire. Can you make cat fire, too?”

“No, I can’t,” Kei flatly replies. He’s a luck spirit, not a cat spirit. Probably. Who even knows anymore.

“Tadashi is trying to find them,” Kenma says, “very urgently.”

“I’ve already gleaned enough about what you think Kiyoko is up to,” Tooru replies, cheek resting on his fist. “Anyone who’s come in contact with that thing gets their mental stability shredded. I know more about you all than you do each other. By the way, your pet demon isn’t doing too hot.”

“I know magic. I know Kiyoko,” Kenma replies.

“Didn’t you forget about her?” Kei pointedly adds.

“I know a fair bit about angels, too,” Tooru hums. When he sniffs again, it sounds wetter, and Kei can see blood beading beneath his nose. “Think what you want of me, but we’re not working with Ushijima. We’re using him. And now we’re using you.”

“How are you using Ushijima?” Lev asks, still falsely bright.

“It’s not like _I_ can seal away a god in another realm. I don’t know too many witches capable of that, much less any who know enough about dimensional magic to even try to make that kind of spell. But I’ve seen it, and it’ll work, so we need a hell of a good reason for Northot to prance happily into that trap. It knows what Ushijima is up to, too.” Tooru punctuates this by poking Kei’s cheek. His sleeve is already smeared with dried and drying blood; he’s in no hurry to wipe more across his face. “If you’re not going to give me Yui, then you’re going to throw yourself into it?”

“Why would you turn on them? They’re your friends,” Kei spits.

“Kiyoko and Koushi will be alright. Yui is dead. I have no issue trying to turn an angel that tried to eat me into bait for an even bigger monster.”

“The angel is Yui,” Kenma tells him, quiet and serious, even with his nose buried in a glamor charm. “We know it is.”

“You just turned your boyfriend into a mess of PTSD and cognitive dissonance,” Tooru replies, “so I don’t want to hear anything from _you_. We’re using Ushijima’s magic, and then we’re taking care of him ourselves. And I’m asking, nicely, for your cooperation. I have a lot of manners for someone who’s already almost died twice in two different realms today.”

“We’re helping, aren’t we?” Kei snaps.

Tooru hums again, and finally wipes his bleeding nose, adding another smear to his sleeve.

“Done,” Kenma says. For a moment, Kei thinks that he means the argument is done. Instead, he pulls Kei’s head down, and slips a large necklace around his neck. “The good news is that my new magic should mesh with yours easily. It’ll be a stable charm.”

“And the bad news?” Lev asks, then jumps as Kei abruptly sprouts a rather ragged set of wings.

His arms feel numb, twice as heavy as usual, but the wings feel too light for the fact that he can _feel_ them on his back. When he moves an arm, the wing follows.

“There’s a lot of bad news.”

Kei has known that he wouldn’t be able to fly. With a little less demon in him, he finds it easier to float, but now it’s less like he’s in control and more like he’s fumbling about in zero gravity. Lev takes turns rubbing the stupid mirror and poor Yuuki on him, until Kei is sneezing luck as badly as Tadashi ever does.

He’s surprised—pleasantly—to find Tendou already gone.

“I know where it is,” Bokuto growls when asked, and Kei does not press him further.

He tries to come to terms with the fact that he’s about to be escorted by a very angry tengu and a suspiciously quiet archdemon. The walk up to the roof is tense. 

“This is a stupid idea.” He’s cold, shivering without a coat, but he can’t glow beneath too many layers. The cursed mirror is shoved into the back of his jeans. Kei likes to think himself rational. Ever since dying, he’s been slipping, but he’s helping acquaintances with something that involves risking his life. Tadashi is out there doing the same.

This would be a perfect time for either Bokuto or Kuroo to crack an incredibly stupid joke. Kei kind of wants someone to joke about this, just so he doesn’t have to think about it himself.

Bokuto is upset and angry about being upset and he’s worn and exhausted from fighting so much already. Kuroo is… after what Tooru said, Kei is honestly goddamn worried about Kuroo. Kuroo is a good person who doesn’t deserve to be having some sort of breakdown in the middle of an already stressful situation.

“Has anyone yet remembered that I’m deathly afraid of heights?” Kuroo asks in a perfect deadpan as he leans over the edge with Kei.

Well, there’s the joke.

Bokuto bursts out laughing. It still has an edge of harshness, but it’s a far sight better than anything else. He steps out into the cold wind, and beckons them both forward with a broken talon. “C’mon, it’s not so bad. There are a lot worse things to worry about than flying, aren’t there?”

“I can’t fly,” Kei reminds him.

Kuroo leans a little further over the edge. His new wings flap behind him, more in agitation than preparation. “I’m fairly certain baby birds fall out of their nests a few times before learning to fly.”

“Unfortunately for you two cowards, we don’t have time for this!” Bokuto exclaims.

“Don’t call me a coward!” Kuroo snarls.

Bokuto blinks over at him, frozen halfway to reaching toward Kei. Kei is actually pretty glad that the outburst stopped him from getting tugged off the roof. “Are you okay? You’re okay now, right?”

Kei wonders exactly how much of Kuroo’s new body had been explained to Bokuto. They couldn’t _pay_ him to be the person who explains it now. “Aren’t we on a time limit?”

Bokuto yanks him off the roof.

Kei clings to him, his own fake wings curling over his shoulders like a very weird hug, and something about the sight clearly offends Bokuto. Bokuto tries to detach him, and Kei clings harder with claws he no longer has.

“Tsukki, come on,” Kuroo says with a sigh.

He steps off the roof, his huge wings catching him effortlessly. It would be a very cool image, if Kei didn’t see how hard Kuroo was concentrating on not looking downward.

Kuroo extends a hand to Kei.

Turns out, a first-time archdemon is a pretty shitty flier. Kei and Kuroo nearly drop from the sky, but Bokuto hauls them both back up. It’s hard to tell who’s shaking more, but Kei won’t rat out Kuroo if he doesn’t. It would be pretty shitty to die a second time.

Like some sort of reflexive self-defense mechanism, Kei manages to make more luck, and is glittering as brightly as he ever has before. He feels stupid, alternating between holding hands and trying to figure out a way to move his arms to get his wings to move himself. It doesn’t last long, since Bokuto tugs him along like the world’s most anxious babysitter.

They find the god too soon.

It is a radiant bulbous mass beneath them, curled halfway around a partially collapsed building. Kei can’t initially pick out a head or face, not until he realizes the spike-like antlers trailing down its back are meant to attach to what it counts as a head. Still no face, but its attention is a weight.

Its presence drags at Kei, as if trying to pull him down into its jagged mouth. Its jaws open like it’s ripping itself in two, unfurling farther and farther, too wide to be possible. But so, so wide. Beckoning. Demanding.

This is totally different from a glimpse of its ghostly, charmed self. This is a god, and Kei was a fool to try to do anything except offer himself meekly to it. He can’t do this, he can’t fool a god, he would be better use as something beyond a ghost but he _can’t_ —

A dark hand claps itself over his eyes—then pulls his glasses up onto his hair, and does it again, sealing off his vision.

Kei’s throat feels wet, and his lips taste coppery.

“Uh, first rule of fighting gods: don’t look straight at them,” Bokuto tells him.

“Thanks for the prompt warning,” Kei hoarsely snaps. “Not like this could have been a-avoided. Or something.” He grasps the hand shielding his eyes, both for support and to try to tell himself he’s still here. He’s not halfway down into that thing’s mouth.

“Guess you’re more ghost than we thought,” Kuroo mutters, somewhere near his ear.

Kei isn’t certain if it’s meant to make him feel better or not. He wants to be immune to whatever’s going on here. He wants to act how an angel would.

“Did we at least get its attention?”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely,” Bokuto says so casually that it only worries Kei more. “Avoid lookin’ straight at it. We’re not here to fight, anyway, but—”

He cuts off with a yelp and Kuroo yanks Kei backward. They almost tumble in the air, but somehow they right themselves. When he pulls his claws from his face, he finds Bokuto hacking away at a long, spidery claw.

Kei follows it down— _all_ the way down—to the deity on the ground.

Bokuto severs it with ease, and pulls the sludgy remains from his broken feathers. “So long as it’s aiming at me, I don’t care. But this stuff feels disgusting.”

Kuroo has yet to prove what an archdemon can do, but Kei won’t push him. He is perfectly fine staying away.

“At least we know it’s working as an attention grabber,” Kei reasons.

When it tries to drag them out of the sky again, the sharp spear purposefully avoids Bokuto to get to Kei. Its precise movements are nearly as frightening as the speed with which it attacks.

“Let’s get moving.” Kuroo tugs Kei along in the air.

He tries to move his wings to keep up his stupid facade, but in extending his fake wing, the limb that Bokuto is fending off suddenly branches into half a dozen smaller, sharper points. Two go through Kei’s wing, and it _hurts_.

“What the hell!” he shouts, diving through the air. He drops several feet, and the jagged spikes track his movements like snakes preparing to strike.

Bokuto dives for him, but the god keeps splintering into more and more pieces without ever running out. Kei doesn’t understand. He’s figured out enough of this stupid glamor business to know that it’s real enough to hurt and control. He can use his wings to shunt himself in a chosen direction, but he has no real speed.

Bokuto fights his way toward him. The damned thing’s tendrils are so thick around him it looks like he’s stuck in a thorn bush. Kuroo flaps his big, too-new wings, but he’s about as good at this as Kei is.

“At least flail in that direction!” Bokuto furiously shouts at them both, pointing with one foot dripping with the god’s oily blood. His talons are melting, and the scaly skin on his feet seem to be going, too.

“Easier said than done!” Kuroo shouts back.

Kei regrets coming with them. He kicks away a couple of the tentacles that get too close. He doesn’t have anything but human strength to back up his blow and ends up pushing himself away. He also drops a bit more in the air.

Progress.

Kei waits until it lashes out at him again, and he brings up both feet beneath him. He uses it as a springboard, and sails through the air, wings spread in a gentle glide.

 _I’m really flying_ , he marvels, just for a moment.

Kuroo is thrown into his back, and they tumble out of the sky, tangled in a heap of long limbs and useless wings. Bokuto shrieks above them. Kei wonders how he’ll be able to catch them, since they’re dropping like rocks and they can’t untangle.

Kei hardly sees its limb lash out this time, just a huge blur ten times as big as any of the small splinters that grabbed at them above, and it bats them out of the sky like hell’s biggest cat.

They hit the edge of a rooftop, collide with the building across the street, and end up sprawled across the parking lot next to it. Completely still, Kuroo lays maybe twenty feet from him, one broken wing propped upright next to him. Kei doesn’t feel much like moving, either, but he’s shocked he didn’t die again. He’s what, one third ghost, one third lower spirit, and one third higher spirit? He doesn’t know how sturdy they are. He doesn’t _want_ to know.

Even with his chest screaming at him, Kei knows he still passes for alive. He’s lucky.

Tendou leans over into his vision, ears perked up atop his fiery red hair. “Well, you’re _almost_ there, blondie. You two are stationary bait, and that means you’re only going to get eaten, if you don’t get up pretty quick.”

Kei sucks in his first rattling breath purely to have enough air to spit blood up at Tendou. It lands on his cheek. His glasses had been knocked off when the god played baseball with them.

“ _Tout de suite_!” Tendou says with a nervous look over his shoulder. “You’re _very_ close. I don’t know why you suddenly felt suicidal, but don’t give up halfway. If that thing stops to gloat over a dead angel, it’ll figure out that you lied, and the last thing we need is another distraction.”  [5]

“ _You_ play distraction,” Kei hisses at him. He flops his head to the side again, glaring up at Kuroo. Kuroo should be helping him argue with Tendou. Both of them should be helping him up, if time is so fucking important right now.

Kuroo is a dark, looming shadow behind Tendou, unhinging his jaws.

Kei swipes at Tendou with claws he no longer has, and his wing comes up to smack both of them. Kei rolls onto his hands and knees, coughing, and Tendou leaps away from both of them. “Sneaky, sneaky! I don’t think stealth will help very much with Northot now, will it? We have precious little time before it catches up—” Tendou cuts off with a yip when Kuroo lashes out with his claws.

“Fox blood will create just as good a trail.” Kuroo doesn’t sound like himself.

“We just have to go a little farther,” Kei snaps at him. His body protests every move, and he really wishes one of them would just drag him up to his feet at this point. “Leave him, he’s not worth it.”

“I’m hungry,” Kuroo says, “and we can leave little bits of fur in a nice breadcrumb trail all the way to this trap.”

“We had a deal! I helped you find your owl!” Tendou snarls back.

Kuroo lunges at him, and he vanishes.

Kuroo stumbles to a halt, wings and tail limp. Kei notices, with Kuroo's hair half tamped down with sweat and blood, that he has horns.

“What the hell is your problem?” Kei says as calmly as he can.

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You’re not acting like yourself! You’re never this—you don’t just _eat_ people, _not_ doing that was your entire personality at one point! That’s how you and Kenma survived this long!”

Kuroo narrows his bright eyes. It’s difficult to tell with his unsettled form, but Kei thinks he’s grimacing. “I won’t eat Kenma. I won’t eat you, if you’re worried about that. I wouldn’t do that to my own comrades.”

Kei’’s hurt that Kuroo didn’t call him a friend, and he’s literally never going to tell a soul about that. “I know the wings are new. This is a change. I can’t even fathom it.” This kind of empathy is foreign to him and he can feel that monstrous pressure seeping around the buildings like a fog. Kei presses on, “but you can’t be having some sort of weird angst episode in the middle of a fight.”

Kuroo gapes at him. His fury rises with his wings, until he’s nearly lifting himself with his agitated flapping. Kei holds his ground before him with his best apathetic stare. If he could just get him to focus, even if it’s through anger or spite, he’ll consider it a victory.

A roar from behind interrupts their glaring match.

A flash of a hulking, glowing body plows toward them, and Kei throws up an arm to shield his eyes. His wing follows the movement and curls around his face. While Kuroo could probably figure out the flying thing, Kei certainly can’t.

Bokuto pelts out of the sky, grabs Kuroo around the middle and zips off down the street.

Leaving Kei alone.

“You _assholes_!” he screams after them.

Bokuto shouts something over his shoulder, but he’s too far away to hear. Kei tears down the road after him. Bokuto takes a sharp right, out of sight, and Kei grits his teeth and changes direction. He can hear the monstrous fuck behind him closing in.

Kei runs through the closed doors of an empty fast food place. Neither walls, nor counters, nor the freezer in the back stops him. He’s still glowing brightly enough himself to create a weird sort of illumination for himself like a really shitty flashlight, and he supposes it’s all the luck that stops him from getting stuck anywhere.

When he pops out into the alley behind the building, he hears the god angrily tearing at the storefront.

Kei runs through the next, and the one after that, before coming out on the street the next block over. Bokuto, Kuroo hanging in his arms like an oversized, particularly surly cat, has landed on a flickering streetlight halfway down. “This way!” he calls, and takes to the air again.

“Wait up, jackass!” Of course, the tengu doesn’t listen to him. What a shock.

Dust and smoke shoot into the air behind him, accompanied by the loud crash of concrete coming down. Kei starts running again.

He knows it’s his job to be bait, and he knows this had been stupid from the beginning, but he resents every moment of this. He’s going to demand to get back in the air at the soonest possible moment.

Bokuto leads him like the worst white rabbit in history. Kei’s lungs are burning, mightily protesting the rough treatment. He’s not used to this much exercise. Even the mind-numbing terror fades a bit when he’s two blocks from the god.

But then, they're there.

He’s not as good with runes as Tadashi is, but it’d be difficult to forget Ushijima’s magic circle, even on a bigger scale. It takes up about half of the parking lot, with cars and trucks shoved haphazardly out of the way. Tendou, a fox again, with a bag hanging from his neck, hovers halfway between Bokuto and the distant figure of Ushijima.

“Well,” Tendou calls jovially, “at least we’re ready this time!”

Ushijima says something in that dead monotone of his, but Kei is too far to hear him. So they made it. Now they can kindly fuck off again, and this can all be dumped on Ushijima’s lap.

Kei feels uneasy about all of this unknown magic spread out before him. Bokuto seems similarly disinclined, but Kuroo appears completely disinterested—attention fixed on Tendou again.

“What exactly are you doing here?” Bokuto calls over, glaring at the foreign runes.

“Why does it matter to you? Thanks for fulfilling our deal!”

“Is this even going to work?”

Kei can hear the god getting closer. There are no nearby buildings to use as cover now, just the way he came and the far end of the parking lot. “Bokuto, I think we should go. It’s not our problem.”

“That thing has _become_ my problem,” Bokuto growls, but he flaps over to Kei and hauls him into the air. In a lower voice, he whispers, “I don’t trust them. Yeah, he knew where Keiji was, but this is a lot of human magic I don’t know.”

“I can’t read it. Tadashi or Kenma could. Let it be their problem. We have people to get back to.”

Bokuto looks as if Kei had struck him. Kei feels guilty and he has no idea why. He hates it.

“Right, right, let’s go,” Bokuto mumbles, his feathers drooping along with his entire being, and he tugs Kei along behind him toward Kuroo.

Before they even clear the roof of the nearest building, the god bursts into the parking lot.

 

\--

 

Forward momentum carries Northot’s bulging body several steps toward the circle, but it slows. Wakatoshi feels its presence tugging at his mind. He has cast protection charms on himself, and he only needs a moment.

Wakatoshi jogs around so he’s squarely on the opposite side of the circle. Even if their temporary allies haven’t vacated the area yet, even if Tendou hovers along one side, there is nothing on this plane Northot wants more than Wakatoshi.

Northot winds around itself, a nightmarish mixture of a snake and a centipede, puzzled over the magic. Wakatoshi doesn’t think it knows the meaning of caution, but it has always been fascinated by magics. Perhaps it thinks it can eat this. Perhaps it is concerned about another phasing spell.

Soon enough, it uncurls with a sinister chuckle. “Yh̡a̶fh̢’dr̕n̡,” it rumbles, terribly amused, many teeth curling up and up in a smile Wakatoshi struggles to tear his eyes from. Wakatoshi rubs at them, and yet again, they come away wet with blood.

Athena, wrapped up in his coat behind him, peeps very softly. Reassuring as he faces down a god.

Tendou carefully circles around them and Northot slithers forward, finally into the spellwork painted onto the ground. Wakatoshi’s magic tingles in his fingers, but he bides his time. The magic circle may be large, but only the center will open. He needs to ensure Northot ends up there before activating anything.

 _No more rushed spells_.

“I͢s ̶t̷h̵is͜ it?̶ Is̡ this ̶y͝our̸ ͠great,͟ ͏la̛st̶ pl͢a̢n?” Northot croons with a voice like broken glass. “Y͘o̶u a̢r͠e ͜ca̛pa͟bļe ͠of͡ ̢s͞uch ͘th͏i̶n̷gs, bu̡t̨ ̛t͢his̢ ͝do͟es no͜t i̧mpres̛s mȩ.”

“Good thing he’s not trying then, hm?” Tendou points out from a safe distance.

“I͏ kno͟w ̡h͡o̧w ̕to s̡t̛op͘ your ̵mag͠i͘c ͟n̨ow̸,̕ y̴h͠a͝f͜h'̨d̨rn̛.”

With Athena at his back and life and magic thrumming through his veins, nothing can stop Ushijima Wakatoshi. Not even a god. “You don’t, and you can’t.”

He crouches down, and with a push of magic, activates his plan.

In a flash, Northot lashes out, and Wakatoshi braces himself.

But it does not aim at him, or his familiar behind him.

“I ̛kn̶o͢w h̨o̧w y̢ou ͟c͢a͘re!”

Tendou zips along through its grabbing, dagger-like fingers, too close to jump into empty space.

“ _No_!” Wakatoshi hoarsely shouts, but he can’t even lift himself from the spell. He cannot stop it once started.

He pushes more and more magic into it, hurrying it. The asphalt cracks beneath his glowing runes, and magic crackles around them. Northot grabs Tendou by a leg, but he burns it off, and makes another dash for freedom.

Once Wakatoshi’s done opening it, he can carve through Northot himself, but he’s frozen. It’s _agony_. He feels like he’s waiting for a gunshot, waiting for Tendou to go still and silent. The realm door opens beneath Northot like a gaping maw.

Northot startles, attention snapping downward, entire body bristling into spikes and spires of alarm. The alien world’s light makes it shine pearlescent, almost beautiful in its panic. Wakatoshi allows himself a small smile when it finally opens and he can stand again.

“N͘͡o̵̵̧͠͡!͏” Northot roars with a fury like a sun.

It claws its way out of the portal, sinking even so, but it will snap shut again in seconds. Again, it whips tendrils over toward Tendou, then at Wakatoshi, raging and flailing with the panic of a dying mortal.

Wakatoshi would dare say he’s satisfied.

He slices off an arm that comes too close to Athena and pulls blood from the splatter for a blade. He uses a _wind-slice-sharp_ spell to cut off two tendrils about to catch Tendou, and Tendou darts toward him with a happy, wild sort of cackle.

Northot grabs Tendou out of midair and shoves a spearpoint finger through Wakatoshi’s throat.

“R̕e̕l͠e҉͏a̕͡s̡e̛͞ ̵͞me!” Northot snarls and drags Tendou down with him.

It probably intends for a longer threat. It probably imagines it has more time, dropping into another realm as it is, and that Wakatoshi is consciously controlling this.

Tendou shifts between forms, burning away everything that touches him, but it’s not enough. Wakatoshi rips Northot out of himself, sucking in a wet breath, but it leaves him a hacking cough instead of what he so desperately wishes to call.

Northot lunges at him, body stretching and thinning until it’s a splinter of the half-melted mass sinking below, and opens itself wider with too many teeth and no face to hold them.

Wakatoshi beheads it the moment the spell slams shut.

Suddenly too dark, his vision swims. The air is thick with foreign magic.

Tendou is gone.

The remaining piece of Northot, writhing at Wakatoshi’s feet like a worm, begins laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (( for the record, i wasn't the one who came up with tendou's fate. i'm suffering as much as everyone else. 
> 
> i miss suga. i'm sure he's fine, though.
> 
> 1Mon oisillon. = "My little bird." [ return ]  
> 2Neredeyim. = "Where am I." [ return ]  
> 3Je suis un renard sans peur en ce moment. = "I am a fox without fear right now." [ return ]  
> 4Monsieur chouette. = "Mister owl." [ return ]  
> 5Tout de suite! = "Right now!" [ return ] ))

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [homebodies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430120) by [princessofmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/princessofmind)
  * [tempest, teamwork, triumph](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205763) by [fuwaesthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic)
  * [aurora (meet me in the stars)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192278) by [fuwaesthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic)
  * [Treading Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4655064) by [maeofthedead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeofthedead/pseuds/maeofthedead)
  * [The courtship of Kozume Kenma (with unneeded assistance from Bokuto and Kuroo)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523041) by [princessofmind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofmind/pseuds/princessofmind)
  * [screw rhymes with me and you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547650) by [bishounen_curious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious)
  * [drop and give me fifty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5547755) by [bishounen_curious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bishounen_curious/pseuds/bishounen_curious)
  * [overarrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548472) by [fuwaesthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/pseuds/fuwaesthetic)
  * [soft and sweet pauses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993913) by [greasyGoddess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greasyGoddess/pseuds/greasyGoddess)
  * [Kyoutani Kentarou Is Not His Father's Son](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356770) by [knightswatch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch)
  * [Cold Tub, Warm Hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999379) by [theDovahkiin (Trebla)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trebla/pseuds/theDovahkiin)
  * [Dragonspice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7439321) by [atlanxic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlanxic/pseuds/atlanxic)
  * [[podfic] bell, book, and candle by skittidyne](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802491) by [chimehours (thelyssymarie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelyssymarie/pseuds/chimehours)




End file.
